Introducing the Huguenot Chronicles
Before The Storm 1685
A Short Prequel
Chapter 1
Montauban, 1 June 1685
‘I would say that the month of June is the finest time to
migrate,’ said Jacob Delpech to his wife while brandishing a
carving knife.
He had just solemnly imparted the latest tidings of another
family having packed their bags, shut up shop, and left the
kingdom, apparently for the Low Countries. Clad in her blue
maternity gown, apron and a collar of rich lace, Jeanne listened
to her husband with her usual composed patience, careful not to
interrupt him — for she did not want him to cut himself again
while doing two things at once. She found it nonetheless
difficult to understand how you could simply uproot your family
and leave everything for unknown lands.
They were seated in the dining-room of their tall townhouse
that stood in the southern French city of Montauban. Jeanne, her
head gracefully poised and coiffed in an elegant, lace-edged
cap, now cast her gaze around the linen-clothed table at her
goslings: Paul, seven, two-year-old Louise sitting in her
highchair chewing on a piece of crust, and Elizabeth, eleven,
straightening Lulu’s frilly pinner apron. Jacob continued
carving the leg of lamb roasted with fresh thyme and inserted
with slices of garlic.
With another flourish of the knife, in his didactic and
confident voice, he said: ‘June, my dears, is clement yet
without the sting of high summer. It is when fledging birds
leave their nests and flowers bloom. It is also the month of the
longest days, during which one is able to camp under the night
sky without the dampness of spring. Indeed, travel in June and
you will have a whole summer to arrive at your destination!’ He
finished slicing off the last piece of meat from the bone, set
down the carving knife, and placed the earthenware dish in the
centre of the table.
‘That depends on where one is going,’ said Jeanne calmly,
reaching over the table to serve the succulent pink morsels
while Anette, the maid, placed a jug of meat juice next to the
large dish of green beans and salsify. ‘And that, my dear
husband, would entail knowing one’s destination!’
‘True,’ said Jacob, countering affably, ‘but you cannot
deny, my pretty wife, that wherever it be where one is headed,
June is such a generous month for travel. Therefore, I am an
advocate of the month of June for our travels. And June starts
today!’
‘Nonsense,’ said Jeanne with a laugh in her voice, though
dismissively all the same. She was becoming fed up with Jacob’s
insistence. Every newsletter from the banned Protestant
consistory reinforced his proposal and brought with it a new
pretext to lay it down on the family table. She might well seem
unreasonable but she was still not having any of it.
At first Jacob had tried reassuring her that the outside
world was not so wicked, for Jeanne had never left the province
let alone the kingdom. But as her late father used to say,
wisdom comes with age and the love of God, only knowledge comes
with travel. And it was quite enough for her to be able to spy
the foothills of the Pyrenees on a clear day to get a sense of
the immensity of the world about her; she did not need to know
all its ins and outs. Moreover, she had no desire to subject
herself or her children to foreign ways and to people whose
language she would not understand. Her familiar surroundings she
loved, and each time she watched her children going about town
with her, or on forays into the countryside, she saw in them her
own happy childhood spent with her elder sister Suzanne. At
times like these she wished she still had her parents to back
her up. Nonetheless, again she told her husband that her
homeland sufficed and for nothing would she give it up.
‘Then would you give up your faith, my dear Jeanne?’ said
Jacob, in a reasoned tone of voice as Jeanne handed him back his
plate now garnished with heaps of sliced lamb, green beans and
salsify, all glistening in meat juice. ‘For what if the powers
that be forbade us from worshipping God as we see fit?’
Jeanne continued serving the children, and in a calm and
uncompromising voice she said: ‘I would give up nothing at all,
Jacob. Nor would I abandon my home, any more than I could leave
my children, you know that…’
‘But look around you, Jeanne,’ said Jacob, who knew from
experience that there was no point raising his voice as it would
only make little Lulu cry and lock her mother in her obstinate
resolution. So he kept it low and controlled. ‘Have they not
deprived us of our professions, destroyed our schools and
temples?’
‘You need not remind me, Jacob,’ said Jeanne, who was not
fooled by her husband’s endeavours to reason his case. ‘They
cannot subdue an entire town, not if we all stand together like
we in Montauban always have.’
‘Some people fear forced conversions, Jeanne, or worse,
another Saint Bartholomew!’
‘Nonsense, why, this is sixteen eighty-five…’
‘But the fact remains,’ interrupted Jacob, holding up a
hand. ‘The fact remains, they have arrested two more pastors and
sent them to Toulouse prison where our dear Professor Martel is
being held.’
‘Oh. I see,’ said Jeanne, her indulgent smile dying on her
lips, the news pleating her brow. Men of God sent to prison? It
was as unbelievable as it was outrageous. ‘But are you sure?
Perhaps you should not believe all the scaremongering in those pamphlets of yours.’
‘Scaremongering? Huh!’ said Jacob, his exasperation raising
his voice. ‘Why, you are beginning to sound more and more like
our Right Reverend Bishop, my dear wife! Indeed, the bishop’s
so-called scaremongers shall soon be silenced, for we have
reason to believe that Protestant printers will soon no longer
be authorised to practise their profession either!’ Jacob placed
his hand softly on the table as Jeanne finished serving the
children. They were becoming used to these squabbles, even
little Paul was becoming blasé to the bickering, which no longer
even perturbed the thoughts of insects and sums that often
crowded his thoughts these days. Only Lulu pulled a face
whenever voices were raised. Jacob continued more calmly.
‘Jeanne, you know full well that I have no desire to leave any
more than you do, but I advocate that we leave for Geneva, where
Pastor Duvaux has taken refuge. There at least we can lie low
until the winds of folly have blown over.’
‘And what of our people?’ said Jeanne, spooning meat juice
over her salsify, ‘and who will oversee the harvest?’
‘Laroc. Laroc is a fine trustworthy fellow. Says he is too
old to travel, but will gladly hold the reins during our brief
absence. As for our servants, they will be given a choice, to
come with us or remain here.’
Anette, the young maid gave a shrug of the shoulders, took
up the empty saucière, and stomped out of the kitchen, careful
Before The Storm 16857
up the empty saucière, and stomped out of the kitchen, careful
to leave the pearl-grey panelled door ajar for the benefit of
Monique in her kitchen.
‘No, Jacob, our roots are here, this land is our home, it
is the home of our ancestors and it will be the land of our
children and their children. Besides, you know what Robert
says.’ Jeanne was referring to a conversation with her brother in-law, Robert Garrisson, who was also an esteemed lawyer. ‘How
can they possibly prohibit our faith when the vast majority of
the townsfolk are Protestant?’
‘And what if they all recant? For that may well be the
price to pay for remaining here,’ said Jacob, pointing to the
bread.
‘Then we shall cross that bridge if we come to it!’ said
Jeanne with finality. Jacob, exasperated, took the bread basket
from his wife, who softened her smile. She continued: ‘You have
worked so hard, Jacob. Who would have thought five years ago
when your notary licence was taken away that you could become
such a successful merchant and landowner? I am so proud of you.
You have mastered the art of cultivating maize, and this is the
first year the new reservoirs will achieve their full promise.
Would it not be absurd to give it all up now for the folly of a
king who might not be here tomorrow?’
In one sense Jacob knew she was right. Living on foreign
soil would be an absurdity when he had plenty of land at home.
Yet, the continued deprivation of civil rights, the destruction
of temples and the latest imprisonment of pastors all signalled
to his rational mind that he should ship his family and fortune
abroad as had many a Protestant from France. It was clear beyond
doubt that King Louis XIV was bent on implementing his one-faith
policy. There again, perhaps Jeanne was not wrong, perhaps he
was amplifying the bad tidings that the newsletter had planted
in his mind. For Robert had also said that even if there were
further official restrictions of Protestants in office, there
were not enough qualified Catholics in the town to replace them.
But perhaps most of all, Jeanne’s obstinacy was convenient.
It meant that he need not address the logistics of such a
flight, not to mention the organisation of conducting his
affairs from abroad. It also gave him a pretext to go against
his rational judgement and stand his ground. What is more, this
year’s yield was looking to be the finest yet, what with his new
irrigation ponds. So once again, it perhaps suited him to let
her have her way.
‘Besides, there’s the baby,’ said Jeanne, her hand on the
apron that covered her taut belly.
‘Yes, yes, my dear wife,’ said Jacob, who loved her none
the less for all her obstinacy. ‘Decidedly, the harvest should
be a fine one this year, in more ways than one, if it pleaseth
God. But in that case I want you and the children to leave town
early this year, and spend the summer in Verlhac. That way, at least, you will all be out of harm’s reach should danger come
this way.’
‘But Jacob… all our children were born in this house. I…’
‘No, Jeanne,’ said Jacob more sternly, ‘I insist you set
out for Verlhac, or I promise you we will migrate!’
Jeanne recognised the tone of Jacob’s unconditional final
word. But she had won her point, so she let her case rest. After
all, she had to give him some consolation in return for her
victory. Besides, the school had ceased to function; any formal
instruction was dispensed from home nowadays. So she would go to
their country house as per their custom during the hottest
months of the year.
‘All right, my husband, then let us say no more on the
topic of migration,’ she said, thinking to herself that there
would be ample time to travel back to town for her baby to be
delivered by her usual midwife, for its birth was not due until
the corn ears were ripe in their husks.
