Page 40 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
He said he would not join thefédérésso that he might help his mother and other family. I suppose not all Jacobins are as heartless as I imagine. So many care first for their new France and second for anything else in their lives. Now, seeing this Jacobin give up the glory and honor a march to Paris would have given him, I wonder if I shouldn’t give him more credit. Gilles does care for his family more than this revolution. There was something in his manner of speaking that hinted at another reason for his staying behind, but I did not press him.
I wish to amend my statement in an earlier letter to you. I said that Gilles did not have the same attraction as Maxence. And while Gilles does not have the same height or sharp features as the middle Étienne brother, there is a rugged sort of allure in the gentleness of his eyes when combined with his sturdy mariner build. The way he moves, it is as though he sways to the rocking of an invisible ship. And while Émile spends time and effort to arrange his hair in a look of disarray, Gilles achieves the nonchalance without the practiced air. Like he just stepped off a boat. I find it rather refreshing. And pray that you are not reading this aloud to your mother.
I will end, as Émile should shortly return, along with the serving girl to retrieve my tray. My brother will not be in high spirits when he takes me on to the Lamy family. How droll that one person and his actions can cause such opposite responses in my brother and me.
All my love to you, to your parents, and to dear Guillaume. I hope thesefédérésdo not inhibit our meeting again very soon.
Affectueusement,
Marie-Caroline
2 July 1792
Marseille
Ma chèreSylvie,
Very soon you will have two members of my family in your vicinity, though I hope you do not face the elder. Tonight Émile sets off with the battalion offédérésto secure the liberty ofla patrie. But I fear if you should meet him, it would mean quite the opposite of liberty for you and your family. I doubt he will try to make any contact, given how seriously he takes his duty to the revolution, but if he does, it will be to see Guillaume. I beg your family not to let this happen, for Guillaume is so easily swayed by the rhetoric of his brother. Though Guillaume has been more or less supportive of our cause and has helped in your work of sheltering holy men, I think Émile easily could win him over, just as François Mireur won over half of this city with his song of war.
Maman has wept all morning. Papa went early to the office and has not been seen since. I nearly went with him to avoid the display, but Maman needed someone at home. As I’m certain you are thinking it—knowing your romantic nature and having read the ridiculous ideas expressed in your letter a couple weeks ago—I was not tempted to go to thesavonneriebecause of a certain swarthy clerk.
Émile has hardly mentioned Gilles’s name since that evening at Valentin’s coffee house. Each time he does, his face twists in disgust. I can only imagine how Maxence must treat Gilles at home, and I can only hope that he mostly ignores his younger brother. While Émile has more eloquence, Maxence has the raw and unbridled rage that drives the revolutionary zeal. Sometimes I wonder, if Émile and Maxence were not friends, would Émile have joined thefédérés? Perhaps he would have all the same, or perhaps my mother would not be sobbing on the settee as I write.
I do hope to see Gilles at the ceremony tonight. I only wish to assure him of his decision, mind you. He is still a Jacobin, even if he does not march to Paris, but I believe that making his own choice rather than following the example of his brother is a thing to be applauded. One less militantrévolutionnairemarching on Paris will not make very much of a difference, but it is good to know that at least one friend will be out of harm’s way.
I should saythatsort of harm’s way. Marseille is not a safe city. Fights break out daily, and there have been several murders ofroyalistesor nonjuring priests in the streets. I have been forced to keep the news from Maman. Papa and I agree it is for the best, especially with Émile diving into the thick of therévolutionnaireviolence.
Will we ever dance again, Sylvie? Hide behind fans in a crowded ballroom, fluttering our eyelashes at boys across the room? We are too old for that, though I feel our time to do so was cut unfairly short. What I wouldn’t give for one more dance.
Hélas, I was hoping to write an entire letter without the mention of either Étienne boy, and I have failed. The next time I write, I will not mention Gilles at all, simply to prove to you that there is nothing to your claims. We are too far apart in conviction for there to be anything more than friendship between us. But I do hope that this small friendship, fragile as it is, might be one step on the road to healing all that is wrong with our beloved France. If each Frenchman from Calais to Toulon took such a step, do you not think that we could find a path to understanding and truth in this jumble of competing thought? That it would lead to eventual peace and prosperity for all?
I like to think it would.
No one would be able to hear once the ceremony began. Gilles’s ears rang as he followed Maxence back through the crowd to where Maman waited. They’d loaded Maxence’s contribution of supplies onto one of the three wagons in preparation for their departure. Now all they had left to do was wait for the ceremony to begin, and then Maxence would be off for Paris.
Gilles kept his head ducked while they wove between the masses of family and friends who had come to see their battalion off. His family members had been all over the world, from the North Sea to the Indian Ocean. But no one in his immediate family had ever entered Paris. Maxence was traveling new territory, and Gilles hated the regret pooling in his gut at the thought of missing the chance at experiencing a new city. Unfamiliar sights and intriguing people had been some of the redeeming things about life onle Rossignol.
A table had been erected at one end of the boulevard, which was lined with liberty trees, planted in honor of the revolution. Maman waited for them under the branches of one of the trees, just in view of the table. She eyed the strap across Maxence’s chest that held his musket onto his back. He’d sold most of his medical books to purchase supplies, something Gilles silently lamented, even if he saw the necessity.
Gilles pulled at his already loose cravat. Though evening, the day’s heat had strangely hung around the port city. He hadn’t bothered with a jacket tonight and had rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows soon after arriving. How Max survived wearing a knit cap and his pack, he did not know.
“Maxence!”
His brother grinned as Émile came into view. When the tawny haired student arrived, they shook hands enthusiastically.
“Today we march for death and the glory of France,” Émile cried over the buzz of the crowd.
Maman watched them with a guarded eye. Gilles could only guess what thoughts filtered through her mind, sending a son to war. Every time she saw them off at the docks, she knew battle was possible on the high seas. But the violence wasn’t certain, as with nearly everything at sea. Today her son left on purpose to fight.
A few moments later, Marie-Caroline slipped out from the masses, followed by Monsieur Daubin supporting his pale wife. They greeted the Étienne family before themonsieurandmadamewithdrew a few paces away from the rest of the crush.
Marie-Caroline stayed nearby and sent Gilles a questioning glance.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, dipping his head closer to hers so as to be heard.
“I see you have not been bullied into joining at the last minute.”
He chuckled without much enthusiasm. “No, I made my decision.” The right decision? He could not say. But his decision, nonetheless.
