“We must test the soil for the best crops,” Gilbert said, thumbing through a book of agriculture. I was not convinced that he would exchange his sword for a plow, but he was determined to try. And soon he was debating with neighboring farmers about whether or not we should keep our weather vane.
My weaving and lace-making school had helped to enrich and sustain the village, which was now thriving, and by the time the fruit in the orchards was ripening, my mother and sister Louise joined us.
I boasted, “You must see Gilbert’s treasure room in the tower.”
We had transformed the round chamber into a modest display of artifacts from both revolutions. I hoped my husband’s swords of honor would remain here, forever sheathed.
“Pretty,” Maman said, admiring the silver stencil work. “But you cannot mean to settle here. This room alone is chilly and so dark—just the one window.”
“It makes it more difficult to assault,” I said, flashes of my tall airy windows on the Rue de Bourbon in my mind, angry faces pressed against the glass. Our home in Paris was more beautiful and filled with pretty trinkets, but Chavaniac was a haven. “And the mountain air does wonders for your health, Maman. I look forward to you and Louise visiting more often. We shall all be very happy here . . .”
* * *
—
By Christmas, my husband was ordered to take command of fifty thousand troops and defend France against counterrevolutionary forces gathered at the border—forces that included many of our old friends and relations.
Below stairs, where a ham roasted in the giant kitchen oven, destined for a table I had set with garlands of evergreen, I watched Gilbert dig out his uniform and spurs. I could not banish the unworthy thought: The mob in Paris called you a butcher, but now beg you to protect them . . .
Meanwhile Gilbert stared at his portrait of Washington. “I said I fight for liberty or not at all. Is it truly liberty that I am now defending? The Jacobin Clubs are terrorizing the elected government . . .”
“I know,” I said, and reminded him that though we had seen wickedness in the Revolution, we had also seen grace. French Protestants and Jews had been granted full civil status with the right to worship as they wished. And every French citizen from peasant to aristocrat had a stake and a say in his own government now. That was an accomplishment to protect. Slipping my arm into his, I said, “Let me come with you. You have told me Martha Washington went with her husband to tend to his soldiers . . .”
He stroked my cheek tenderly. “My dear heart, I know of no instance when that great lady was in so much peril as you have been with me. It would be easier knowing you and the children are here, far from the battles.”
I had no right to be far from the battles; I too had brought about this revolution. I must also be willing to defend it. When I said as much, he pressed his forehead to mine. “Then I do not command you as a husband. As your general, I charge you to stay here and defend everything that is precious to me, especially yourself. For Chavaniac is for me a temple which gathers the sacred objects of my heart. And you are the lady of my dream castle. May you guard each other well.”
* * *
—
Instead of waiting for the royalists to attack, the new government of France declared war on Austria, and promptly suffered a humiliating defeat. A defeat the common people blamed on their officers, many of whom were nobles like my husband. The soldiers began butchering their own commanders, accusing them of treason. Facing the mutiny of his own troops because of his aristocratic blood, my brother-in-law, the vicomte de Noailles, was forced to flee for his life.
I do not understand, Louise confided in a letter sent by trusted courier. My husband was the first to call for an end to noble titles. It beggars belief his soldiers might condemn him as a royalist. Now he summons me to join him in exile in America.
So I was to lose another sister. Louise, my best beloved sister. I despaired of it and its cause. I despaired too of how it would reflect upon us. Already, Pauline’s emigration had been taken in the worst possible light. Worse, my father had returned to his post as the king’s captain of the guard, an office that had been abolished by current law. My father took it under his own authority to show that men of prominence—even men who had once supported the Revolution—had no faith in the constitutional government.
For Louise to fly to her husband in America now would be taken as further proof that all the Noailles were traitors. And perhaps the Lafayettes too.
This weighed on me when my husband changed his mind and invited me and the children to join him at Metz. My heart filled with tender emotions to read how much he longed for us; how he wanted us near. Still, I could hear the evil gossip. There Lafayette is, at the border waiting to smuggle his family out of the country before he goes over to the enemy and takes fifty thousand troops with him!