How charmed I was by his pleading. “Oh, I would not miss seeing you put up on a pedestal where you belong. Besides, I find Mr. Jefferson’s company to be quite amiable.”
Alas, on the day of the presentation, Mr. Jefferson fell prey to a monstrous ache in the head, and his secretary Mr. Short took his place. Short was a sandy-haired Virginian of impeccable manners, dry wit, and clear-eyed idealism. He made a lovely introduction and dedication before revealing the marble bust to the assembled crowd. And after the ceremony, Mr. Short and I strolled together on the Place de Grève, where a swirl of autumn leaves trailed in our wake. “Madame, I regret your husband the marquis could not attend, yet I am delighted by the company of his substitute.”
I found myself delighted by the company of Mr. Jefferson’s substitute as well. Like me, Short would later become a member of the Society of the Friends of the Blacks, founded by the journalist Brissot to help abolish the slave trade. But even then, Short shared a sympathy in the cause and asked about our plantations. “When emancipated, will not these people be simply recaptured and sold back into slavery by unscrupulous planters?”
“That is why they must have property of their own, an education, and an accepting community to protect them! I am arranging for teachers and spiritual guidance and writing letters of instructions to the caretakers, forbidding harsh punishments or the sale of any human being.”
I invited him to discuss it further that night, where, lit by candelabras and silvered mirrors, our dinner guests gossiped about the queen, whose love of gambling they blamed for the sorry state of the nation’s finances. The truth was that a system of monopolies and unfair taxation was bankrupting the nation. The weight of tradition and greed was strangling economic progress and throwing away economic opportunities that had been purchased with French blood.
To solve the nation’s problems, the king called an Assembly of Notables. As one of those notables, my husband argued that barriers to trade must come down. That peasants should not be forced to work without pay to repair roads and bridges. That we must have elections and fair taxation on all citizens. That the ancien régime, with its feudal privileges, not only violated human rights, but amounted to financial folly.
All this angered the king and his brothers and their royal faction, but my husband had angered the king before . . . and he had been right to.
I did not worry overmuch about the increasing coolness to me at court. Or the rumors about my husband’s infidelity, or the smears to his honor. But Lafayette had remained so long the most beloved man in France that he was no longer accustomed to the vicious sniping and petty politics of court.
The fierce resistance to reform by some of our fellow nobles—the ones who believed in their unearned superiority over their fellow human beings—did not take us by surprise. Yet the virulence of their attacks against my husband’s reputation, his loyalty, and his patriotism struck so deep that Gilbert began to complain of pains in his chest.
I found him some days alone in a darkened room, sitting at the edge of the bed, struggling to catch his breath. He had always been, from the first moment of our match, entirely vigorous. But on the day that an anonymous note of false accusations began circulating, he raged, “What is the morality of an anonymous letter? The author strikes at me—but without the courage to sign a name!”
His anger did no good for the pains in his chest. He retreated to his study, where he clasped a warm poultice against his breast. I followed. “Have you sought my father’s advice?”
“Your family advises silence,” he said, closing his eyes.
It was tempting, but I said, “You are needed at Versailles, where no one else dares tell the king what he needs to hear.”
Gilbert gave a bitter laugh. “If I continue to speak, I will squander all that is left of my fame and glory . . .”
“What value have fame and glory if they cannot be spent for good?”
“You are right,” he murmured, as if taking strength from me. “You are always right.”
So Gilbert set aside his poultices. He caught his breath. He returned to Versailles. And there, he rose in the assembly to rain down thunder. He protested corruption and wasteful spending. He supported reforms in the judicial system to prevent torture and unjust convictions. And perhaps most controversial of all, he argued for a motion to grant civil rights to Protestants and Jews.
Gilbert rose again and again, like a colossus.
To punish him, the royals divested him of his rank as field marshal. And in response, he defiantly signed his name on the last record of the session without any noble title or military rank at all.