“I am sure there are only bats and spiders in our dungeon!” I said.
Meanwhile, Gilbert grabbed Anastasie and hoisted her over one shoulder. And while she shrieked with laughter, he said, “I am going to go liberate those bats and spiders, then seal that dungeon up.”
What a good heart he had. I wished we could both share a Catholic faith, but in matters of religion he was a doubter. I took some consolation, however, that he had been initiated into a secret society of Freemasonry by George Washington—a society that professed to believe in a higher being. In any case, his values were entirely Christian. Here in the countryside of Chavaniac, he was thinking about the changes he had wrought—helping to bring about one democratic republic in a world of monarchies—and wondering what more he could do. His mind was now on the slave trade. He had been told that, having been broken and degraded, and come of age on plantations, these enslaved people could never prosper as free people. My husband did not believe it, and neither did I. Our black brethren were human beings who could prosper if they were taught the knowledge that had been withheld from them—how to read, and write, and keep accounting books . . .
We decided to prove it. We would purchase a plantation in Cayenne whose black workers would be paid for their labors and educated to run the plantation themselves, with the ultimate goal of ownership and profits to be divided among them. This project, along with so many others, served as the new moral center of our marriage, and every plan we made together felt like the renewal of vows.
* * *
—
If we wished to change the world, we could not remain long away from Paris. Thus, in time we renovated a modest town house on the Rue de Bourbon. We had a finely equipped kitchen and an oval salon with curved glass doors that drenched the room in sunlight.
We could have afforded something grander but wanted our guests to feel welcome and at ease. Thus, we instituted regular Monday-evening dinners to welcome Americans in Paris.
I did this even in Lafayette’s absence, for now he was visiting Mount Vernon—the place to which George Washington had retired after the war. To celebrate that occasion, we arranged for him to be sent a gift of seven Grand Bleu de Gascogne French hounds, and I wrote:
As a French and American woman, as the wife of Lafayette, I feel the public joy in your peaceful retirement after so many dangers and so much glory. I am always sensible to how happy my husband was to learn from such a master and to have found such a friend.
In reply, Washington praised my charm and the beauty of my mind, promising that my children and I held a claim on his affections. He hoped we would visit, but Virginie was not yet two—too young for ocean travel. As much as I wanted to see America, I could not leave my child behind when so much needed to be done here in France.
And that included welcoming the new American envoy, Thomas Jefferson, who now bowed at the waist in courtly fashion and said, “I have always believed that the tender breasts of ladies were not formed for political convulsions. Yet in your husband’s absence, madame, you’ve transformed his home into a veritable embassy, and are a most perfect hostess of liberty.”
It was a lovely compliment. Especially coming as it did from the tall, freckled Mr. Jefferson, who would soon replace Dr. Franklin as ambassador. “I bid you welcome, then, sir,” I said. “From one sort of ambassador to another.”
I was, after all, my husband’s representative more now than ever. There was no American who set foot in Paris without calling upon me. If an American gentleman lost money to pickpockets, or if an American lady wished for admission to Notre-Dame or simply advice on sights to see, they came here. However, Lafayette had asked me especially to befriend the Jeffersons, writing, I beg you to take them under your wing. Thus I took a special interest in twelve-year-old Patsy Jefferson, whose keen intelligence shone behind her eyes.
My seven-year-old Anastasie very much wished to befriend her because they both had auburn hair. To encourage this, I allowed both girls to attend a ladies’ tea party in my airy oval salon the next week. Also in attendance was Abigail Adams—a sharp-nosed, sharp-tongued woman from Massachusetts whose husband had been a moving spirit of the Revolution. My other American guest was the beautiful and witty Angelica Church of New York, wife of a dealer in armaments who had supplied French soldiers during the war. I liked them both, and when conversation turned to our townhome, I explained my efforts to furnish the place. “The marquis de Lafayette says he must have a barometer for his study, and you will laugh when I tell you that he says, A carpet will do no harm.”