CHAPTER 1
Montauban, June 1, 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. 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 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 stay put. 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 nonetheless 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. Its birth was not due until the corn ears were ripe in their husks.
