I have difficulty accounting for the trip La Corbinière took to Germany. Angélique de Longueval mentions nothing about it. Back in those days they used to refer to the entire area of upper Burgundy as Germany. It was here, as we have seen, that the duke de Longueval had come down with dysentery and, in all likelihood, it was here that La Corbinière probably spent some time in his service.
If I am to believe the ballads I used to hear in my childhood, the character of the fathers in the region I am now visiting has not changed over time. They display a mixture of paternal severity and grandfatherly goodnaturedness. Here is one of the songs I have collected in this ancient land of Île-de France that stretches from Parisis to the edge of Picardy:King Loys sits on his bridge4
With his daughter on his lap.
She asks to marry a knight ...
Without a penny to call his own!
— Oh, my father, he shall be mine
Despite what mother thinks,
Despite my kith and kin
Father, despite my love for you!
Such is the character of the young women of this region. The father, — who shows quite a bit of character himself, — replies:— Daughter, you must change your heart
Or I’ll lock you in the tower ...
To which the daughter responds:— Father, I’d rather be in the tower
Than have to change my heart!
The father sticks to his guns:— Quick, where are my grooms
Where is my palace guard?
Let them lock her in the tower,
From this very day and hour.
The balladeer adds:There she remained for seven years,
Lost to all who held her dear.
At the end of the seventh year,
Her father came to visit her.
— Good day, daughter, how are you faring?
— Father, I am faring very poorly.
My feet are rotting on the floor,
My belly is full of worms.
— Daughter, you must change your heart
Or you’ll stay on in the tower.
— I’d rather die in this tower
Than change my heart, dear father.
Here we have just had an example of paternal strictness; — now let’s turn to paternal leniency.
It’s a shame you cannot hear these old tunes for yourself, — they are all the more poetic given the fact that their lines, which are full of assonances (in the Spanish style), follow the rhythm of the music:Beneath the white rose tree
The lady makes her way ...
This ballad has since been ruined by anthologists who have tinkered with its lines and pretended that it came from the Bourbonnais region. They even printed a version of it accompanied by illustrations and dedicated it to the deposed queen of France ... I cannot quote the thing in its entirety, but here are some details I still remember.
The three captains ride by the white rose tree:The youngest of the three
Took her by her hand so white:
— Come, my lovely lady, come
Away on my white steed ...
You can see from these four lines that poetry does not always have to rhyme. This is something the Germans know; — in some of their poems, they use only longs and shorts in the fashion of the Romans or Greeks.
The three horsemen and the young lady who was riding pillion behind the youngest one finally reached Senlis. When they got into town, the innkeeper cast her a glance:— Come in, come in, my lovely girl,
Come in, but please be quiet
If with these three captains
You intend to spend the night.
Realizing that she has placed herself in a somewhat compromising position, after joining them for supper she plays dead and the three horsemen are naïve enough to fall for the trick. — They say to each other: « Oh lord, the girl is dead! » and wonder where they should now take her:— To her father’s garden!
says the youngest one; and they proceed to dump her body beneath the rose tree.
The narrator continues:And three days later
She comes back to life!
— Oh father, father,
Please open the door!
I’ve played dead for three days
My honor for to save!
The father and the entire family are having supper. Having worried about her absence for the past three days, they are all overjoyed to see the young lady, — who probably got married quite honorably some time later.
Let’s get back to Angélique de Longueval.
« But as for my decision to leave my native land, it came about as follows: when he5 who had gone to Maine returned to Verneuil, my father asked him before supper: “How well off are you?” To which he replied: “Well enough off.” Rankled by this answer, my father grabbed a knife from the table and threw himself at him. My mother and I ran toward them, but he who was to cause me so much sorrow had already wounded his finger trying to get the knife away from my father ... and even after having been treated this poorly, his love for me was such that he refused to leave as indeed he should have.
« Eight days went by without my father so much as saying a word to him, during which time he sent me letters begging me to run off with him, a decision I was still unable to make. But after eight days, my father said to him in the garden: “I am surprised that you have the gall to stay on in my house after what happened; please leave the premises immediately and never dare set foot again in any of my houses, for you shall not be welcome.”
« He quickly saddled his horse and went up to his room to get his belongings; he had made a sign that I should meet him over in d’Haraucourt’s quarters where there was an antechamber with a door that closed where one could talk. I rushed over there and he said to me: “Now’s the time to make your decision; otherwise you shall never see me again.”
« I asked him to give me three days to think things over. He went off to Paris and came back to Verneuil after three days. Try as I might, I could not decide to give up everything I felt for him; as I turned things over in my mind, all the indignities I had suffered passed before my eyes. In the end, love and despair made up my mind. I had come to a decision. »
After three days, La Corbninière returned to the castle and went in through the small garden. Angélique de Longueval was waiting for him there and ushered him into her quarters, where he was seized with joy upon hearing of the young lady’s decision.
Their departure was fixed for the first Sunday of Lent and hearing him observe « that they would need money and a horse », she said she would see what she could do.
Angélique wracked her mind for a way to get at the silver dishes, for there was no money in the house, her father having taken it all to Paris with him.
When the appointed day arrived, she said to one of the grooms by the name of Breteau:
« I would be most grateful if you could lend me a horse. I need to send for some taffeta at Soissons tonight. I promise I’ll have the horse back to you by the morning, before mother gets up; the only reason I want to borrow it for the night is so she won’t reprimand you for coming to my aid. »
The groom bowed to the wishes of the young lady of the house. Now all she needed was the key to the front gate of the castle. She told the porter that she wanted to let someone out that night so they could go fetch something for her in town but she didn’t want her mother to find out ... if only he could slip her the key to the front gate without her mother noticing.
The main thing was to lay hands on the silver plate. The countess who, according to her daughter’s account, seemed « inspired by God » at that very moment, said over supper to one of the housekeepers: « Huberde, since M. d’ Haraucourt is away, I would like you to lock the silver dishes into this trunk and bring me the key. »
The young lady went pale, — they would have to change their day of departure. But when her mother went off to the country the following Sunday, she had a blacksmith brought in from the village to lift off the lock, — pretending that the k
ey had been lost.
« But, she writes, that was not all. My younger brother had stayed behind with me and when he heard the various orders I was giving and noticed that I had closed the front gate of the castle, he said: “Sister, if you want to steal from mother and father I’m not going to go along with it; I’m going to go tell mother on you.” — Go ahead if want, you little brat, I said; she’ll find out anyway from my own lips, and if she objects, I’ll go ahead and do it anyway.” — But I said these words without in fact meaning them at all. The boy was running off to blurt out what I wanted to keep secret, but he kept on turning around to see if I was watching him; imagining that I did not care what he was up to, he decided to turn back. I had deliberately pretended indifference, knowing that the more you show children you are anxious, the more they want to divulge whatever you have asked them to keep secret. »
When night had fallen and it was time to go to bed, Angélique said goodnight to her mother with a heavy heart, — and, upon reaching her room, told her chambermaid:
« Jeanne, go to sleep. I have something on my mind; I’m going to stay up a bit longer ... »
She threw herself on her bed fully dressed and waited for midnight to strike. — La Corbinière arrived exactly on time.
« Oh Lord, what an hour! — Angélique writes, — I trembled when I heard the pebble he had thrown at my window ... for he had come in through the small garden. »
P.S. Someone wrote me today from a public library in Paris that there were two abbés de Bucquoy who existed, — a real one and a false one.
I had my suspicions, especially after reading the report that d’Argenson submitted to Pontchartrain which contained the phrase: « The alleged abbé de Bucquoy », etc.
We shall try down the line to unmask the interloper who supposedly usurped the identity of the descendent of the count de Bucquoy, generalissimo in the Austrian army during the Bohemian War.
THE DEPARTURE. — THE SILVER CHEST ARRIVAL AT CHARENTON. — DESCENT OF THE RHÔNE. — GENOA. — VENICE
When La Corbinière reached her room, Angélique said to him:
« “Things are not going as planned. Mother has placed all the silver dishes under lock and key, something she has never done before. But I have the key to the larder where they keep the trunk.”
« To this he simply replied: “Just get dressed and then we’ll figure out what to do.”
« With his help, I proceeded to pull on the boots and spurs over my stockings. Then the groom came over to my quarters with the horse. I was at my wit’s end and quickly slipped on a ratine skirt to cover up the men’s clothing I was wearing below the waist. Then I took the horse from Breteau and led it out the front gate of the castle and tied it up to the elm tree under which the girls used to dance during village festivals. Then I went back to my quarters where I found my cousin (that was what I was supposed to call him) waiting impatiently for me. He said: “Let’s go see what we can find; otherwise we’ll have to leave empty-handed.” — We proceeded to the kitchen, which was near the larder; having stirred up the coals in the hearth to create some light to see by, I caught sight of large iron shovel, which I picked up. I then said to him:
“Let’s go into the larder”, and having located the trunk, we tried to force open its lid, which was not tightly closed. I then said to him: “Place the shovel between the trunk and the lid.” We tried to pry it open, but nothing happened. We tried again, and the hinges snapped and I put my hand inside. »
She found a pile of silver plates which she handed over to La Corbinière. She was about to dig more out, when he said: « Don’t take anymore out, the sack is full. »
She wanted to take more articles, such as bowls, chandeliers, and ewers. But he said: « We’ll never be able to carry it all. »
And he told her to go put on her doublet and her cape, — so that nobody would recognize her dressed as a man.
They went straight to Compiègne, where they sold Angélique’s horse for forty écus. Then they took a post-chaise which brought them to Charenton that evening.
The river was flooded, so they had to spend the night there. — Angélique, dressed as a man, managed to pass unrecognized by the innkeeper’s wife, who said, — as « the postilion was pulling off her boots » : « Gentlemen, what would you like for supper?
— Whatever you recommend, Madame », was the reply.
But Angélique went to bed, too exhausted to eat. She was terrified they would be found out by her father the count de Longueval « who was in Paris at that moment ».
The following morning they took a boat as far as Essonne, but the young lady was so worn out that she said to La Corbinière:
« Why don’t you just proceed on to Lyons with the silverplate and wait for me there? »
They stayed on at Essonne for three days, waiting for the coach that was to take them on to Lyons and tending to all the scratches that Angélique had received on her thighs in the course of her wild ride.
Somewhere beyond Moulins, a man who was in the coach and who claimed to be a gentleman began mumbling:
« Do I smell a rat? Do we have a young lady here dressed as a man? »
To which La Corbinière replied:
« So what, sir?... Would you care to make anything of it? I believe I have the right to dress my wife any bloody way I choose. »
They arrived in Lyon that evening and stayed at the Red Hat inn where they sold their dishes for three hundred écus. With the proceeds La Corbinière had himself made « a handsome scarlet outfit with golden and silver braids, though he had no need for it whatsoever. »
They then took a boat down the Rhône and, having stopped at an inn for the night, La Corbinière wanted to try out his pistols. He was so clumsy that he managed to lodge a bullet in Angélique de Longueval’s right foot. To those who accused him of ineptitude, all he could say was: « What a stroke of bad luck ... if I don’t say so myself, — after all, the woman is my wife. »
Angélique spent three days in bed, then they once again embarked and followed the Rhône down to Avignon, where Angélique had her wound treated; when she recovered, they took another boat to Toulon, where they arrived on Easter Sunday.
As they were leaving port for Genoa, they were caught in a storm; they anchored in a safe haven, at a castle known as Saint-Soupir. Seeing them safe and sound, the lady of the manor had the Salve regina sung. Then she had a meal prepared for them, — a local preparation featuring olives and capers. Their servant was in turn served artichokes.
« You see what love can do, notes Angélique; — here we were in a place that was completely uninhabited and we went three days without food while waiting for the wind to rise. And yet the hours seemed like minutes to me, even though I was famished. Fearing the plague, they would not allow us to stop at Villefranche to take on provisions. We were thus forced to sail onward, all of us starved. But afraid the ship might go down, I first wanted to confess myself to a Franciscan priest who was on board, also on his way to Genoa.
« My husband (this is how she refers to him from here on in) seeing a gentleman from Genoa entering our room and addressing us in broken French, said: “Sir, is there anything I can do for you?” — Yes, said the gentleman of Genoa, I would like to have a few words with Madame.” My husband instantly drew his sword and said: “Are you acquainted with her? Get out of here before I kill you.”
« M. Audriffet came to see us forthwith and recommended that we immediately depart, for this gentleman of Genoa would certainly be taking his revenge.
« We disembarked at Civitavecchia and then proceeded on to Rome, where we stayed at one of the finest hotels while waiting to move into some furnished rooms located on the street of the Burgundians in the house of a gentleman from the Piedmont whose wife was Roman. One day, while I was at the window, the nephew of His Holiness was passing by with nineteen armed escorts, one of whom called up to me in Italian: “Signorina, His Eminence has asked me to inquire whether you would agree to receive him.” Trembling, I repli
ed: “If my husband were here, I would gladly accept this honor; but since he is absent, I humbly beg your master to excuse me.”
« He had stopped his carriage three houses down from ours and was waiting for my answer; having heard my reply, he moved on in his carriage and I never heard from him again. »
Shortly after this, La Corbinière informed her that he had met one of her father’s falconers, a certain La Roirie. She felt a great desire to see him; when he laid eyes on her, « he stood there speechless »; then, having assured himself that she was indeed Angélique, he told her that the wife of the ambassador had heard about her and would like to see her.
Angélique de Longueval was well-received by the ambassador’s wife. — Nonetheless, she had reason to fear that the falconer had said things about her and La Corbinière that might lead to their arrest.
They were disappointed to have spent twenty-nine days in Rome and to have made so many efforts to get married without succeeding. « Thus, — Angélique observes, — I left Rome without ever seeing the Pope ... »
It was at Ancona that they caught the boat that was to take them to Venice. They got caught in a storm in the Adriatic; upon arriving in Venice, they found lodgings on the Grand Canal.
« Although a lovely city in all respects, — writes Angélique de Longueval, — I couldn’t bear the place because it was in the middle of the sea. Only the fear of dying made me continue eating and drinking while I was there. »
Meanwhile, their money was running out and Angélique said to La Corbinière: « What are we going to do? We shall soon be out of money! »
He said, « Once we’re back on terra firma, the good Lord will watch over us ... Get dressed, we’re going to mass at San Marco. »
When they got to the cathedral of San Marco, the couple sat in the pews reserved for senators; and though they were foreigners, nobody dared say a word to them; — for La Corbinière was wearing chausses of black velvet, a doublet and cloak made of the finest brocade and a silver plume.
The Salt Smugglers Page 8
