La Maitresse

By the Convent of St. Mary

In the town of La Rochelle,

I would sit there, patient, waiting

'Til I heard the chapel bell,

Then I'd climb up on the ivy

That was clinging to the wall,

Hang on tight and peer on over

Breathless, hoping not to fall!

 

I was just a young subaltern

In the army of the crown,

Sent to seize all those heretics

Who sought refuge in the town,

And the daughters of those nobles

Who refused the marriage vow

When required to marry Catholics -

I had to hunt them down.

 

Then these girls were bound and taken

To the convent, where they lay,

Forced to take up holy orders

And then locked in cells away,

They'd be held 'til they recanted

And embraced the Holy See,

If these Protestants resisted

Then they'd have to deal with me!

 

So it was I met the woman

Who entranced me with her eyes,

She had such a sweet demeanor,

She had seemed so calm and wise,

But she said that she had trusted

In the Lord, his saving grace,

And abjured the Pope, his function,

To recant would mean disgrace.

 

Then I'd see her in her habit

Being led to Holy Mass,

They had bound her wrists together

They had chained her at the waist,

And the only time I saw her

When they led her from her cell,

Was when peering from the ivy

As they rang the chapel bell.

 

As a soldier then, my duty

Was to do as I was told,

But I cared for no religion

As I cared for Ann Moreau,

For her humble disposition, it

Had softened up my heart,

And the more I saw her suffer there,

The more I fell apart.

 

I knew the Father Grandier

Who ruled this den of Nuns,

His word was law within those halls,

His forté, arrogance!

He'd tour the cells, both day and night

And make them kneel, and pray!

The lime-pit by the chapel burned

The evidence away!

 

For months I spied on Ann Moreau,

Who hung her head in shame,

She had no-one to listen to her pleas,

No-one to blame.

I saw her swell with child as she

Was dragged by chain to Mass,

And there were times she faltered,

And she fell there, on the grass.

 

My heart, it almost burst in grief,

For Grandier was the man,

Each Nun had carried to full term

This rake's own contraband,

Each tiny corpse was set in lime,

Each Nun locked in her cell,

Until she'd sworn her penitence

Before this rake from hell.

 

In port there was an English ship,

The Captain craved for gold,

He'd long been known to carry folk

To freedom, in his hold,

He wanted fifty Louis

All I'd saved in seven years,

My love was brimming over

So I purchased her a berth.

 

At night I scaled the ivied wall,

Sought out her tiny cell,

The Abbess saw me wandering

And thought to ring her bell,

I quietened and I bribed her then,

I'd free her of the man

Who'd made her life a living hell,

I knew she'd understand!

 

She opened up the iron door

And called to Ann Moreau,

'You must be quick, you have a friend

Who wants to let you go!'

She struggled through the doorway

And she laughed in her surprise,

And my love settled deeply

In the pain around her eyes.

 

We made it to the ship within

An hour of hoisting sail,

So I hid her in a stowage, in

The bows, beneath a bale,

Then I bid her travel safely and

I walked back to the deck,

When a voice said: 'You'll look pretty

With a rope around your neck!'

 

It was Grandier, the Pastor

With the Abbess by his side,

He had threatened her with

Excommunication if she lied.

'So you'd better take me to her,

She's my mistress, as you know,

It would be a Christian folly

If I let my charges go!'

 

I shrugged, and led him to the hold,

It wasn't very deep,

'You'll have to crawl along the back,

She's probably asleep.'

He got into the hold and crawled

Between the bales and deck,

I nodded to the Abbess who

Stood silently, and wept.

 

A party of Dragoons rode up,

'To search the ship,' they said,

'We hear a Protestant's aboard,

Stand back, or lose your head!'

I pointed to the stern, and said:

He's down there, getting cold!'

They drew their swords and thrust them

Through the planking to the hold.

 

We heard a shriek, then silence,

And a sword was dripping blood,

They dragged the body out, and cursed,

Then tossed it in the mud,

'Another cheats the hangman, let him rot,'

The Colonel said,

'It's enough he's a heretic,

Well he was... but now he's dead!'

 

I never saw my Ann again,

They sailed upon the tide,

I heard the ship had foundered

Off the beachhead, next to Hythe,

And every soul but one was lost...

I'd give my life to know,

Just who was washed ashore alive,

My guess is, Ann Moreau.

 

I'm just a young subaltern

In the army of the crown,

And still seize those heretics who

Seek refuge in the town,

I'm busy hanging protestants

Who won't recant, or fold,

But then, I'm just a soldier and

I do as I am told!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Lena M. P.]

A very powerful write. I have been on each end of this spectrum and have seen the hate on both sides. Each one preaching that theirs was the only way and religion to heaven. I have also seen those who fight for whichever side is the power at the time regardless of the suffering they help to spread. This writes clearly the views of the holy crusades of then and even now. There is nothing more political than religion itself.

[Joiedevivre]

what a brilliant tale and all seamlessly flowing in its rhythm and rhyme, super write!

[Daniel Sala]

I can only agree with Doreen's review to the letter. And beside those aspects this piece conjures up a whole world of imagery that is so real, better than a film.

[Callum]

I'm blown away...amazing write!

[Doreen]

Everything about your writing is flawless - flow, rhyme, story...everything. It's such a joy to read your work.

[Ferg]

Another excellent piece of writing....it goes without saying really, but the style is flawless. Atrocities hidden under the veil of religion exposed.....the very definition of sin.....exerting power of the helpless and weak........overcome in the end by love. great job!

[Mark]

This stirs up such a complex hugger-mugger of emotions I don't know if I can review it properly! The wicked, lecherous pastor, the traitorous abbess, the soldier who risks all, ostensibly in the name of love, but who goes back to his original path in her absence...All the frailties of mankind, embraced within these 152 short lines: lust, greed, violence, selfishness. Pretty astonishing, Dave.

[emmajoy]

What a superb piece of writing .. a tragic tale told within wonderful meter and - each line a gem.

You have the incredible knack - re-inforced by literary know-how, of painting masterpieces with words. Here you've woven a truth amid your words, the would-be-can-be cruelty of religion set in a love story.

'But then, I'm just a soldier and I do as I am told!' .. .. too true.

[Ellen Hammond]

Does this ever bring back memories of conversations I overheard when I was a young child. Quite a tale you have woven into this rhyme, my friend. It speaks loudly of some of the atrocities that have been committed in the name of religion. This has a nice rhyme, rhythm, and flow to it. I marvel at your gift of story telling.