History has never recognized André de Roland. In the surviving records of his time only these documents of the Abbé Fleuriot mention his name or those of his close friends and most intimate enemies. The events through which they lived, however, are extremely well documented, and these may require some explanation for the lay reader.
The years 1640–3 were a convulsion in the history of France. Still heavily embroiled in the Thirty Years War against the forces of Spain and the Holy Roman Empire, she faced two near-successful coups from within, followed by the deaths in rapid succession of the two men who had done most to define her role on the international stage: Cardinal Richelieu and King Louis XIII. Within days of this last blow she endured yet another Spanish invasion, and stunned the world by turning it into her greatest victory at the decisive Battle of Rocroi.
The importance of this last has been much debated in recent years, with the historian Juan Luis Sanchez Martin leading the way in debunking the ‘myth’ of Rocroi as a great turning point in European history. His arguments have considerable validity, and the testimony of Carlos Corvacho supports his assertion that the primary purpose of the Spanish invasion was to deflect French troops from the assault in Catalonia and avert a threatened invasion of the Franche-Comté, in which light it can be seen only as a resounding success. It is difficult, however, to dismiss as entirely meaningless the victory of an untried twenty-one-year-old commander against the most seasoned fighting troops in the world, or to overestimate its effect on French morale.
The account of the battle in these pages matches closely those of other primary sources, including the eyewitness testimony of Albuquerque and Sirot themselves, but also throws light on some of the darker corners. The role of d’Arsy, for instance, may explain why the mysterious figure who told d’Enghien both of the planned ambush in the woods and also of the imminence of Beck’s arrival has never been identified as de Roland. This man is described in various sources as a deserter, a Spaniard named Francisco Bernáldez (Ragel in El sombrero de Rocroi), and most significantly as ‘a French gentleman fighting on the Spanish side but overcome with remorse’ (Gerrer/Petit/Sanchez-Martin in Rocroy 1643). It is unsurprising that none of the sources name d’Arsy, whose identity would naturally be withheld out of consideration to his family.
Perhaps most enlightening, however, is Corvacho’s assertion that the tercio of Albuquerque made no official surrender, and that the men inside the square must have acted independently. This would explain the disagreement of witnesses and historians on the event, some insisting that the tercio never capitulated at all, others aggrieved at the apparent treachery of the Spaniards in firing on the Duc d’Enghien when he came to accept a capitulation believed to have been given in good faith. If Corvacho is right then both sides acted honourably, and that is what I choose to believe. Few would deny the heroism of the tercio of Albuquerque (now known as La Fidèle) or the magnanimity of d’Enghien in his attempts to stop the final butchery. On the field that day was shown the very finest qualities of both nations, and if Rocroi is now remembered for nothing else, then let it be for this.
The Battle of La Marfée is viewed very differently. Disastrous to both sides, such few eyewitness accounts that remain are riddled with contradictions in the furious struggle to evade blame. In none have I found any mention of the Aubéry or the role it supposedly played on this day, but since the name is not to be found in regimental lists it seems likely its memory has been thoroughly expunged from history. The lists do, however, clarify one memory of Jacques’. The Scottish regiment who behaved with such courage under fire was the Douglas, previously the Hepburn, and better known to us today as the Royal Scots.
Other facts we know are confirmed by the narrative of Jacques. The preliminary movements of the armies are as he states here, as was the completeness of the rout, and the heroism of Fabert. The Duc de Bouillon’s cavalry did indeed take the baggage train and war chest, and the Duc himself ordered his men to stop the carnage. The Marquis de Praslin did save the advance guard at the Pont-de-Douzy, and apparently died in just such circumstances as Jacques describes, for Tallemant des Réaux relates the rumour that he received ‘a hundred blows after death’ for breaking his word to the Comte. The nature of this promise is unknown, but Jacques’ suspicions of a previously treacherous attachment are consistent with Puységur’s own account, which relates the offer of quarter as recorded here and adds coyly that Praslin refused it ‘for reasons I will not mention’. It is Puységur also who gives us the detail of the deserting cavalry saying ‘That’s for your 50 écus!’ repeated here by Jacques, but it is Grimauld who offers an explanation when he speaks of a recruitment bounty that had not been paid.
Possibly most revealing is the light shed by both Jacques and Ravel on the death of the Comte de Soissons, which explains many of the contradictions in other sources. Châtillon’s claim that he was killed in the battle might be explained by Fabert’s slaying the Sedanaise officer on a white horse, while Jacques’ presence among the cavalry of the Orléans may explain Roussillon’s belief he was killed by a ‘gendarme of Monsieur’. Bouillon’s assertion that he accidentally killed himself by lifting his visor with his pistol accords with Jacques’ description, while Montrésor’s suggestion that he was murdered by an agent of Richelieu might have risen from the presence of André himself. Personally I am inclined to believe that while Ravel did indeed fire at Soissons, the bullet that killed him came from his own pistol. Bouillon claims the paper of the cartridge was actually embedded in the Comte’s forehead, which would not have been possible from the distance Ravel fired.
On the conspiracies themselves the Abbé’s accounts have less to offer, for there is clearly a great deal our characters never knew. In the Soissons conspiracy, for instance, only Corvacho mentions the important role of Gondi, later Cardinal de Retz, with whom André is to have more dealings in the future, while in the Cinq-Mars affair only Ravel mentions de Thou. André’s companions were clearly only involved with the smallest fry of the intrigues, and I have found no mention of Bouchard or his companions in any other history.
The accounts here are still in accord with what is generally known, particularly concerning the role of Fontrailles and his disguise as a Capuchin monk. It seems likely Richelieu made more use of this information than even Anne was aware, for Fontrailles’ own ‘Relation’ tells us he was followed part of the way back from Madrid with the signed Spanish treaty in his possession. Since Fontrailles was already on this journey at the time of André’s trial it is easy to understand why the fear of the conspirators was so acute.
Possibly the most startling revelation in the Abbé’s manuscripts is the explanation of how Richelieu finally came to lay hands on this treaty. The official story was that it had been retrieved from a shipwreck, but this gained little credence even at the time, and several authorities have even suspected the hand of the Queen herself. That she knew about it is almost certain, and Anne’s account of Bouchard’s ‘carte blanche’ gives vital support to the claim made in the memoirs of the Comte de Brienne that he had obtained from the Queen blank sheets of paper with her signature for the purposes of the conspirators.
The nature of the relationship between the King and Cinq-Mars himself must remain a mystery. The Abbé’s manuscripts certainly echo the rumours and anecdotes current at the time, but provide no new evidence. That Cinq-Mars enjoyed sufficient influence to cause the King to shout at Richelieu is also already known, and we can thus put a date on Jacques’ visit to Fontainebleau of 2 February 1642, since that is when the famous row occurred, after which Gassion specifically observed Richelieu’s pallor.
The various places mentioned also generally correspond with documents of the time, with the major exception of the Gardens of the Luxembourg. In 1640 this would have still been in the original layout devised by Jacques Boyceau de la Barauderie for Marie de Medici, but I have been unable to discover any record of a maze in his design. It is, of course, possible that it was simply never replanted after the fire, and certainly John Evelyn’s account of a visit to the Gardens in 1643 makes no mention of a maze at all.
The Hôtel de Roland is never pinpointed beyond its frontage on the Rue de Roi de Sicile, but Jacques’ reference to roses on the wall suggests it backed on to an alley running from the Rue des Rosières itself, although no such alley appears on the period maps. Other locations mentioned in Paris are true to what we know of the time, although the modern reader may be disconcerted by the fact that so many names have since changed. The Place Royale, for instance, is now the Place des Vosges, while the Place de Grève is simply the Place du Hôtel de Ville.
Another name that puzzled me was the border village of ‘Éspehy’, but the 1588 Routes et Chemins de la Somme gives this as an old name for modern Épehy. There was a Malassise Farm there even in the 1640s, though it is better known to us today as the site of a major battle in the last days of the First World War. All the other towns and villages mentioned are easy to locate, and sufficient of the original fortifications survive at Saint-Jean Aux Bois to give us a picture of how it appeared even in 1641.
The only location of which I have found no trace at all is the little hamlet mentioned by Jacques as having been destroyed by the Spaniards. The village of Grouches-Luchuel exists indeed on the road between Lucheux and Milly, but there is neither record nor memory of a Petit-Grouche itself. That in itself, perhaps, is the most telling indication of the reality of the world in which André de Roland lived.
Edward Morton, March 2011