Reading the Life of Mandrin, I wondered why this villain had become so popular in France. In fact, the answer is to be found in old books. On the phone, Corinne Townley,
author of La Véritable Histoire de
Mandrin (2005) confirmed: “Mandrin was a mean man, but was used as a political tool against the Fermiers Généraux, who collected taxes before the Revolution.” That put me on the right track.
Read the article at AE / or Here.
Political
testaments were a literary
tradition born in the late 17th century that enabled some writers
such as Courtilz de Sandras—author of several fake memoirs, including those of D’Artagnan—to anonymously draw bitter
portraits of the powerful. Colbert, Richelieu or Louvois were among those who
left their will on paper. The testament
of Mandrin is very short too—48 pages. But it became a best seller if we
believe the title page of the 1756 edition that reads, seventh edition! Just like
any political testament, it is a fake
autobiography—supposedly written in jail; and a true political pamphlet that
asks a few disturbing questions in the name of Mandrin: “I’ve relieved the people of a part of the taxes that brought them down
(...); I’ve seen the tears of those I
allegedly terrorised—who is this criminal the whole France is crying over, and
whose life would gladly be saved by so many people ready to die for him? This
is a mystery that the politicians of Versailles could easily inquire about.
(...) Times are crucial, the kingdom has
just been through a serious crisis; the nicest of all monarchies has almost
been overthrown (...). The vice is
the system of the Ferme.” The author denounces the considerable profits of the
Fermiers Généraux—if the taxes amounted
40 millions, he says, they collected 60, and kept 20 for themselves. He also criticizes
the courts of justice established by the Fermiers,
who thus became judge and jury. A situation mentioned by Montesquieu in Spirit of Laws: “As the moneyed man is always the most powerful, the farmer renders
himself arbitrary (...); he is not
the legislator, but he obliges the legislator to give laws.” The author of
the testament also claims that the Fermiers
employed 300,000 people at the time—the modern figures are closer to 30,000. “France wonders at so many smugglers operating
on its territory! Can’t you see this is due to the Ferme?” To him, it was clear: finance* was a
disease that had already killed the French agriculture, and would soon destroy
the rest of the country—and that was 1756!
The end of the book is cunningly composed of fake letters written by some
ruined labourers or fired employees of the Ferme
applying for a position in Mandrin’s troops. They sum up the hardship and miseries
faced by the commoners, those who suffered in the hands of the mighty Fermiers and their corrupt system.
Louis Mandrin Vs The Fermiers
Généraux,
A Political Testament
As I was reading the Life of Mandrin the other day, I started to wonder why this villain
(1725-1755) had become so popular a myth in France. Tracking down the hypothetical
truth, I was led from one old book to another, until I reached Corinne Townley,
author of La Véritable Histoire de
Mandrin (The True Story of Mandrin, 2005) on the phone. “Mandrin was a very mean and violent man,”
she confirmed. “But he was portrayed as a
French Robin Hood because he was used as a political tool against the famous
Fermiers Généraux, who collected taxes
during the Ancien Régime.” Now,
that put me on the right track.
A
Peddling Book
Sign of his popularity, Louis Mandrin made it
to the peddling books of the early 19th century. Usually short, they
dealt with popular and light topics, as they aimed at a wide audience. They
were poor quality books printed in huge quantities. Nevertheless, those
dedicated to Mandrin, for instance, have become quite rare. The other day, I
had to fight harder than expected to win a copy of La Vie de Mandrin printed in 1827 in Paris. It’s actually a reprint
of Histoire de Louis Mandrin,
attributed to Abbé Regley (Holland, 1756 for the second edition—I couldn’t spot the first one). Both editions feature a
portrait of the villain as a frontispiece; but the one of 1827 is different, it
looks like a charcoal drawing with Mandrin wearing a uniform and the famous hat
he stole from one of his many victims. He looks handsome and serious—the book gives
his physical description: “Said to be
tall, with black and curly hair, Mandrin had an aquiline nose and regular
features, a broad chest, and a well-shaped thigh; he was unusually strong.”
To reduce the cost, the publisher turned an in-12° volume of 140 pages into an
in-18° of 79 pages—a tour de force. This
copy has a contemporary half-morocco binding, which is quite unusual as these
books were usually sold and stored in their original wrappers—another way to
cut down the price. It contains several incorrect facts, of course, and was
probably hastily put together while the iron was hot—right after Mandrin’s
execution in 1755. The idea was to attract the readers with dark and thrilling stories,
but the printer made sure he didn’t hurt neither the King nor morality: “The lives of villains who have declared war
to the society at large,” reads the preface, “(...) show the young
persons the horrible consequences of a life of crime and vice.” Obviously,
this book wasn’t the starting point of Mandrin’s good reputation.
A
Violent Man
The book portrays Mandrin as a bloodthirsty
psychopath.
A young an innocent woman, who was looking
for her lost dog, unwillingly stepped into Mandrin’s cave one day—his legendary
hideout in the mountains. He tied her to a pole and undressed her totally. “He insulted and mistreated her numerous
times,” reads the book. He then forced one of his reluctant men to stab her
to death: “He put the knife into his
hand, saying: “You’re not experienced yet, I want to instruct you. (...) See this other knife? I’ll stab you if you
do not obey. (...) Stab her at the tip of her breast.” But the poor boy was
too moved by his victim, so Mandrin grabbed his hand and plunged the knife into the girl’s chest. Blood spurred and the
wretched victim uttered a high-pitched cry. What a dramatic scene! I found
it a little bit too much, to be honest—and yet. “Mandrin’s popularity lasted less than two years, from 1753 to 1755,”
said Corinne Townley. “But he was
convicted many times before, and accused of several horrible crimes, including
the murder of a little girl.”
One day, Mandrin broke into the house of
one Moret, employee of the Ferme Générale, whom he knew was responsible for the
arrest—and, consequently, execution—of one of his brothers. “In order to soften his aggressor, Moret presented
him his 18 months old son. “You arrested my brother and you beg for mercy?”
retorted the villain. “Perish, you and your child! May your entire race disappear.”
He repeatedly hit them with his sword,
not stopping until their cut off bodies lay in a pool of blood.” Now, that was too much—right? Well, in fact,
it wasn’t either. The Jugement Souverain
of May 24, 1755, that officially condemned Mandrin to death, relates this story.
It took place in Mandrin’s native town of Saint Geoirs where, on his way to Switzerland,
he killed the said Sigismond-Jacques
Moret, employee, and a child of 18 months he was holding in his arms. According
to the same document, Mandrin and his men killed over 22 persons between 1753
and 1755, including a pregnant woman. The latter was killed in Saint-Rome de
Tharn after a bourgeois, or a rich merchant, had escaped through her house. The
official Jugement doesn’t clearly
state that Mandrin killed her himself, but the peddling book does: “Mandrin stabbed her in the belly with his
bayonet. (...) Thus an infant felt
the iron before even seeing the light.”
Though people tend to consider criminals
like some sort of popular heroes who revenge them from an oppressive system,
this book gives no reason to consider Mandrin as a lovable rascal. “People don’t know the real story of Mandrin,”
underlined Corinne Townley. “They only
know about the popular myth who opposed the Ferme Générale.”
Fermier
Généraux
The King was an untouchable figure nobody dared
to critice openly. It was safer to blame those who worked for him. Thus, in the
summer of discontent that eventually led to the Révolution of 1789, the Fermiers
Généraux were made the scapegoats of a corrupt system about to scramble
down. But who were the farmers? Most
booklovers have heard about those 60 independent tax collectors—later 80 and
then 40—, as they financed one of the most sought-after book of the 18th
century, Contes et Nouvelles en vers,
by Jean de Lafontaine (1762). Why they decided to print a book, and this
particular one, remains uncertain; but they sure did things properly, having
the 2,000 copies—figures vary according to the sources—printed on Holland paper
by Barbou in Paris. They also asked Eisen to illustrate it with some 80
engravings. The result is a set of two in-8° volumes usually bound in full
morocco—of course—, and sold nowadays for several thousands euros. This is a
sort of Grail for bibliophilists, despite the weak contents—if you ask me, but
who does? If the copies of this book are usually luxurious it is because the Fermiers were wealthy men, who wouldn’t
satisfy themselves with a common binding. Appointed by the Minister of
Finance—in fact, they bought their position at a very high price—, they officially
collected indirect taxes for the King providing that they paid a fixed amount
of money—called a bail. Thus, the
King knew exactly how much he would get—and when—, and didn’t bother collecting
the money. In 1726, the historical Fermes
established since the Middle Age were all brought together, and became the Ferme Générale. The Fermiers hired their own men and were very influent people—they had
their own militias and their own courts of justice. “A lot has been said about their riches,” said Corinne Townley. “But it was often exaggerated. In fact, their
profits were regulated.” Among other taxes, they collected those regarding
tobacco. And Mandrin mainly smuggled illegal tobacco—as well as sophisticated
silks from England. “Everyone on the
frontier was more or less smuggling goods,” laughed Corinne Townley. “But Mandrin was at the head of one of these
short-lived gangs, that operated between 1730 and 1760 in a totally unprecedented
way.” Riding horses, they crossed the frontier, hastily sold their illegal stuff,
and then drove back to their place as soon as possible. “Just like the modern go-fast,” said Corinne Townley, referring to
the criminal habit of carrying drugs from one point to another as fast as
possible, using powerful cars. “But
Mandrin loved to show off, and it cost him his life.”
The
Cynical Mandrinade
Because of political frictions and
economical interests, the Dutch gazettes gladly related Mandrin’s exploits in a
positive way. His consequent troops—800 men according to the book—located in
the then independent region of Piémont-Sardaigne defied and ridiculed the Crown
of France; and that was all right with the Dutch. The way Mandrin operated is
quite puzzling. Many times, he simply forced the employees of the Ferme to buy his goods! He fixed prices,
and asked for his money at gunpoint. On December 17, 1754, he went to Seurre,
in Bourgogne, and forced the Receiver General of Salt and Tobacco to buy a load
of illegal tobacco from him. In Beaune, he assaulted the town, killed several
soldiers, and asked for a ransom, which was paid to him. He loved provocation,
too; and was known for wearing the golden-fringed hat of a Brigadier of the Ferme had he murdered in January
1754—the same hat he usually wears on his portraits. This is quite a romantic
way to smuggle goods, indeed; but not enough to turn him into a hero. On the
contrary, another book published in 1755, La
Mandrinade, drew an excessively dark picture of him. The title page claims
the book was printed at Saint-Geoirs, the native town of the villain—an obvious
forgery. “This story will urge you to run
away from the wicked,” warn the forewords, “and not to be one.” In this very short book—48 pages—, Mandrin is
depicted as a beast.
First, he made his pregnant mother suffer
like hell even before he was born; and when he came from her womb, he was hairy
like a goat! Then he was as a hater of religion, a pagan born for the despair of all mankind. One day, he asked his men to
cut the throat of a little child as an oath of allegiance. They complied and
collected the innocent blood: “Mandrin
poured it into a bowl, and then asked his men to plunge their left hands into
it; they then swore to remain faithful to their master, holding a loaded pistol
in their right hands. What a devilish scene! None more terrible shall be beheld
but in hell.” Now, this is too
much, isn’t it? It should have been enough for the world to see Mandrin as a
heartless brute for the rest of days. But then came another book, Le Testament Politique de Louis Mandrin (The
Political Testament of Mandrin). And this one changed everything.
The
Political Will of a Villain
Political
testaments were a literary
tradition born in the late 17th century that enabled some writers
such as Courtilz de Sandras—author of several fake memoirs, including those of D’Artagnan—to anonymously draw bitter
portraits of the powerful. Colbert, Richelieu or Louvois were among those who
left their will on paper. The testament
of Mandrin is very short too—48 pages. But it became a best seller if we
believe the title page of the 1756 edition that reads, seventh edition! Just like
any political testament, it is a fake
autobiography—supposedly written in jail; and a true political pamphlet that
asks a few disturbing questions in the name of Mandrin: “I’ve relieved the people of a part of the taxes that brought them down
(...); I’ve seen the tears of those I
allegedly terrorised—who is this criminal the whole France is crying over, and
whose life would gladly be saved by so many people ready to die for him? This
is a mystery that the politicians of Versailles could easily inquire about.
(...) Times are crucial, the kingdom has
just been through a serious crisis; the nicest of all monarchies has almost
been overthrown (...). The vice is
the system of the Ferme.” The author denounces the considerable profits of the
Fermiers Généraux—if the taxes amounted
40 millions, he says, they collected 60, and kept 20 for themselves. He also criticizes
the courts of justice established by the Fermiers,
who thus became judge and jury. A situation mentioned by Montesquieu in Spirit of Laws: “As the moneyed man is always the most powerful, the farmer renders
himself arbitrary (...); he is not
the legislator, but he obliges the legislator to give laws.” The author of
the testament also claims that the Fermiers
employed 300,000 people at the time—the modern figures are closer to 30,000. “France wonders at so many smugglers operating
on its territory! Can’t you see this is due to the Ferme?” To him, it was clear: finance* was a
disease that had already killed the French agriculture, and would soon destroy
the rest of the country—and that was 1756!
The end of the book is cunningly composed of fake letters written by some
ruined labourers or fired employees of the Ferme
applying for a position in Mandrin’s troops. They sum up the hardship and miseries
faced by the commoners, those who suffered in the hands of the mighty Fermiers and their corrupt system.
Dr
Ange and Mr Goudar
The anonymous author of this political testament
is Ange Goudar (1708-1791)—a maverick writer, and a fascinating character: “He used to travel a lot,” states the Dictionnaire des Journalistes. “Not because he enjoyed it, but because his
activities as a gambler, a spy, an informer, a pimp and a lampoonist prevented
him from remaining at the same place for too long.” A close friend to
Casanova—who quotes him in his memoirs—, Goudar wrote many pamphlets and books,
always promoting the economical ideas of Montesquieu. As a matter of fact, the
latter wrote against the Ferme in Spirit of Laws (book XIII, ch. XIX). Though
Montesquieu thought that the farming
could be relevant for a start—for there
is an art in preventing frauds, which motives of interest suggest to the farmer—he
advised the Prince to use direct
collection instead: “By this he saves to
the state the immense profits of the farmers, who impoverish it a thousand
ways. By this he prevents the people from being mortified with the sight of
sudden fortunes. By this the public money passes through few hands (...) and consequently makes a quicker return to
the people.” Goudar targeted the Fermiers,
and his words placed in Mandrin’s mouth hit hard: “The Fermiers have more gold
and money than the rest of the people of the kingdom!” We can hear the
Revolution roaring in this dreadful pamphlet! Here is the obvious source of Mandrin’s good reputation! Standing
as a fierce opponent of one of the most unpopular system of the Ancien Régime, Mandrin
was identified as a defender of the poor and oppressed—thanks to his angel Goudar! The impact of this political testament is shown through
another book published in 1789, and entitled Analysis of the Political Testament of Louis Mandrin. The subtitle
is quite eloquent: a book in which this
extraordinary man foretold and demonstrated that the system of Ferme
Générale would ruin the State and the
King. Our murderer and smuggler had now officially become an extraordinary man, and 28 Fermiers Généraux were sent to the guillotine—in 1794. Kings of the Earth,
remember that fortune can be whimsical!
The
Fate of Mandrin
The Fermiers,
upon learning Mandrin’s whereabouts in the kingdom of Sardaigne, illegally sent
fifty men to capture him in 1755. The King of Sardaigne, jealous of his
sovereignty, asked Louis XV to return the prisoner. But the Fermiers hastily tried and convicted
Mandrin, who was executed two days later! He was sent to the wheel in Valence: “His
arms were broken, his legs, and then his thighs and his back,” reads La Vie de Mandrin. “He died while looking at the heavens from whence his punishment came
from.” Feeling sorry for him? “He
lived like a villain, and was treated as such,” ends up the book. But his
legend lived on, and the French article on Wikipédia still reads: “In the collective psyche, he remains a hero,
who robbed the rich while challenging the establishment.” Corinne Townley
explained: “As an enemy of the Ferme, he’s been used as a tool of propaganda by
those who have criticized taxes over the centuries—during the Revolution, of
course; but also in the 19th and the 20th centuries. It
is the case with one of his most famous biographies, written by the dubious
Frantz Funck-Brentano. But Mandrin was also revived during the popular
insurrection of La Commune, for
example.” In 1860, Louis-François-Sosthène de la Rochefoucauld made it
clear in his book Mandrin Réhabilité
(Mandrin Rehabilitated): “Victim of a
dark period, this man who was condemned as a thief, would today be regarded,
thanks to the progress of the Lumières,
as a hero and a martyr. Mandrin was a socialist.” Certain things need to be
said.
A song entitled La Complainte de Mandrin and sung in modern times by the late Yves
Montand, also participated in the myth of Mandrin. “Yet, the title left aside, this song has little to see with Mandrin,” underlined Corinne
Townley. “Mandrin was never hanged, to
begin with.” But even a villain’s life can be twisted and used according to
the context. In this world, as stated by the famous physician Antoine Laurent
de Lavoisier—a Fermier himself, who
was beheaded in 1794: nothing is lost,
nothing is created, everything is transformed.
(c) Thibault Ehrengardt
* Let’s bear in mind that France had been
traumatized by the system of John Law, who introduced paper money into the
kingdom in 1716. After a short honeymoon, the system collapsed, which led to a
dramatic bankrupt.
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire