On the afternoon of July 14 1789 a mob unleashed its fury and frustration by forcing an entry into the Bastille, a medieval armoury, fortress and political prison in the centre of Paris. In the short but bloody battle that ensued some 98 of the mob were killed, as were three officers of the guard. Three more were lynched, and Marquis de Launay, governor of the prison, and the local mayor, Prevot de Flesselles, who had pleaded for peace, were stabbed to death and beheaded. Although the prison contained only seven inmates at the time of the storming, it was seen as a symbol of the monarchy’s abuse of power. It was the flashpoint of the French Revolution.
An English traveller, Dr Edward Rigby, reported what he saw: ‘We perceived two bloody heads raised on pikes which were said to be the heads of Marquis de Launay, and of a Monsieur Flesselles. It was a chilling and a horrid sight. Shocked and disgusted at this scene we retired immediately from the streets.’ The city was in a state of alarm.
Also in Paris at this historic moment were Col Richard Martin, his wife Eliza and their three children from Galway. Martin was an enlightened man of his time. Instead of the Grand Tour of Europe, which became a rite of passage for aristocratic young men in the 18th century, Martin chose the New England states of America and witnessed the start of the American War of Independence.
Whereas the Americans revolted against paying taxes without representation at parliament, the French revolutionaries were against privilege, exclusivism and intolerance. The extravagant spending of kings on wars and immense public buildings, and a succession of bad harvests, tax increases and poor economic policies, would cost King Louis XVI and his queen Marie Antoinette, both symbols for all that was wrong with the nation, their heads on the guillotine. A period of terror and mass executions, led to the emergence of Napoleon, one of the greatest commanders in history, who guided the ferocious appetite for radical change, into astonishing victories on the battlefield.
But all that was to come. Yet Martin and others must have sensed that a new era was dawning. The French Revolution was showing Europe that the inherent power of the people could innovate a new world order.
Regret and affection
The Martins in fact had been in Paris since the previous spring, and had planned to proceed to Italy the following year. After the excitement of the Bastille, a sense of calm, at least for the present time, was restored. Crowds gathered to see the sights.Yet not withstanding the momentous events that were happening all around them, Paris society continued to entertain, to visit theatres, and to wear fashionable clothes. Many took delight in the company of the Martins who enjoyed, no doubt, sharing animated gossip about the new energy that was driving societal change. There was no sense of the terror that was about to descend.
But in March 1790 the Martins’ personal lives took a new turn. Martin was urged to return to London to interview a new company interested in working the mines on the Ballinahinch estate to which the family now looked as the means to saving the family fortune.
With expressions of regret and affection Martin set off for England accompanied by Joseph Casteaux , the French valet who had been in his service for 12 years. While in London discussions went well and several weeks later, just as Martin was preparing to return to Paris, news came of an election to parliament and an invitation for Martin to stand for the town of Galway.
He postponed his return and went back to his native town for an immediate canvass. But following the results Martin petitioned parliament claiming he was robbed of success.* All this would take time. He decided that Eliza and the children should turn to Galway, and he sent Casteaux to go and make the necessary arrangements for his family’s return.
But Eliza had other ideas. She wrote saying that the French planned to celebrate the taking of the Bastille, with the Fete de la Fédération July 14, exactly one year after the event. It promised to be an extravaganza of parades and performances on the Champ de Mars, during which the poor King and Queen and their heir, would appear, and give allegiance to the National Assembly. Could the French Revolution be coming to a peaceful end after all? She begged to be allowed to see it. Martin of course agreed.
Dramatic climax
When he arrived at the hotel Casteaux was surprised to find his mistress in the company of a Mr John Petrie ‘a small, rather ugly Englishman’, much her senior, to whom, it turned out she had been introduced at the house of one of the big city bankers, shortly after Martin’s departure three months before.
Casteaux handed her a letter from her husband but was surprised to note that instead her reading it with the usual affectionate concern, she flung it down on the table half-read.
Preparations now started for the return to Ireland after an absence of almost a year and a half. Casteaux was surprised to find that Petrie was constantly at the hotel, where he sometimes stayed alone with Mrs Martin until three or four in the morning. Supper was served for the two of them alone.
Worse was to come. Mrs Martin’s bedroom was connected by door to the supper room. One evening when Casteaux was clearing away, the connecting door happened to be ajar. By candlelight he saw his mistress lying on a sofa. ‘Petrie, kissing her, had one arm round her neck, while the other lifted her skirts……’ Casteaux even saw the couple in bed together.
He was in a dilemma. He knew his master truly loved his wife, and would not believe that she was unfaithful.
On August 20 the party set our for Ireland. Mrs Martin refused to travel in her own coach but remained in Petrie’s chaise. Throughout the journey, the couple constantly kept themselves apart, wandering off together; and again, Casteaux saw them in bed when they stopped at Noyon’s Inn. When finally they reached London it was expected Mrs Martin would stay with her aunt at Clarges Street, but instead, she stayed with Petrie at the Royal Hotel, on Pall Mall.
It all came to a dramatic climax when Mrs Martin’s brother, Major Vessey, returned from America. Petrie invited them both to his house and estate in Essex, where he introduced Mrs Martin to all his friends much to the embarrassment of her brother. Her brother now insisted she return immediately to her aunt’s house in London, and from there to her husband.
But there was no going back. Petrie and Mrs Martin agreed to elope. Following a complicated escape plan, involving several coach changes, and an elaborate disguise and blackened eyebrows, the couple rode off into the night.
‘Bury humiliation’
Col Richard Martin was absolutely incredulous. Casteaux told him all the gory details. At first Martin hoped that his wife of 13 years would return to him. Surprisingly for a man feared as a deadly duelist, he refrained from calling out Petrie. He was even conciliatory. He wrote to friends, who were dismayed at the course of events, that he ‘supposed Mrs Martin had been betrayed into ruin by arts such as the weakness of humanity was unable to resist.’ He suggested her strange conduct was caused by ‘a deranged mind’. He asked friends to show her kindness; and when her mother refused to accept her daughter’s clothes and effects, he had them forwarded to Eliza ‘with the greatest of care.’
As the months went by and as there was no sign of his wife returning to his arms, practical matters had to be considered. For one he was the father of three small children, a daughter Laetitia, and two sons, and they would have to be cared for. He saw himself as a vigorous young man of 36 years, and a man of considerable social standing. He was not a vain man, but he was a Martin, and natural pride made him loathe to be an object of pity. He knew his friends said: ‘Le bonhomie Martin est cocu’, but he would meet that by a magnificent display of good spirits.
He returned to Paris and gave a sumptuous dinner to the President and selected members of the new National Assembly, his old friends and rising stars of the new France. ‘The guests expressed the greatest happiness at their reception - where harmony and festivity went hand in hand. ‘The dinner and wine, which were of the choicest description, it is said, cost Mr Martin upwards of 600 Louis d’Or.
‘Martin no doubt considered it a trifle with which to bury his humiliation, but insufficient to mend his heart.’
Next Week: Martin sues Petrie for loss of his ‘property’.
NOTES: * This was the beginning of Martin’s very checkered history with elections in Galway. This time his old enemy Denis Daly had 109 votes, Skeffington-Smith 99 votes and Martin only 28. He immediately accused the Sheriff of being in Daly’s pocket, by not allowing at least 100 people the right to vote. Furthermore he claimed that Skeffington-Smith was a non resident. Martin, outraged, immediately petitioned parliament to investigate the skullduggery.
Sources this week include Humanity Dick, by Shevawn Lynam, published by Hamish Hamilton, London, 1975.
Listen to Tom Kenny and Ronnie O'Gorman elaborating on topics they have covered in this week's paper and much more in this week's Old Galway Diary Podcast.
