Brillante artículo en la sección de viajes del Telegraph: La Vendée

In a region of France better known for its beaches, Anthony Peregrine heads inland and discovers a fascinating history.

Fabienne, my new friend in the Vendée, stepped from the chapel, opened an umbrella and said: "Enough slaughter. Let's have lunch." So we drove to a restaurant by the little lake in Les Lucs-sur-Boulogne and did just that. I had eel stuffed with foie gras (surprisingly good), pike-perch and more rosé wine than I usually deem necessary at midday.

A jolly place, the Vendée. To the south of Brittany, it has Atlantic beaches that stretch endlessly and shelve gently. Campsites soak up all the summer families Europe can supply. Fishermen and sailors give the coast a saltier texture, notably at Les Sables d'Olonne, from where the quadrennial Vendée Globe round-the-world race for single-handed lunatics sets out.

Inland, Le Puy-du-Fou at Les Epesses is the continent's best historical theme park. And it is surrounded by miles of country, a landscape of pastures, woods and hedges. "Bucolic" is the mot juste and, you would say, has been for a very long time. My, how appearances may deceive. Of course, nowhere has come through the tumult of France's past and remained just "bucolic". Every square metre of the country has been ravaged. But the Vendée may stake a reasonable claim to having undergone the direst savagery and most merciless killings.

The experience was subsequently compounded by being written out of French history. And, though two centuries old, it remains a touchy subject, for it strikes at the heart of the French republic's feel-good image of itself. The Vendée war is what happened when, in 1793, peasants across western France decided they had had enough of the French Revolution. They rose, fought Republican armies, won, lost and were then massacred wholesale for their impertinence in obstructing the forces of progress and liberty.

"The Vendée will be burned, devastated and depopulated," ordered the revolutionary government. Conservative estimates put the final death toll at about 200,000. Execution methods included tying men and women together naked, then drowning them in the Loire. These were termed "Republican marriages".

You can see why the Republic might want to draw a veil over all this. Killing thousands in the name of freedom and virtue hasn't played well in Western Europe for some time. The issue was also a potential rallying point for anti-Republican forces during the 19th century and beyond. But if France affected to forget – the war has only made a significant appearance in school history books in the past generation – the Vendée did not. In farming towns and villages, the suffering is something by which Vendéens continue to define themselves. And, in recent times, they have been reclaiming the story and its place in the nation's narrative.

This is not an anodyne, heritage matter. Left-leaning politicians and historians still depict the Vendée as a sort of backward swamp crawling with reactionaries, not least because its regional president is a combative right-winger. But we are tourists. We may leave that squabble to the French and get on with visiting a few of the key sites. They are handily placed, close together. The tales they tell are engrossing and moving, and will take us through tranquil countryside.

The starting point should be Les Lucs-sur-Boulogne. Directly north of the capital of the département, La Roche-sur-Yon, Les Lucs is a small town with a big place in Vendéen memories. Here, Republican retribution was at its fiercest. Detachments of regular soldiers – les colonnes infernales – were sent in to wipe out the Vendée. One swept through Les Lucs in February 1794. Some 564 villagers, including 110 children, were slaughtered, many in a chapel on top of a hill. "Tiring but fruitful day," wrote one of the soldiers. "We saw off an entire nest of churchgoers who brandished the signs of their fanaticism. Our columns progressed normally."

The chapel is now a ruin, but another has been built nearby. Within, the names of the dead are engraved in marble. Stained-glass windows depict the butchery without much ambiguity. Women and babies are being bayoneted. It is terribly self-regarding to get upset on behalf of other people from another age. But, fleetingly, any desire to sing the Marseillaise disappears. Down the slope amid parkland stands the brutal, concrete Vendée Memorial, opened in 1993 by Solzhenitsyn. Inside, it is sombre, with artists' attempts to tackle terror and with that bongy, dissonant music that generally accompanies it.

You need now to amble across the park to the Historial de la Vendée museum. Opened last year, this is a hell of a place to find in what's not much bigger than a village. There's grass on the different roof elevations, loads of space and quite splendidly worked displays. The section on the Vendéen war communicates the basics in sprightly fashion.

Initially, we learn, locals were as keen on the 1789 Revolution as anyone else. They liked the idea of chucking off the aristocratic burden, grabbing new land and having lower taxes. Four years on, though, many were convinced that the new regime was worse than the old. Confiscated land had gone not to the peasantry, but to the rich bourgeoisie. Taxes remained high. Revolutionary authorities were far less understanding than the old local nobles had been.

The clergy, linchpins of rural life, were being oppressed. The king had been executed. The certainties of life were, in short, collapsing around their ears. Then, in early 1793, recruiters showed up to con****** men into a Republican army now facing foreign wars on several fronts. The Vendéens weren't about to be forced to fight on distant frontiers for a republic they distrusted. The fuse was lit.

Revolt spread quickly. What had started as a popular uprising became a war for God and king against the new republic. Startling early victories took the Vendéens to Angers and Saumur. They might have opened the road to Paris if only, after each battle, the peasant soldiers hadn't melted from the ranks – to go home and do the haymaking. Gradually, better Republican troops got the upper hand. By December, they had crushed the rebels' main army. Then they despatched the colonnes infernales to clear the Vendée of everyone left (including, madly, those Vendéens who supported the Republic). Historians like Vendéen Laurent Charrier refuse the term "genocide", but it got very close.

The region was wrecked, which is why few villages have many buildings predating the 19th century. Luckier folk took refuge in the abundant forest, where they set up camps. One, the Grasla Refuge, has been recreated in woodland east of Les Lucs, at Les Brouzils.

It's a cracking visit – a collection of huts dotted among the trees, once home, not only to families and priests, but also to forges, farm animals and a bakery. A film and audio-guides tell the story of the 2,000 who fled here, forced to hide out in their own land.

Naturally, Grasla cannot rekindle the extreme antiestéticar of 200 years ago. But you can begin to gauge the scope of the conflict and its continuing effect. Even Fabienne, hardly a fanatic, says: "In the Vendée, we have a strong and lasting experience in common." Drive the flat countryside, stop in the villages and you come across the evidence. Restraint and self-reliance are in the air. There's an astonishing number of small home-grown businesses and manufacturers. Almost every settlement, no matter how remote, has one. The region's emblem is still a double heart (recalling the struggle for God and king), topped by a cross. Look carefully and you will see other crosses and monuments commemorating battles all over the region.

Then head for the bar. I did, in Montaigu – where enthusiastic drinkers talked to me about François-Athanase de Charette de Contrie as if he had just won the Tour de France. In fact, the fellow – usually known simply as "Charette" – was the Vendéens' most charismatic general. He carried on the battle after other leaders had been killed, focal point of the renewed regional reaction provoked by the excesses of the colonnes infernales.

Had he been on the right side, Charette would have had solid-gold status in the pantheon of French heroes. He drank, sang and womanised all night before fighting all day with skill and courage – but on behalf of faith and crown. This has not recommended him to Republican mythmakers. Finally, in March 1796, he was wounded and captured in the grounds of La Chabotterie manor house at St Sulpice-le-Verdon.

The manor now claims Charette as its own, though he spent only one night under guard there. No matter. The visit is a good indication of the 18th-century lives of minor rural nobles – the ones who, like Charette himself, were close to the peasantry. Theirs was a significant part of the traditional life for which Vendéens were fighting. In the kitchen is the wooden table upon which the general had his wounds dressed, before tackling soup, two pork chops and a flagon of wine.

Elsewhere, there's a good film of Charette's final campaigns and a walk-through evocation of the war, antiestéticaturing automates and tableaux. It is disarmingly effective. It is also, perhaps, time for lunch again. Handily, the outbuildings of La Chabotterie house one of the region's finest eateries, the Restaurant du Logis (0033 251 095931) where you can have a Michelin-starred midday from £29.

Then your time is your own. I suggest you head for the beach, either at St Jean-de-Monts or on Noirmoutier island. Swim. Sunbathe. Relax. By now, there has probably been – to paraphrase Fabienne – slaughter enough in your holiday.
Getting there

Nearest airport is Nantes, served by Ryanair (Ryanair - Book Cheap Flights to Europe - Cheap Flights from the UK) from Liverpool and East Midlands. Brittany Ferries (0871 244 0744; Brittany Ferries - Ferry Crossings & Holidays to France & Spain) has a Portsmouth-St Malo service. St Malo to Montaigu is two hours and 30 minutes by road.
Where to stay

My favourite is l'Ancienne Ecole chambres-d'hotes at Boufferé, just off the A83 motorway, near Montaigu (21 Rue St Joseph; 0033 251 063289; b & b doubles from £45, dinner including drinks, £15). It doesn't look promising from the road. Once inside, though, you are in the former village school. The old yard is now a garden. Bedrooms are the ex-classrooms, big and refurbished with contemporary taste.

Nearby, there's a grander b & b option at the Maison d'Armelle, Les Lucs-sur-Boulogne (65 Rue Clemenceau; 0033 251 313969; www.likhom.com; doubles from £52-£67). You could dine by the lake at the Auberge-du-Lac (250 Rue Général Charette; 0033 251 465959; www.chez.com/aubergedulac; from £15).

If you prefer a hotel, try La Barbacane at Tiffauges (2 Place de l'Eglise, 0033 251 657559; Le Manoir de la Barbacane => Sommaire, doubles from £78-£92 high).
What to see

Historial de la Vendée, Les Lucs-sur-Boulogne (0033 251 476161; www.vendee.fr): open Tues-Sun.

Refuge de Grasla, Les Brouzils (0033 251 429620; www.refugedegrasla.fr): open daily until September 13.

Logis de la Chabotterie, St Sulpice-le-Verdon (0033 251 428100; www.vendee.fr): open daily.

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