After the long story about Arnaud, I had a very fitful sleep. Perhaps it was the bed which was probably built for Napoleon when he was a child, but I hardly got any sleep after the exhausting day. It was probably the worst time I had sleeping while in France. The next day, however, was more of an improvement.
My family woke at the Chateau Bouceel next morning and
shared a lovely breakfast cooked by Reggi himself. The first thing he asked, of course was,
“Were you visited by the ghost?”
“Ghost?” we
asked.
“Oui,” he said. “The Countess, it is she who this house was built for. She is here now, has been since we opened it
up to guests. I suppose she enjoys the
life and love that is once again after so many years of quiet.”
None of us had seen a ghost, though my mom had locked the
door to the room, mostly because the upstairs was just a little creepy. None of us really believed in ghosts, but
Reggi shared a story that had me convinced.
Supposedly he came down one night and found a light on. This light was on a particular switch that
needed to be pushed to go in. Reggi said
he flipped the switch and was halfway up the stairs when the thing clicked itself
back in and the light came on. At the
same time, a similar light was being pushed on in a neighboring house they rent
out, and the guests told him the story the next morning.
Reggi related to them the story of the countess, and was
surprised to find that one of the guests was actually a medium. “It happened perhaps because she was there,
for there was no way they could have known about my own relation with the light
at the same time of night.” He said
with a smile.
There were more stories, including the aforementioned one
about General Armond. Reggi imparted
bits of the man’s life, and how after championing American democracy he had
returned to a monarchy in crisis. Though
a war hero, he was a noble and immediately beset by the mobs of Robespierre and
chased. Gravely injured during his ride,
the man was taken to a local house of a friend he knew. There, he learned of the death of Louis XVI,
and this man who had fought for our independence so valiantly simply could not
continue to live. He died before the
terror that was to follow.
I’d sat and listened for quite a while, and now something
of my own curiosity stirred in my head.
Sitting there beneath the portraits of his ancestors and Marie
Antoinette, and given all the history he’d related, I had to ask. “What is the French perception of their
revolution now? At the time, I know,
they thought they were championing democracy but all they got was darker
depravity and terror. Do they still
believe it is the great thing to this day?’
Reggi considered my question. Foremost in my mind was the haunted feeling
I’d had at Versailles staring at the paintings, the story about the plan for a giant
guillotine where the Eiffel is, and my own study of the history of the Revolution. At length he related his own feeling. “The French kings were moderate ones, and
Louis the XVI wanted change for his people’s good. He was resisted by the very forces that put
him to death however. He knew and feared
for what would happen without a monarchy, for he knew the danger of nearby
Prussia. The land was under French
control, and sure enough after the fall of the regime, those lands were shattered by their own infighting. After the revolution, Napolean
reunited those lands as one, and only made things worse, for after his own
departure and with his influence, they became Germany. Shortly after we had the 100 years war … then
after that World War I, World War II.”
Reggi paused and shook his head. “No, I do not think that the French believe
the revolution was so great. In the end,
the intelligence of the mob is only equal to the single least educated person
among them all.”
It was an interesting insight, and I had to reflect deeply
upon it. I had always been taught and
thought myself that the last king and queen of France were victims of their own
unfortunate circumstance. From the
portraits and from my research, they were the most human of the house of
Bourbon. In the end, they were put to
death by the people they had loved, but had misunderstood. Louis had wanted to champion a democracy, in
the end, that democracy ended the lives of his innocent family and thousands
more to come. Suddenly, the notion of a
giant guillotine in Paris was even more gruesome and condescending.
We left Reggi’s house on the somber discussion of
revolution, and with a small bouquet of flowers prepared by the man
himself. We also took the opportunity to
buy a copy of his father’s comic book.
Reggi had said that the book was only a small part of a larger work he’s
tried to get together, and that there has been an interest in the story from
film makers.
He hoped to relate the story, not for profit, but for the
good of those who lived it and should share in it as we had. There are only 1000 copies of the book in
print, and it feels sort of like having our own rare volume in the house
now. While the text is in French the
meaning and the stories within are still tremendous.
It was bittersweet
to leave that house. In the end, Reggi
became the reason I fell in love with France.
Everything I was to see from in Normandy, I could relate back to his own
story. He was our connection in France
to everything that was to follow, and to our own history in America. We drove away now, bound for Saint James Cemetery, the gateway to our leg through Normandy itself.
