During one of my journeys, the stagecoach stopped at an inn to give both horses and passengers time to rest. We entered a large room lit by candles. Against one wall stood an enormous fireplace where, instead of logs, an entire tree trunk was burning. Opposite it was a bar made of solid wood where the innkeeper and his employees hurried about. Behind them, shelves overflowed with tankards, bowls, decanters, and many other mismatched objects. A door, which I assumed led to the kitchens, completed the scene.
Rows of tables stood in the centre of the room, while near the windows and beside the fireplace a few armchairs of rather questionable comfort furnished the rest of the inn. I felt as though I had travelled a century back in time.
I settled near a window so that I could read more easily.
Close to me sat a group of eight people — four couples, it seemed. After several mugs of ale, their tongues loosened, and under the influence of alcohol their voices grew louder. I shall therefore recount to you what I heard.
They came from a large village with its central square where one could find the town hall, the notary’s office, the church, an inn, a grocery shop, and a washhouse.
In this small town lived a couple whom I shall call Ernest and Marie CLEMENT, so as not to offend anyone’s sensibilities. They were farmers — landowners, though not truly wealthy. Marie had given birth to six children. The four boys worked the land with their father. Little Marie had died at the age of three from a terrible fever, leaving only the youngest daughter, Eugénie, who had just celebrated her twenty-first birthday.
And yes, she was still unmarried despite the many suitors she had rejected.
Little Eugénie was very beautiful, and she knew it. She was ambitious. She wished to marry a rich man, not the shabby little drifters who had dared present themselves before her.
At Madame DURAND’s grocery shop, she overheard that the notary, Maître SENLIS, had recently inherited from a cousin.
Indeed, Ernest SENLIS was no longer a young man. He was a widower, his three children were already married, but he possessed money.
Eugénie returned home smiling.
She had a plan.
She turned the household upside down searching for fabric and began sewing herself a dress. Her parents were delighted; their little Eugénie had found her calling — she would become a seamstress!
Not at all.
Yet the little minx was talented.
Within a few days, the dress was finished. Her father nearly choked when he saw the neckline. He shouted, raged, and forced his daughter to cover herself more decently.
So she tucked fresh flowers between her breasts.
Well hidden indeed.
That morning, standing before her mirror, she had taken great care with her appearance: her hair carefully pinned up, a few curls left loose at the nape of her neck, flowers placed in her bodice and in her hair.
She was ready.
Today was market day. She knew that Maître SENLIS would be seated at the inn with the mayor and perhaps one of the wealthy men from the neighbouring village.
She grabbed a basket and made her way toward the town.
Along the road, the whistles of the farm workers reassured her. She greeted the mayor’s wife before heading toward the market stalls. Smiling warmly, offering kind words to everyone she met, she made her purchases while slowly drawing nearer to the gentlemen.
She could feel their eyes upon her.
She raised her head and smiled around her.
Then she took a flower from her bodice and offered it to the notary.
All or nothing.
The notary blushed crimson with embarrassment. The mayor wiped wine from his coat after spitting it out in surprise. Furious, the parish priest crossed the square and seized the hussy by the arm. He dragged her toward her parents’ house while promising her the wrath of God and the torments of Hell.
For the first time in her life, her father slapped her.
She did not care.
She waited.
Had her plan succeeded?
Throughout the week, she was forced to go to church every day to do penance. And throughout that same week, she saw Ernest SENLIS watching her from behind the curtain of his office.
She had won.
Dressed more modestly and accompanied by her mother, Eugénie returned to the market. Reassured, the priest — who had been standing guard near the washhouse for quite some time — finally returned to his parishioners.
To reach home, the two women were obliged to pass in front of the inn.
The mayor stared into his glass while the notary rose politely to greet the ladies. Marie no longer knew what to say or do.
As for Eugénie, she answered with a gentle, almost modest smile — but one devastating nonetheless.
Eugénie had won.
Maître SENLIS began sending flowers, gifts, and little notes, all in perfectly respectable fashion.
He was nearly seventy years old.
She was twenty-one.
He wished to spend the last years of his life on the arm of this beautiful young woman. Even the parish priest understood it.
Six months later, the engagement was celebrated quietly among close family. Another six months passed before the wedding.
The church bells rang joyfully throughout the village.
Today, the priest was marrying Ernest and Eugénie.
Ernest’s children had come. Sitting in the front row, the brothers and sister exchanged knowing glances. Behind them sat the rest of Maître SENLIS’s family and friends. On the opposite side were Eugénie’s family and a few friends.
The ceremony dragged on endlessly.
For once the priest had such a large congregation — he intended to make the most of it.
The men discreetly checked their pocket watches. Children whimpered. The priest raised his voice, but he understood at last.
One final prayer.
One final “Amen.”
And the entire gathering followed the newlyweds outside.
The celebration took place at the inn. The tables formed a large U-shape: the bride and groom with their close relatives at the main table, both families seated along the sides.
It took several litres of wine to loosen both bodies and minds.
The peasants grew bolder and began speaking to the wealthy townsfolk. They answered politely, some no doubt seeing financial opportunities in such conversations. But is it not money that makes the world turn?
Late into the night, everyone returned home after offering their farewells and wishing the newlyweds a pleasant night together.
Eugénie found herself in Ernest’s bedroom within his grand house. Because of his age, she assumed he would leave her in peace.
But what she did not know — what nobody knew — was that Ernest frequented the brothels of the region and that his virility was famous among all the prostitutes of the county.
He took her brutally, without tenderness.
Eugénie fell from her dreams.
She had imagined becoming Madame SENLIS, entertaining the wealthy people of the region, continuing to receive gifts from her elderly admirer.
Instead, she found herself married to an insatiable old man who no longer showed her the slightest consideration.
Soon she became pregnant.
First came a son named Ernest, then a daughter, Marie Eugénie, then another boy, Adolphe.
Barely recovered from childbirth, she became pregnant again. She was fertile.
What she had desired was money and an easy life — not a never-ending string of children who exhausted her, weakened her, and ruined her beauty.
The doctor warned Ernest: they must wait at least two years before another child, or Eugénie would not survive.
But Ernest had his needs.
And now that he was married, he refused to visit his former “lady friends.”
Eugénie died while giving birth to her final child, a little girl who did not survive her mother.
She was not yet twenty-six years old.
She had believed money meant happiness.
She left behind three children, parents devastated by grief, and a seventy-five-year-old widower seated at the inn terrace, dreaming that another young beauty might one day offer him a flower.
It was nearly six o’clock when the coachman called us back.
I still had a long journey ahead of me, and I dislike travelling at night. I decided to take a room and board the first stagecoach in the morning.
There is no story quite like this one in Catherine’s genealogy, but I simply could not resist sharing it with you.
A rebrousse temps généalogie 