It was some time before we could get up—all of us swept into my aunt’s entourage as she ushered us to her new home, a veritable encampment of émigrés. I could not expect these aristocrats to have kindly feelings toward me. Still, I gave them news of their loved ones whenever I could, and in return secured a valuable prize.
“Letters of introduction,” said Anastasie, who had become my accomplice. “We are to carry this to the comtesse de Rumbeck. She does not have the means of introducing us at court in Vienna, but she knows those who might . . .”
Pauline warned against this. “You cannot go on to Vienna. What can you do for Lafayette there except offer yourself again as a hostage?”
“I will argue for my husband’s release.”
“Adrienne, the Viennese authorities will laugh in your face.”
“I have endured worse than laughter,” I replied softly, stroking Virginie’s dark hair, wondering if I ought to leave her with my relations, but already my family was too scattered . . .
Pauline warned, “If they know you are French, they will arrest you the moment you step foot there!”
“We will speak only English,” I said, grateful that my children had learned the language from the earliest age. “And I will employ a German-speaking servant to do the talking.”
Oh, the anxiety of coming to the first post at the Austrian border. I could hear Anastasie’s stalwart heart beating as she battled her own fears. How strange it was to walk the streets of Vienna—like some kind of rewinding of time, where a monarch still reigned supreme and a palace rose up shining, powerful nobles in brilliant dress bustling in and out with scarcely a glance for the downtrodden peasantry, all of whom removed their hats and averted their eyes.
It brought to mind my youth at Versailles, both the arrogance and splendor.
The comtesse received us, her curiosity winning out over caution at Americans presenting themselves at her door. When, in the privacy of her toilette, I revealed my true identity, her hand fluttered to her pearls. “Oh, goodness me. You are the wife of that fanatic!”
“Monsieur Lafayette is a fanatic for liberty and all that is good. If I had hours, I could not recite his virtues, so I beg you not to betray a loving wife who wishes to set him free if she can, or join his imprisonment if she cannot.”
It was this last part that caught her attention. “Join him? My dear, even a fanatic cannot wish for his wife to escape the clutches of one jailer only to deliver herself to another.”
“Yet, if he knew all we have suffered without him, he would consent. Lafayette is our strength, and I flatter myself to believe we are his . . . I will beg the mercy of the emperor upon my knees if need be.”
“Oh, my.” She dabbed her eyes. Was it possible there were still enough decent people in the world to be moved by our plight? “Dear me. I am afraid I cannot be of use to you.” Then, perhaps broken by my dismay, she finally said, “However, I happen to be acquainted with the grand chamberlain. He would never see you if he knew your name or purpose, but perhaps . . .”
Perhaps. One of the sweetest words!
Much sweeter than the word uttered by the grand chamberlain. “Nein!”
Hard of hearing, the old man had at first squinted. “Motier?” He’d flicked a bit of lint from his embroidered robes. “At least bother to tell me why I should know this name.”
“I am better known as Adrienne de Noailles-Lafayette,” I whispered.
Hearing this, he seemed ready to eject me by force of arms. “Your husband is a notorious traitor, madame!”
“I cannot agree. My husband saved his king’s life on more than one occasion, sir. It was, in fact, his determination to rescue the king that occasioned his fall. It was my husband’s enemies who put King Louis to death, and yet several of those who voted to guillotine him have passed through Austria unmolested. Why should my husband pay the price for their villainy?”
The chamberlain scowled and rose to walk away. He stopped, though, at the gilded chamber door. “You come from fine stock. The Noailles. I knew your uncle. A good soldier. I once danced with your grandmother at a ball.” He scratched his chin. “To this day, I believe she stole from me a little silver cross . . . and yet I was quite charmed by her.”
A knot swelled in my throat at the memory of Grand-mère. “Sir, I will never again know another breath that is not mingled with grief. Which is why I beg an audience with the emperor. The only person who can restore my heart.”