Documents are piling up on my desk, and I don’t like it. I feel as though my mind is about to get lost in all that paperwork.
I leave my desk behind. I got up very early this morning, yet it is only half past ten. After a quick wash, I head for the park.
It is May 1847, and nature is beginning to dress itself in the colours of the coming summer. The air is gentler. Even the breeze seems to have found its rhythm, teasing the freshly unfurled leaves. I savour the moment, letting my shawl slip from my shoulders.
I sit beside the fountain. The sun plays with the wind and the young leaves in the trees. The mischievous rascal seems determined to dazzle me. I smile. My habit of bringing everything around me to life always makes me happy.
After a few errands around the neighbourhood, I return home. Following a simple meal, I settle into my armchair with a cup of coffee in my hand. As I swallow the last sip of that delicious drink…
I find myself riding side-saddle on horseback. I pass a milestone that reads: Blendecques – 2.5 kilometres.
A uniformed man approaches me.
« Has the young lady lost her way? »
« Don’t worry, Mr Leroy. I’m not lost. I came to meet you. »
« How is that? You know me? But… but… you’re Mademoiselle Rose! »
« Indeed I am, Mr Leroy. You have a smile bright enough to send an army of demons running. »
He laughed.
« Well, Mademoiselle Rose, my eighth child was born on the 6th of May. Our little Augustine has filled our hearts with happiness. »
« Eight children… Your wife must be a courageous woman when you spend days at a time out on the roads. »
« She is the one who keeps our home together. Without her, I couldn’t do this job. While I travel the roads, she raises our children, sees to their education and is already preparing for our next move whenever the administration transfers me. »
« Would you tell me about your work? »
« Certainly. But allow me to suggest that we ride a little farther. There’s a small clearing just ahead where we can stop safely. »
I follow him along the road.
We soon reach the little clearing that stretches into the woods. From one of his saddlebags, he takes out a blanket and spreads it on the ground. He waits until I am seated before taking his own place.
« So then, Mademoiselle Rose, what would you like to know? »
« You are an officer of the Indirect Tax Service. That sounds rather impressive. What exactly do you do? »
« I spend my days on the roads. I inspect carts, wagons and convoys carrying goods subject to government duties: wine, spirits, tobacco, salt… I check the paperwork, verify the quantities being transported and make sure all taxes have been properly paid. »
« So you stop travellers? »
« Only those carrying taxable goods. If everything is in order, I wish them a pleasant journey. If I uncover fraud, however, I draw up an official report and the goods may be confiscated. »
« And do you collect the taxes yourself? »
« No. That isn’t my responsibility. I’m not a tax collector. My duty is simply to ensure that the law is respected. Any money owed is collected later by the administration. »
I watched his horse, already eager to continue its journey.
« You must cover many miles. »
« Dozens every week. Whatever the weather. Rain, snow or heat never excuse us from our duty. And whenever the administration transfers me, we must leave our home and begin again in another town with the whole family. »
« That is a profession requiring both endurance and integrity. Behind every horseman travelling these roads is a man entrusted with protecting the nation’s revenue. »
« Do you ever fear smugglers? Some must resent being inspected. »
« Of course. There are always those who think they’re clever enough to fool me. I also worry about highwaymen who imagine I carry large sums of money. »
« Is your horse your most faithful companion? Do you spend more time with him than with your family? »
« I’m afraid that happens rather more often than I’d like. »
« In every season? What do you do when the roads become impassable in winter? »
« I have no choice but to adapt. Quite often I’m forced to continue on foot. »
« Does your family accompany you whenever you’re transferred? »
« If I know the posting will last for several months, or even years, then yes, my family comes with me. »
« Thank you, Mr Leroy. I’ll let you continue your journey. »
« It was my pleasure, Mademoiselle Rose. Goodbye! »
The officer nodded, urged his horse forward and resumed his patrol, disappearing around a bend lined with tall poplar trees.
Slowly, I awoke.
I smiled.
Now I had everything I needed to write.
The aroma of coffee still lingered in the room. The fountain, the horses and the woodland clearing had all faded away. Only the documents remained, scattered across my desk.
« No pile of papers is going to run my life… certainly not! »
Gaspard Augustin Henri LEROY (1801–1876) is Catherine’s Sosa No. 98, meaning he is her great-great-grandfather.
A rebrousse temps généalogie 