The Salt Smugglers (13 page)

REFLECTIONS. — MEMORIES OF THE LEAGUE. — THE SYLVANECTS AND THE FRANKS. — THE LEAGUE

Senlis.

Despite the digressions which are so natural to my style of writing, — I never lose the thread of an idea, — and, whatever one might think, the abbé de Bucquoy will turn up sooner or later ...

Having returned to Senlis, I am still asking myself why the post office took
twenty-one
hours eight days ago to transmit to Paris a letter I had slipped into the mailbox at ten o'clock at night on All Saints' Day. — There's a mail pick-up at midnight and letters again go out at seven in the morning ... I can't make heads or tails of it!

Am I still under surveillance in Senlis ...?
⁶
But the gendarme has become my good friend! I was even put in touch with the town's deputy public prosecutor who has a side interest in science and history. — There are a number of deputy public prosecutors whom I know and admire, — just as I admire any person willing to temporarily put aside his opinions, his position, or his self-interest in order to become what he can be deep down inside, — a decent person.

As I was traveling through these parts, I came across a blue poster announcing a performance of Dumas'
Charles VII
, — starring Beauvallet and Mademoiselle Rimblot. The play was particularly well-chosen, given this region's veneration for the memory of the medieval and renaissance princes who built those marvelous cathedrals one sees everywhere or those magnificent castles which, given the work of time and civil wars, tend to be somewhat the worse for the wear. — People around here don't quite know why they are not very fond of the Bourbons, — who nonetheless blended semipopular with princely taste. — I suspect them of being, ever so slightly, — like so many others, — republicans without knowing it.

This entire area was in fact the scene of bloody conflicts back in the days of the League ... There was an ancient nucleus of Protestantism here that nobody managed to disperse, — and later on, there was another nucleus of Catholicism which was just as fanatic and which opposed the Protestant
turncoat
known as
Henri IV.

The bitterness of these feuds was extreme, — as is the case in all great political conflicts. In this part of the country, — which used to belong to Maguerite de Valois and the Medici, who did a great deal for the area, — the local population had developed a
constitutional
loathing for the race that had replaced them. How many times did I hear my grandmother say of the wife of Henri II (repeating what she had heard handed down by tradition): « Oh poor Catherine de Medici ... such a great lady ... and they killed all of her children! » Later on, having read Chénier's
Charles IX
and having on the first day of the July Revolution looked at the window where this king supposedly fired on his people, — and also thinking of the blood fever that caused his death, I said to myself: « It is impossible that my grandmother should have been misled by local tradition. »

A number of the customs preserved in this back-woods region continue to reflect these ancient battles of the past. In certain villages, for example, the principal feast commemorates
Saint Bartholomew
. It is on this day that they organize the archery contests. — Admittedly, the bow today is a fairly innocuous weapon. But in fact it symbolizes and recalls the era during which
the rough tribes known as the
Sylvanects
constituted a fearsome branch of the Celtic race.

The Druidic stones of Ermenonville, the stone adzes and the tombs in which the skeletons invariably lie with their faces turned toward the East, all bespeak the origins of the inhabitants of this region covered with forests and dotted with swamps, — which have since been turned into lakes.

The division between the
Valois
and that ancient little land called
France
would seem to confirm the fact that two very distinct races existed here. The land of France, which was merely one section of the Île-de-France, was originally populated (so it is claimed) by the Franks, a people that had come from Germany and that had made this region their first
stop,
as the chronicles say. It is now agreed that the Franks did not in any fashion conquer Gaul, but merely found themselves involved in certain of the battles between the provinces. The Romans imported them to settle certain regions, and especially to clear the great forests and drain the marshlands around Paris. Such were the lands to the north of Paris. Of Caucasian origin for the most part, this population lived on an equal footing with each other in patriarchal fashion. Later, when it became necessary to defend the land against invasions from the North, fiefs were created. But the farmers nonetheless retained ownership of the lands which had been awarded to them and which were called
franc-alleu
property.

The battle between these two races becomes especially evident during the so-called Wars of the League. It is likely that the descendents of the Gallo-Romans tended to favor the Béarn, whereas the other race, by nature more independent, leaned toward Mayenne, d'Epernon, the cardinal of Lorraine, and the Parisians. In certain areas, one still comes across heaps of corpses, — victims of the massacres and battles of the period, the fiercest of which was the battle of Senlis.

As to that great count Longueval de Bucquoy, — that is, the one who went on to fight in the Bohemian wars, — one wonders whether he would have ever acquired the notoriety that caused his descendent, — the abbé de Bucquoy, — so much trouble had he not been one of the leaders of the League and a longstanding protector of the towns of Soissons, Arras, and Calais against the armies of Henri IV? Having held out against the armies of the king for three years in Flanders, he retreated into Friesland, but not without having negotiated an armistice of ten years for these provinces to which Louis XIV would later lay waste.

And you are surprised by the persecution the abbé de Bucquoy would later face, — at the hands of minister Pontchartrain?

As for Angélique de Longueval, she is the petticoat version of this tradition of Opposition, even if she does love her father, — whom she had left with considerable regret. But the moment she had chosen the man of her life, — like the daughter of Duke Loys choosing Lautrec as her knight, — she did not waver in her decision, despite all the trials and tribulations she would subsequently have to endure. Even as she was helping her lover steal her father's silverplate, she cried out: « What a thing is love! »

The people of the Middle Ages believed in charms. It seems indeed that a charm of some sort or another must have kept her enamored of this son of
a pork butcher, — who was handsome according to all accounts, but who treated her rather shabbily. And yet even though she comments on some of the unfortunate penchants of
the one
she never names, she never for a second blames him. She simply limits herself to stating the facts, — and goes on loving him like some Platonic helpmate who quite rationally accepts her particular destiny.

The various remarks made by the lieutenant-colonel who wanted to remove La Corbinière from the picture finally
sink in
. The latter suddenly sells his commission in order to seek his fortune in Innsbruck, leaving his wife behind in Venice.

« Thus he sold his commission, — writes Angélique, — to the man who loved me (i.e. the lieutenant-colonel) and who was delighted at the thought I would soon be his. But love, queen of all the passions, made a mockery of these hopes, for as I saw my husband preparing to depart, I could not bear the thought of living without him. »

At the very last moment, while the lieutenant-colonel was already congratulating himself for having successfully pulled off this ploy which was about to deliver a woman without husband into his arms, — Angélique decided to follow La Corbinière to Innsbruck. « Thus, she writes, love proved to be our ruin in Italy as it had been in France, except that in Italy I was not at fault. »

They set off from Verona with a certain Boyer; since the latter was penniless, La Corbinière had agreed to pay for his trip to Germany. (Here La Corbinière comes off a bit better). After having traveled twenty-five miles and reached the place from which one crosses the lake over to Trento, Angélique had a moment of weakness and begged her husband to turn back to one of the towns that lay within the lands of Venice, — Brescia, for example. — Admiring Petrarch as she did, she found it painful to leave the sweet soil of Italy for the cloudy mountains that border Germany. « I was convinced, she says, that our remaining fifty pistoles would not last; but my love was greater than all these considerations. »

They spent eight days at Innsbruck; passing through town, the duke of Feria told La Corbinière that the place to find employment was a town by the name of
Fisch
. It was there that Angélique began to bleed profusely; a woman was called in and informed her that « she had sullied herself with child ». — The expression is a perfectly Christian one, — forgivable, given the particular era and country in question.

The act of bringing another sinner into the world, — even if it is a legitimate act, as it was in the case of Angélique who, after all, was married, — was always considered a stigma by the men of the Church. — This certainly violates the spirit of the gospels. — But that is neither here nor there.

Poor Angélique had barely recovered when she was again forced to get back on the only nag the couple owned: « Weak as I was, she writes, or to tell the truth, near death as I was, I accompanied my husband on horseback to the place where he was going to rejoin the army, — and where I was astonished to see there
were as many women as men, especially many wives of colonels and captains. »

Her husband went to pay his respects to an important colonel named Gildaise who, being a Walloon, knew of the count Longueval de Bucquoy's exploits in the defense of Friesland against Henri IV. He was
most affectionate
to Angélique's husband and told him that while waiting for a company, he would give him a lieutenancy, — and that he would make sure Mademoiselle de Longueval rode in the carriage of his sister, who was married to the first captain of his regiment.

The newlyweds continued to suffer the blows of misfortune. La Corbinière came down with a fever and needed medical treatment. — But people everywhere were kind to them: Angélique complains only of having to travel « first to one place, and then to another » on account of the war and goes on to compare herself to a gypsy, even though she admits to being luckier than most of the other women, for she was the only one who dined at the colonel's table alone with his sister. — « And the colonel was exceedingly generous to La Corbinière, — for he always gave him the best morsels at dinner ... seeing how ill he was. »

One night the troops were on the move and the only lodgings that could be found for the ladies consisted of a stable where, given the possibility of enemy attack, they would have to sleep fully clothed. « Waking up in the middle of the night, says Angélique, I felt so cold that I could not keep myself from crying out: “Oh Lord, I'm freezing to death.” » The German colonel took off his tabard, which was the only thing he was wearing over his uniform, and threw the cape over her.

At this point, she makes the profound observation:

« This act of courtesy might have certainly mollified a German woman, but it was hardly enough to appease a lady who, being French, could never find anything pleasing in war ... »

Nothing is more accurate than this observation. The women of Germany have not changed since Roman times, when Thusnelda battled against Hermann. When Marius was victorious over the Cimbri, there were as many women as men on the field.

Women rise to the occasion when it comes to family emergencies, suffering, and death. In our civil disturbances, it is the women who plant the flag on the barricades; — or who valiantly mount the scaffold, heads held high. In the provinces of our country that are nearest to Flanders or Germany one comes across Jeanne d'Arcs or Jeanne Hachettes. But for the most part, French women dread war, — given the love they feel for their children.

The warrior women among them are of Frankish descent. Among this population that originated in Asia, there is a tradition of exposing women in the midst of battle, — the reward thus promised presumably serving to prick up the valor of the combatants. This same custom exists among the Arabs. The virgin who devotes herself to the cause is called a
kadra
and she advances into battle surrounded by the troops who are determined to kill themselves for her. — The Frankish warriors, however, would throw several women into battle.

The courage and, indeed, the occasional cruelty of these women were such that the Salic law was eventually adopted. And yet these women, warriors or no, continued to exercise considerable sway in France as queens or court favorites.