Merchants of Virtue

by Paul C R Monk

  ‘Would you believe,’ said the intendant, ‘that Delpech fellow had the audacity to come knocking at my door complaining of ill treatment? Honestly, is the man completely naive?’

  ‘What did you say?’ asked de Boufflers, sucking a quail leg bone.

  ‘I ordered him to regain his house to receive another eight soldiers,’ said the intendant. Then delicately raising a long finger, he added: ‘And their horses!’

  ‘Hah. Outrageous!’ said the marquis who burst out in an extravagant laugh making his wig tremble.

  ‘I then had a notice pinned to his door stating that soldiers will find food and lodging at this inn!’

  ‘Ho, ho, ingenious!’

  ‘Not really, the philistine still won’t see reason. He is becoming a perfect pest. Not only does he have nothing left to sell for the subsistence of his guests, I fear he is in danger of becoming a dissenter, or worse, a martyr!’

  ‘We can’t have that,’ said the bishop, nearly choking on a morsel of chicken.

  ‘I know what,’ said the marquis with the nonchalant flourish of another quail leg, ‘we’ll send him to prison for a spell. That should knock the stuffing out of him.’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll have everyone say prayers to facilitate his return to the fold.’ The bishop gave a bovine-eyed glance to the marble Virgin Mary on the mantle, and then held out his glass for more of the excellent ‘blood’ of Christ.

  ‘That might do the trick,’ said the intendant rubbing the stubble on his chin. ‘It cannot hurt; at the very least it will send out a strong message to those thinking of converting back.’

  ‘And what about the man’s wife?’ said de Boufflers.

  ‘We let her go. She is staying at one of her brother-in-law’s farms near Villemade with her children. At least, this way, she is out of sight and out of mind.’

  ‘Quite,’ said the bishop, ‘there is nothing worse than a mother and infant to soften public opinion.’

  ‘But I shall deal with her once her baby is weaned,’ said the intendant.

  Taking up his glass, the marquis said: ‘I give you the King, the church and our continued success!’

  ‘Amen,’ said the bishop.

  9

  November 1685 to April 1686

  Jeanne was sitting on a three-legged stool, tossing a long-handled copper chestnut pan over the kitchen fire. The maid had gone to milk the goat. Lizzy, Lulu and Paul were chasing hens in the farmyard. The baby, having been given the breast, gurgled contently in her cot. It struck Jeanne that the cries and cackles outside were louder now that the surrounding trees had dropped their leaves with the first frost.

  The resonant rasping of jays in the oak thicket snapped her from her fire-gazing. The children’s cries then ceased, she turned to the window that looked over the farmyard. A squat man was walking away down the earthen track, it could only be the weaver from the cottage near the river. Paul and his sisters were running back to the farmhouse.

  A moment later, pushing open the stiff door, the boy said, ‘Mama, a letter for you.’

  ‘It must be from papa,’ said Elizabeth, holding Lulu against her hip.

  Jeanne handed the chestnut pan handle to Paul and took the folded paper. She stepped into the light of the south-facing window by the solid stone sink. Then, hastily, she broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and read to herself.

  ‘My dear wife,

  ‘Once the soldiers had sold all the livestock of our farms I was escorted here to the Château Royal one morning by the marshal, Monsieur Castagne, and three archers. The marshal gave orders that I am to see no one, but rest assured, I am not alone in this otherwise dark and forlorn cell. I am with our Lord, and every day I give praise to Him for shedding His light on my poor existence. As you have time and again reminded me during our previous hardships, we are nothing without God. My dear wife, without His hope and love there can be no rightfulness, no moral, no conscience.

  ‘I have been told unendingly by the guards that I am to be hanged or sent to America. But abjure, I will not. On the contrary, such aberrations of human barbarism only strengthen my spirit and determination to follow my conscience. I am resolved to die rather than be my own betrayer. Indeed I am filled with a deep joy that everyday God gives me strength I never thought I had, and helps me get through all sorts of ordeals.

  ‘One of the guards, the one to whom God brought pity to his heart and who brought this quill with which I write, tells me I am to be transferred to the prison of Cahors where prisoners are assembled to join a convoy to the galley ships at Marseille. Even if I am condemned to the life of a galley slave, I will not abjure.

  ‘If you could get some straw to me, at least I will have bedding, and a quilt would be most welcome during these cold months. But, my love, you must stay away yourself and try to find a passage out of the realm as soon as the warmer weather comes. I only hope and pray our children will bear up to the long journey. I have left instructions with Robert concerning my affairs, our home and Verlhac, though I wonder if we shall ever see them again.

  ‘You can imagine that I would like with all my heart to see you before my imminent transfer but please stay away, my love. It pains me truly to say I fear our next rendezvous may well be in heaven. I wish you many blessings, my dear, beloved wife.’

  Jeanne closed her eyes. She needed to empty her mind so that she would not be overwhelmed by emotion when she explained to her children that their father was in prison, but alive and well.

  *

  Robert Garrisson knew that signing the abjuration certificate and receiving the bishop’s absolution would not suffice. New Catholics were expected to make an appearance at Sunday Mass. This in turn meant partaking in the Holy Communion – which, for a Protestant, was like asking a Saracen to eat pork – or risk being considered a bad Catholic. Robert knew what that meant.

  Being a bad Catholic brought with it the same punishment as being a Huguenot fugitive trying to leave the country. Garrisson knew if he did not play along it could mean being condemned to a life on a galley ship, and his status and fortune would make no difference at all, and neither would his age. He had seen young men and old, the labourer and the master, the merchant and the thief, indiscriminately sent to the galleys, some for three years, others for ten, some never to return.

  Posing as a good Catholic, on the other hand, brought exoneration of taxes for the year past, the right to continue his law practice, and to retain his houses, farms and his fortune. To a man approaching seventy this was nonetheless little reward compared to the ruin of his soul. Robert at times felt miserable and increasingly weighed down with guilt over his conversion.

  One day, sensing her husband beginning to withdraw into himself, Suzanne said, ‘Once you have helped Jacob and Jeanne out of the country, we shall join them and live our faith in peace.’

  It was delivered with such mirth and simplicity, and Robert did appreciate his wife’s thoughtfulness. But he knew deep down that starting a new life in another country at his age, even if he could get over the border as a Catholic, would be infinitely difficult. Besides, now he had a son, his family name would survive despite the present crisis.

  So he resolved to try to live with his conscience. He would defend Jacob and watch over Jeanne, not to mention his dear wife. She had not abjured. His conversion as the chief of the household had sufficed to rid his house of the dragoons. Nobody had yet said anything against her. As long as she did not overtly proclaim her faith or partake in any clandestine Protestant gathering, she would be able to withstand the hostile climate until reason prevailed again in France, he thought. By that time he might no longer be part of this world, but the satisfaction of safeguarding her person and soul and those of his descendants gave a sense to his life which always cheered him up. And what if God had meant for him to be an instrument of His grace to help his fellows? Then should he not rather rejoice?

  Robert knew he was walking on thin ice by taking on the defence of his friend and brother-in-law. Jacob Delpech
was not only determined to stick to his faith, but had resolved to plead his innocence against whatever motive it was that had put him in jail.

  The soldier’s prediction of Jacob’s imminent transfer turned out to be wrong, no doubt partly due to the impracticalities of travelling in harsh weather. The earth roads would be deeply rutted and getting stuck in the Causses du Quercy on the way to Cahors could mean dying of cold or hunger.

  Delpech had nonetheless managed to win the trust of the youngest of the guards. His name was Francis, an average-sized man with bovine eyes who confessed to thinking as little as possible about God.

  One day, through the bars of his cell, Jacob said to the soldier, ‘You do realise you are going to die?’

  The soldier quipped that at least he wouldn’t have to endure the ‘excitement’ of a life standing in front of prison cells anymore.

  ‘But then what?’ said Jacob. ‘Where will your soul go?’

  ‘Don’t know, don’t care. Besides, heaven’s a place for bourgeois and priests far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘You are wrong, my good man. Eternal life is promised to all those who persevere in God’s love until the end.’

  The soldier knew what God’s love meant for some priests, but he kept it to himself. Instead, he just let the bourgeois rattle on about how anyone could save their soul, be they born in the château de Versailles or the Cour des miracles. At least it passed the time of day, and made a change to thinking about what he would do once he had saved up enough coin to get a wife. He had his eye on the fruit and veg seller’s third daughter. She might be boss-eyed but she had a fair enough nature, wide mothering hips, and a generous pair of jugs.

  Since that day conversations between Francis and Jacob had been discreet and few, but there had been enough of them to sow seeds of faith where once the soldier’s soul had been a barren field. After all, what if all that God stuff really was true? So the soldier thereafter agreed to pass correspondence to and from Robert, in exchange for a fee for the risk taken.

  *

  Throughout his detention in Montauban, only once did Jacob sway.

  He was sharing his cell with a new inmate, a certain Monsieur Edmond Galet, a loquacious tailor. Galet had been caught trying to reach Bordeaux via the post boat that ran from Toulouse via Agen. On the boat he had entered into cordial conversation with a young, well-spoken gentleman named Boisset. To distinguish himself from the rabble of labourers, Edmond became congenial with the younger man to the point of inadvertently giving away one or two details of his and his wife’s intentions, which were to go on a trip to London. It turned out that the young man had nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and the title of third son to a lesser lord near Toulouse. Seizing the occasion, he informed the authorities the moment the boat moored in Agen to let the passengers get some refreshment. Edmond Galet was questioned and arrested; his wife abjured. In accordance with the King’s declaration of August 1685, Boisset was able to walk away with half of the value of Galet’s wealth as reward for the denunciation.

  Monsieur Galet could no longer suffer the vermin, the insalubrity, and the dampness of winter. Through teeth chattering with cold, he told Jacob his plan.

  ‘I will sign this confounded paper if it will free me of this intolerable dungeon,’ he said in whispers, so that the other prisoners, mostly common villains and thugs, could not hear and thus denounce him in exchange for a reduced sentence.

  ‘Abjure?’ said Jacob in a voice equally low.

  ‘Abjure no, or if that is what it is then I will do it only for the time it takes for me to leave the country. For my plan is to escape to Brandenburg where I have heard that Huguenots are welcome to practice their employ and religion freely. You should think about it, Monsieur Delpech.’

  ‘I cannot forsake my faith, not even for ten minutes,’ said Jacob. ‘I cannot become that imposture.’

  ‘Life, is it not a game of charades? Do you not play a role when you are buying and selling? When you want to seduce your wife? And you do not act the same to a lowly pauper as to a lordly buyer, do you not?’

  ‘Not I,’ said Jacob. ‘And I believe it has been the reason for my past success. My produce is guaranteed and my word is good. My clients know that they will not be deceived.’

  ‘Suit yourself. But if you dig in your heels like a donkey does its hooves, then I fear the future bodes not well for you, my friend.’

  Shortly after their conversation, Monsieur Galet was released from the abominable prison. On handing Jacob his sack of straw, the tailor whispered, ‘It pains me to leave you, good sir. But I would argue that the Lord gave me the inspiration, and I have chosen not to be shy of his Grace. Think on it.’

  Monsieur Galet left the dismal dungeon and, from what Jacob could gather, he lost no time in carrying out his project.

  The conversation left Delpech torn between two minds for the next week, the first penetratingly cold week of winter. Could signing the declaration really be a means sent by God to help the faithful to pastures new? But despite all the toing and froing in his mind, Jacob also knew that he himself constituted, as did the first martyrs, an example to his fellows. If he abjured then any moral resistance would end in the hearts of his fellow coreligionists. And his self-esteem and credibility, even if he recovered his faith elsewhere, would be shattered. He knew he represented something greater than himself now: he had become a moral touchstone. He could not convert, he could not betray God nor himself for a single minute.

  *

  Robert had found an angle of attack, even though he still did not know on what legal grounds Jacob had been incarcerated. He had built up a defence based on the very edict of October that had revoked and replaced the Edict of Nantes. Article XII of the Edict of Fontainebleau gave a glimmer of hope to Jeanne and Jacob because it clearly stated that ‘liberty is granted to persons of the so-called Reformed Religion, pending the time when it shall please God to enlighten them as well as others, to remain in the cities and places of our kingdom, lands, and territories subject to us, and there to continue their commerce, and to enjoy their possessions, without being subjected to molestation or hindrance on account of the so-called Reformed Religion.’

  Robert had tried to use his influence and relations to find out if and when Jacob would stand before the judges. Each time he addressed the consuls he was fobbed off with some excuse about the backlog of judicial cases due to the new context brought about by the Edict of October. In short, Jacob could very well be left to rot as far as the authorities were concerned.

  Robert reformulated letter after letter to the intendant during the winter months to reiterate his concerns and to try to extract answers. He knew full well he was in danger of becoming a nuisance.

  In January a close source to de la Berchère who had known Robert for forty years advised him to ease off for a while, or risk causing a calamity on Delpech’s family, not to mention his own. He told Robert he would receive an answer in due course.

  *

  Late February, there was already a feeling of spring in the air. The exceptional weather over the past few days now induced the first daffodils on the esplanade to unravel their yellow heads under the plane trees. Windows throughout the city had been flung open to let in the clean warm air.

  Robert was in good spirits. He was at his desk writing another note to Jacob. The intendant had at last informed him he would receive knowledge of Jacob’s charge very soon. This meant Garrisson could shortly begin Jacob’s defence and challenge his detention. Robert was dripping hot wax onto the note when there was a loud knock at the front door.

  Antoine entered the downstairs study and handed his master a note with no seal. It was from Robert’s town hall contact. Robert read.

  Transfer to Cahors planned for Wednesday, by lettre de cachet.

  He had to sit down before his legs failed him. It was a double blow. Jacob’s transfer to Cahors would create jurisdiction and coordination difficulties, but worst of all, the order had been given thr
ough a lettre de cachet.

  A lettre de cachet with the King’s seal enforced judgements that could not be appealed, the King being above the law. Robert knew well how easily they had been used as a tool to mute so-called agitators, and even disobliging wives. He remembered the case of one man who, having converted several years earlier, had demanded that a lettre de cachet be made out for his wife in order to shut her up for once and for all in a convent, so she could be ‘instructed’ in the Catholic religion.

  In short, all Garrisson’s efforts building a case for Jacob’s defence were dashed. He would be sentenced without a trial. Robert scribbled another note which he arranged to be sent to Jeanne.

  *

  Towards the end of March the wind of Autan blew for six days solid, enough to drive anyone insane. It could blow so hard that one’s face grew numb, then drop to a whisper, before cunningly whisking up again. It kept townsfolk cloistered with fear of falling tiles, and farm hands busy with fallen trees. Not far from Villemade, a tall lime tree had cracked at midpoint and the top part had gone crashing onto the roof of a barn.

  Jeanne’s maid, Marie, was milking the goat at the time. The animal had obstinately shifted to the opposite end out of the draft and away from the rattling bar of the barn door. With an appalling crack, a cluster of tiles smashed to the ground where she usually pulled up her milking stool. Jeanne dashed out of the house fearing the worst, but the girl stood up on the other side of the rubble, unscathed. The goat’s move had saved her life. It was one of those moments that made Jeanne reflect on the fragility of life on earth compared to the eternity of heaven.

  April was the gambolling season. The grass was now lush and plentiful, and the spring lambs would soon be weaned from their mothers. Jeanne’s baby, a happy gurgling child, was already sitting up on her own and chewing on a quignon of bread.

  Now that baby no longer needed breastfeeding, Jeanne was able to dedicate more time to her other children’s education. It was not because they had fallen upon hard times that their spiritual and academic instruction should be neglected. Elizabeth and Paul could be taught together. Lulu required more attention, especially since Jeanne had been half amused, half horrified to hear her utter words in patois. This was down to the influence of Marie who was more fluent in the local dialect than in the national language.