The Crimson Heirlooms

by Hunter Dennis

  Monsieur Roquer gave him a moment to stare then spoke, “It is the work of Jean Cousin the Younger, we believe. It was painted somewhere around the time of the building of the house, so the trip from Paris would have been quite difficult for Jean Cousin the Elder. Their work is nearly indistinguishable, you know.”

  “So, the painting is from…?”

  “From 1576, or thereabouts. The Traversier family was already successful by then, of course.”

  “When does the Cross of Nantes come into this painting?”

  “The Cross of Nantes was finished by 1700. But one cannot understand the Cross of Nantes without understanding the history of Traversier, Monsieur. And I suppose one cannot understand Traversier without understanding the history of Nantes.”

  “Then I am all listening ears.”

  Roquer began to walk. “Nantes is the furthest point inland on the Loire deep enough for ocean-going ships. We are at the confluence of the Loire, the Sèvre and the Erdre rivers, and not too far from a handful of others.” Monsieur Roquer moved right, into the north wing of the house, and into a three-story library. Jake had never seen so many books in one place in his life, even at Louis-le-Grand. Roquer continued, “The Loire connects us with cities further inland, such as Anger, Saumur, Tours and Orléans. The Loire valley has always been fertile and productive. We eat well when Paris starves.”

  Monsieur Roquer stopped in front of several ancient framed pieces of parchment, covered in faded Latin, all sealed at the bottom in ribbon and wax. “These are from the twelfth century, but the Traversier family can trace its name in the records of Nantes to the eleventh, when the city was re-inhabited after the Viking occupation. They were successful fishermen and minor traders until the city, along with the rest of the Duchy of Brittany, merged with the Kingdom of France in 1532.” Roquer moved further into the library. “At that point, they became proper merchantmen. As Nantes began to grow in size and economy, so too did the legacy of Traversier. By 1576 the original part of this château was completed. We are in the newer addition, completed in 1712.”

  The Traversier family was extraordinarily wealthy fifty years before the first European settlement in New England. They built an add-on to their mansion before the existence of New Jersey, Georgia, or South Carolina.

  When he emerged from the thought, Jake found himself looking at a large portrait. The painted man was stern, even hard-looking. He was large-featured and long-haired. He sported extravagant Van Dyck facial hair and was dressed finely in a black tunic with blue embroidery. Whoever this man was, one could easily tell he didn’t suffer fools, he didn’t waste time, and he was rich. Monsieur Roquer spoke, “This is a Peter Paul Rubens from 1630. Rubens was in Paris at the time. It was fashionable to travel to Nantes at least once, if one was an artist in Paris. Where there is gold, you will find painters. And back then there was plenty of gold in Nantes.”

  “Who is the subject, Monsieur?” Jake asked.

  “Jules César Traversier, as he was in 1630. He was the first of the family to engage in the slavery and sugar trade. Back then, naval technology was still fairly primitive. It is hard to believe, but the trade was even more dangerous, time-consuming and expensive than it is now.”

  They went from the library into a series of antechambers and sitting rooms, all bordering a grand, proper ballroom. The tour quickly revealed that the staircase in the foyer was not the only staircase, nor was it the only double staircase. Huge fireplaces proliferated, and the furniture was fit for kings - carved, inlaid, and nary a straight line, but rather made of graceful and impossible curves of wood and metal. Ornate carvings decorated every wall, the hardwood and marble floors were in ornamental patterns. Silk wallpaper adorned the walls, wrapping them like presents for a duchess.

  Roquer continued, more interested in history than artifacts, “Slavery is what turned a wealthy family into a dynasty of demigods. The first voyage of Jules César netted a profit of two-hundred thousand livre. The Traversier legacy of status and wealth was born healthy and screaming.”

  “You are a poet, Monsieur.”

  “I wish the words were mine. Tours of this house have been given for centuries. Servants have built upon it over the years. I’m afraid my part in the creation of the telling is small.”

  “Slavery is quite immoral, is it not? Are you quite sanguine about its spiritual implications?”

  “No, indeed. The Traversier Trust does not currently engage in slavery, Monsieur. Although with its relegalization, plenty of other merchants in Nantes are guilty of it. Xavier Traversier, the last of them, ordered the practice halted right before he died, although he was a magnificent slaver himself.”

  “Were they Freemasons, these Traversier?”

  “Only the last two.”

  “I’m shocked that a Freemason would engage in slavery.”

  “It does seem strange. But Nantes has one god above all others, Monsieur. If one can coax the heavens to rain gold, it is a baptism of forgiveness for all sins. There was no stigma to being a slaver whatsoever. It was legal, regulated and taxed, after the Code Noir of 1685. Even the church put its stamp of approval on the enterprise.”

  “I would have thought that corruption beneath them.”

  “There was no way of exposing Africans to Christ. Slavery at least could save some souls. At least, that was their reasoning.”

  “Then they saved by damning. How does any man do such a thing, I wonder? Sell another human being.”

  Roquer was pensive, “Living in this house, I have thought often about the relationship between evil acts and otherwise good men.”

  “You indulge in a complex form of philosophical mathematics, Monsieur.”

  “My pensive meanderings are worthwhile to none, but even birds must pause on a branch to sing.”

  “May I inquire as to your findings?”

  Monsieur Roquer was again thoughtful before he spoke, “Not many of them chose to dwell on the horrors they witnessed. They had a job to perform in order to advance their families. They steeled themselves and they did it. None of them were raving mad, nor were they seemingly evil. In fact, Traversier had an excellent reputation around the world. It didn’t matter if you were speaking to the chiefs of Africa, the farmers of Saint-Domingue, or the merchants of Nantes - all would have said the same thing, Monsieur. They were good and honest businessmen with spotless reputations. Although sometimes, at least in the beginning, they were criticized for their lack of religious conviction. But soon the world caught up to them in that regard. For a time, at least. France is now as religious as ever, I suppose.”

  “They were good bourgeoise, these Traversier.”

  “Indeed, Monsieur. The religious wars raged around Nantes when Jules César was a child. We’ve all heard stories, but imagine what he saw, being so close in time and space to the atrocities of the Reformation.”

  “I suppose his moral blindness was cured in this instance by evils close enough to touch.”

  “Yes, one does pay more attention to one’s own backyard, do we not?”

  “Indeed, Monsieur Roquer.”

  They had come full circle to the south end of the first double staircase. Roquer stopped in front of another portrait, also of a man. This one was more recent. The drab tones and simple styles of the Seventeenth Century had given way to the riotous colors and bizarre wigs of the Eighteenth. The man was slim, almost gawky, and wore glasses. He looked intelligent and unwise at the same time, like some kind of misguided academic, or an impotent but benign king. The background was dark, and the foreground was empty, but the man held an object of legend in his palm.

  It could be nothing else but the Cross of Nantes.

  More time was spent by the painter on the artifact than on the man’s face. It was as if he realized the masterpiece demanded the proper obeisance from his own art. The cuts of its crimson gems speckled red stars of light across the canvass and the wounds of the golden Christ upon it. If the real object was even a fifth as glorious as its portr
ayal, it was fit for the crown of Jupiter. Monsieur Roquer shook his head, “This was done by Gilles Allou in 1703. I realize Gilles Allou is anonymous. But I assure you that back then, he was quite well-respected, and it was thought his work would be remembered.”

  “The painter was ambivalent toward the man. But not toward the Cross.”

  “No one, Monsieur - no one - is ambivalent in their feelings regarding the Cross. It was a glorious product of God and man’s will in concert, for its materials were the pinnacle of the majesty of creation, and its working performed by the most paramount skills of the mortal craftsman. It was said the crimson diamonds married with the light akin to the ocean as it kissed the setting sun. To see this interplay was to become utterly spellbound, by all accounts. There is nothing that mankind has made that is as valuable for its size and beauty.”

  “Crimson diamonds?”

  “It is a rare and brilliant hue - priceless. Far more spectacular than a ruby or carnelian. There are only twenty-eight specimens so far unearthed by man, and nearly half that number adorn the Cross of Nantes. The cross itself was made of carved stone. Translucent, white Olmec jadeite, to be precise - beyond value in and of itself. The rest, the corpus, settings and adornment, was made of gold.”

  “Why does he hold it? The man in the painting.”

  “He is its creator, he commissioned it.”

  “Was there a specific purpose behind its creation?”

  “Yes. In a word - absolution. By his time, no one in the family ever left for Africa, or anywhere else for that matter. The business was left in the hands of their employees. The Traversier were so wealthy that even when it became possible to purchase a nobility, they did no such thing. They could have made themselves princes. But they realized having wealth, and purposefully not becoming noble, made them better than the aristocrats.”

  “They avoided the empty vanity of titles, for the truer vanity of wealth and fame earned by merit.”

  “Ironically, the Traversier of this time were precisely titled by birth, and not at all by their own merit.”

  “The man in the painting, Monsieur?”

  “Sevan Gédéon Traversier, then paterfamilias of the clan. He was the only Traversier to ever become religious - although perhaps it is better said he became as religious as his gift of faith allowed. He was also weak-willed, dull and introverted, by all accounts. Sevan enjoyed his wealth and place in society, but he feared for his soul. He devised the perfect plan, at least to Sevan Gédéon, to ensure his salvation but keep his lifestyle intact. He would make a priceless treasure, and send it to the Holy Father, Pope Clement the Eleventh, with the implicit condition that the Holy Father pray for the souls of the Traversier family, especially one Sevan Gédéon, and their dearly departed in Purgatory.”

  Jake smiled. “Wealth, garnered from the profits of human suffering, used to purchase forgiveness for the venture itself.”

  “Or so thought Sevan, although his thoughts were more basic and missed the irony entirely. The Cross of Nantes was not large, as you can see. If Clement received the gift he could only wear it with his choir dress cassock. Truthfully, the mission behind the creation of the Cross was perhaps doomed from the start. It was whispered that the artisans knew of Sevan’s lack of mental acuity. Counting on his ignorance, they set out to create a masterpiece of platonic perfection, with no effort given to fulfilling its ordered function. If true, they succeeded beyond their wildest imaginings.”

  “It is lovely. It is actually... disconcertingly lovely.”

  “You will see better portrayals later.” Monsieur Roquer walked up the stairs, and stopped at another framed parchment adorned with seals and ribbons. Jake recognized the crossed key insignia of the Vatican upon it: it was an official correspondence from a Holy Father. “Sevan did not go to Rome himself,” continued Roquer, “His salvation, like his business, was entrusted to hired hands, and placed on the Traversier sloop Caïn le Laboureur. His agent was the Bishop of Nantes, a family friend and distant relative. With him was the Cross, a large chest of coin, and a parchment note requesting the absolution and prayers of the Father. The Bishop returned two months later with the Cross, a different note - which you see here - and considerably less coin. In a well-wrought hand, as you can see-”

  “In beautiful Latin.”

  “In beautiful Latin, the Pope’s secretary politely explained that what Sevan wished from the Holy Father was called an indulgence - and indulgences were no longer given by the church. Pope Clement advised Sevan to go to confession, delve into scripture, and place his trust in God. Through prayer, he would be led to God’s Will, and be guided to do the Lord’s work. As for the Cross, it was a wonder to behold, and would be a shame to not be available for all of mankind to see. Clement advised Sevan to hang the Cross from the neck of a statue of the Virgin, at a holy site of his choosing. The Holy Father suggested Chartres, Notre Dame de Paris or perhaps Saint-Denis. Even a cathedral in Nantes would be an admirable choice, and the Cross would not only attract visitors to the city, but increase Marian awareness and devotion.”

  “Interesting. What was his choice?”

  “Sevan did none of those things. He felt belittled by the Pope’s reply and didn’t understand his reticence in accepting the gift. From his writings, we know he felt guilty and ashamed and didn’t know why. He retreated from the church, and kept the Cross in his office desk.”

  “You’re joking, of course.”

  “In an unlocked drawer, no less. It is said he would often stare at it. He wrote that looking at the Cross never became repetitive or boring - it truly was a wonder to behold.” They reached the first landing and Roquer slowed, “At a total cost of three-and-a-half-million livres - at a time when a fully-rigged Dutch sloop could be had for seventeen-thousand livres - it should have been.”

  That was two hundred ships, give or take.

  At the time, a commoner’s annual wage was perhaps five-hundred livre.

  Jake shook his head, “Did the Cross bankrupt them, Monsieur?”

  “The generational wealth of Traversier was not completely exhausted by the commission of the Cross. Remember, the addition to the main house was constructed around this time as well. Sevan could have easily purchased a desk with locked drawers, if that was your thought. Or had one of a dozen previously purchased over the years moved to his office. He never did.”

  “And the Cross was stolen.”

  “No, Monsieur. The Cross’s time in Sevan’s desk passed uneventfully.” Roquer chuckled, and continued up the stairs. “Sevan passed away. He was replaced by more apt members of his clan, and the family quickly righted itself. The Cross made its way onto the décolletage of Traversier matrons; knowledge of its original intent forgotten.”

  Roquer stopped in front of another painting. It was of a stunning woman with a sly smile, wearing the Cross of Nantes around her neck. The artist must have been in love with her, and in love with the Cross. If not, he was certainly spellbound by both. “This was done in 1722 by Charles-Antoine Coypel, the First Painter to King Louis the Fifteenth. Gwenaëlle Traversier first wore the Cross to a ball hosted by the mayor of Nantes, Monsieur René Le Ray de Fumet. She was absolutely resplendent in pink silk, the exact dress portrayed here. This was Coypel’s greatest work. He asked that it never be publicly displayed. He painted Madame de Pompadour, the King’s mistress, you see. But he was never able to portray Madame with as much finesse. I’m sure you understand.”

  The Cross easily upstaged the dress. There was something about the white stone that absorbed the light and made it glow. It was becoming more apparent with each viewing, seeing it through the eyes of those who mastered light and color - the stone became alive.

  Jake realized Roquer was talking in front of another painting, “-years later she gave it to her sister-in-law, Athénaïs, renowned for her beauty, who proved to the world the Cross looked equally-well paired with white, green and blue. Jean-Baptiste Marie Pierre, 1735. Another First Painter of the King, although no
t until 1770.”

  It was a triptych: three identically framed paintings of one woman from the same angle, only the pose, location, light and dresses were different. The light changed not for the woman, but for the crimson diamonds of the Cross. The painter was again in love - and not with her. He had eyes only for the necklace.

  Monsieur Roquer was moving further up the stairs. “But in 1749 the Cross made its way into the hands of Philippine Traversier, and its fortunes changed. This is a Jean-Marc Nattier. He was renowned for his portraits of women, but, as you can see, his choices for this work were quite shocking.”

  In the painting, one could hardly see Philippine’s face, for her head was tilted downward. She held the Cross, but only part of it was visible. It was a unique pose for a portrait – nearly heretical in style. A painter could have been sued for such a work.

  Monsieur Roquer continued, “Philippine was intelligent, but occasionally possessed of premonitions and feelings from which she could not shake free. In 1754, she had a horrible sense of foreboding that something malevolent was about to be visited upon her husband, Priam Paul. She insisted that he take the Cross for good luck on his next voyage - and so he did.”

  1754.

  Jake’s memory stirred. “The beginning of the first war to rage across the entire world. A few previous conflagrations had small skirmishes in far-ranging places, but that one – 1754 - was the beginning of world war in earnest.”

  “Indeed, Monsieur. Indian Moghuls, Russian Cossacks, Iroquois and Huron braves, Brazilians and Caribes, Swedes, Germans, Yankees, soldiers from across the Spanish, French, British and Portuguese empires, clashing on land and sea. The Seven Year’s War - a crushing defeat. We lost Canada, India, everything east of the Mississippi, and our pride. And gained debt, mountains of debt.”

  “As did Britain,” added Jake.

  “Indeed!”