After that, André repeatedly impressed upon the newly appointed battalion Major that, as a rule, not a single officer or man originally from the Vendée or Brittany in the Fifth Chasseurs was to be transferred into the Champagne Composite Regiment. Planning ahead, André did not want the sons of the principal rebel provinces appearing in his ranks. Stirred up by clergy, nobles, and British agents, the Vendée and Brittany had resisted Paris for ten years.

  By contrast, the soldiers of the Gironde were of better quality. They had no appetite for civil war: the moment the National Convention declared a campaign against the southern insurgents, they surrendered on the field to the Parisian forces. When the column marched south, these Girondin troops pounced like tigers from the hills; in about one week they drove all invaders—the Spanish-Portuguese coalition—back to the southern slopes of the Pyrenees.

  In André’s plan, the future Champagne Composite Regiment would include an infantry battalion (Major Moncey; 1st Company commanded by Augereau), a cavalry company (commanded by Hoche), an artillery company (commanded by Senarmont), and a combined engineers–quartermaster–transport company (commander to be determined). In addition, a gendarmerie detachment would be attached (commander to be determined). In effect, with all arms included, the Champagne Composite Regiment was a miniature corps-level formation.

  Moreover, for appointments at battalion, company, and platoon level, the Minister of War, Tour du Pin, devolved authority to the prosecutor André, through the mediation of Comte de Mirabeau, Prieur, and others. The measure was plainly irregular, yet the Constituent Assembly raised no objection: the situation around Reims was worsening, and most deputies trusted neither Lafayette nor the Marquis de Bouillé. Their only course was to let André, now in Bordeaux, raise a force to return home—granting it a regimental establishment while requiring André to finance it himself.

  As for the regimental commander, both the War Ministry and the Assembly seemed to be waiting for André either to apply to enter military service or to nominate a colonel himself. For the moment, however, André, until his return to Paris, stalled for time. Military command must remain in his own hands; yet the civilian office of prosecutor could not be relinquished, at least not before September 1791.

  …

  The second great event was that Louis XVI again lost his finance chief, Necker.

  In late August—about ten days earlier than in another timeline—the once-beloved Minister of Finance (Controller-General of Finances), Necker, despite the objections of wife, daughter, and friends, failed in his emergency effort to raise 80,000,000 livres. Disheartened, the Swiss at last tendered his resignation to the King. Counting 1781 and 1789, this was his third fall from office—and of course the last.

  Thus, the Swiss banker would no longer be harried by radical journalists like Marat and Desmoulins, nor scorned by powerful left deputies such as Comte de Mirabeau, Barnave, Duport, the Lameth brothers, Prieur, Robespierre, and Pétion. He could enjoy fourteen more free years amid the scenery of Geneva. As for the mess left behind at the Treasury, God alone knew.

  In a revolution, anyone is easily forgotten. The people see too many faces, too many, too fast. If one would not be forgotten, one must serve them ceaselessly in their own fashion. Necker could not; he resigned—and very sensibly left France, far from Paris.

  Necker’s departure pleased André. It was that Swiss meddling that kept the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court from prosecuting the tax farmers and forced him to Bordeaux, 400 kilometers away, to fill the national coffers. So when the Finance Ministry pressed again and again for the remittance of 7,000,000 livres to the Paris Treasury, André took the advice of Mirabeau and others and deliberately delayed the northward movement of the customs receipts. In this sense, André had a share in Necker’s fall.

  The new Minister of Finance, Armand Marc, Comte de Montmorin, wrote to André with a pledge: he would press forward with the creation of a fiscal court, on condition that the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court, within thirty days—by September 20—escort the full 7,000,000 livres to the Paris Treasury. In view of the quiet strategic understanding between Comte de Montmorin and Comte de Mirabeau, André readily accepted.

  By late August, André in distant Bordeaux duly received news of a mutiny at the Nancy garrison.

  Three regiments of the Royal Army at Nancy (regular troops on the eastern frontier) allied themselves with the local Jacobin club and the city’s National Guard. Having long gone without promotions, the royal troops formed soldiers’ committees to correct abuses. After the Festival of the Federation in Paris, the committees again demanded an open audit of accounts and distribution of regimental funds; haughty officers flatly refused. Soon, most committee members were arrested and examined by the gendarmerie.

  The enraged soldiers rallied quickly. With support from the Jacobin club and some of the National Guard, they rose in the barracks, imprisoned all noble officers, freed their arrested comrades from the gendarmerie, and sent two envoys to the Constituent Assembly in Paris.

  At a routine meeting of the Champagne Composite Regiment, André—now back in full uniform as a Lieutenant Colonel—briefed the officers and NCOs on the Nancy mutiny: Lieutenant Moncey, Lieutenant Senarmont, Second Lieutenant Hoche, Sergeant Augereau, and Corporal Saint-Cyr among them.

  “Gentlemen, what do you foresee as the consequences?” André paused at the head of the table, his gaze circling the room before settling on Lieutenant Moncey. Of those present, only this former commander of the Fifth Chasseurs of the Garonne Brigade had not yet, before coming to Bordeaux, witnessed the disciplinary incident in the suburbs of Paris. Hoche and the others knew André’s mind; only the newcomer, Lieutenant Moncey, did not.

  Moncey answered without hesitation: “I take it for a premeditated mutiny and hold that it must be crushed without mercy. As for the soldiers’ claims about abuses in regimental finance, responsibility can be determined after order is restored. Marshal Lafayette’s envoy, General Marcenay, is far too soft—he actually allowed the soldiers’ committee to send delegates to parley with him. It is absurd. In the end, I am sure the commander of the Army of the East, General Bouillé, will employ decisive force to end this farce.”

  “You do not fear this will spark a civil war?” André asked.

  “No,” Moncey said firmly; he knew the eastern frontier well. “Without absolute authority, a barracks is only a mob—no superiors or inferiors, no order. With one battalion of chasseurs I could rout one of their regiments in the field—let alone the finest German cavalry under General Bouillé” (indeed, many Germans served in the French army). “Moreover, the Constituent Assembly will never yield to a soldiers’ committee; it will call the Nancy garrison rebels.”

  At this, André nodded, satisfied. In another timeline, Moncey would be a marshal known for rigorous discipline; his forecast of the Nancy affair matched André’s knowledge.

  André motioned to the meeting’s clerk, the thirteen-year-old Lussac. The boy at once set down his quill, drew four papers from his satchel, and laid them before André.

  “By commission of the Minister of War, Monsieur Tour du Pin, I now publish four promotions.”

  No sooner were the words out than every soldier in the room sprang to his feet; ten pairs of boots thudded on the floor as they formed a single file by the table, chins up, postures textbook-perfect, awaiting their commander’s pronouncements.

  “By order of the Minister of War: promotion of Adrien Moncey, Lieutenant, to the rank of Captain in the Royal Army, and appointment as Major of the infantry battalion of the Composite Regiment. You shall devote yourself wholly to the service of the Kingdom of France; never forget the sacred charge laid upon you!”

  “By order of the Minister of War: promotion of Alexandre Senarmont, Lieutenant, to the rank of Captain in the Royal Army, and appointment as commanding officer of the artillery company of the Composite Regiment. You shall devote yourself wholly to the service of the Kingdom of France; never forget the sacred charge laid upon you!”

  “By order of the Minister of War: promotion of Louis Lazare Hoche, Second Lieutenant, to the rank of Lieutenant in the Royal Army, and appointment as commanding officer of the cavalry company of the Composite Regiment. You shall devote yourself wholly to the service of the Kingdom of France; never forget the sacred charge laid upon you!”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “By order of the Minister of War: promotion of Charles Augereau, Sergeant, to the rank of Second Lieutenant in the Royal Army, and appointment as commanding officer of the 1st Company of the infantry battalion of the Composite Regiment. You shall devote yourself wholly to the service of the Kingdom of France; never forget the sacred charge laid upon you!”

  With each decree, Moncey, Senarmont, Hoche, and Augereau stepped forward in turn, raised their right arms high, and pledged solemnly, “I give my word!” Then, saluting André, Lieutenant Colonel, they received the weighty commissions from his hand.

  Moncey, Senarmont, and Hoche showed only a flicker of emotion before regaining composure: before and after, they were still company-grade officers; the change in rank was slight. Augereau, however, was in tears already—this 1.92-meter Prussian giant sobbed like a child of seven or eight, soaking his fine uniform. Taking the commission, he embraced his commander and poured out his thanks, while André, helpless, patted the tall man’s shoulder to steady him.

  The promotions of Moncey and Augereau were unassailable; both had served many years, and but for unfair treatment as non-nobles they would already have held field-grade rank. Senarmont’s rise was André’s reward for an artilleryman who had stood by him. As for Hoche—André’s most trusted friend and subordinate—it was natural to favor him. The War Ministry let such open favoritism pass. André, after all, was securing 7,000,000 livres for an empty Treasury.

  When the ceremony ended, and the room began to break up, André detained the downcast Corporal Saint-Cyr and seated the cavalry NCO before him. Then the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court sent young Lussac out with the minutes and told him to return in thirty minutes. André resumed his chair, drew out a document from his satchel, and held it face-down on the table with a finger.

  “This is a commission jointly signed by the Constituent Assembly and the Palais de Justice,” he said, tapping the reverse. “First, everything I say next is a military secret. You may not reveal it to a third party. Otherwise, I have the authority to punish you directly, bypassing a court-martial. Do you accept?”

  When Saint-Cyr had sworn gravely, André continued: “I have plenary authorization from the Assembly to organize a privateering squadron in the Atlantic and West Indies and to appoint its principal officers. If you agree, I will, on the Assembly’s behalf, confer on you the temporary army rank of Captain. Do not rejoice too soon. Under the terms of this instrument, you must serve in the area I designate for two to five years; only then may you return to metropolitan France for evaluation by the War Ministry and—if approved—confirmation in rank.”

  Saint-Cyr’s face lit up. The rest mattered little: to be an officer at all—and at one leap a Captain—was enough. Though the pay would be half as a provisional Captain, he was sure that within a year, he could earn confirmation through valor.

  Seeing his decision made, André said no more; this was precisely the result he wanted. On the blank line of the warrant, he swiftly wrote the name Gouvion Saint-Cyr.

  André told Saint-Cyr that he himself, together with the recovered Allemand, had been granted the temporary naval rank of Captain; but Allemand would command the privateering squadron, while Saint-Cyr would merely hold a commission aboard.

  “Your destination,” André instructed, “is Cap-Fran?ais, capital of French Saint-Domingue, to which you will proceed before October this year. Your post there will be Captain-Instructor to the National Guard at Cap-Fran?ais. Your charge, next year—when 200,000 Black slaves rise—is to save as many whites and people of mixed race as possible, and, at all costs, to hold Cap-Fran?ais until reinforcements arrive from France.

  “You will not stand alone. Captain Allemand will cooperate at need; the incoming chief justice for the colony, Luchon, will also be there; the Spanish colonial authorities may afford some form of aid; and I, as your superior, will do all I can to supply you.

  “From tomorrow until October, you will serve as Captain Moncey’s special assistant in organizing, training, and administering the infantry battalion. I have had all materials on Saint-Domingue gathered and stacked in your quarters; you have ten days to study them. After that, we will discuss the defensive plan…”

  At that moment, the door opened a crack, and Lussac’s head appeared. André, about to rebuke the boy, checked himself, smiled, and waved Corporal Saint-Cyr out. Behind Lussac stood the prosecutor’s new flame, a beauty of twenty-three, also the Comtesse de Lur-Saluces.

  “Joséphine, my dear—” When the officers had gone, André unbuttoned his blue uniform, took the eager Comtesse in his arms, and drew her into his bedchamber.

  After the heat had ebbed, they lay talking as usual. To the Comtesse, it was intimacy; she was hungry to know more of André. To the prosecutor, it was leisure; he answered off-handedly. She was considerate and took no offense.

  These days were slow and exhausting. Beyond reforming the customs house and collecting duties, the prosecutor—already a great stakeholder in the city—had to soothe the nerves and interests of local officials and merchants, use the “Bordeaux solution” to found a Chamber of Wine, and, through a system of chateau classifications, raise the quality tier and reputation of Bordeaux wines.

  He also had to inspect vineyards and chateaux, shipyards, dyeing and weaving workshops; attend society’s tastings, dinners, concerts, and charity affairs; and review the National Guard. Often, the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court felt he had become Bordeaux’s mayor or the Gironde’s external relations prefect.

  Nor was that all: building the Champagne Composite Regiment, restarting Atlantic privateering, and planning for the French Caribbean fell within André’s remit. He was so busy he could barely see straight; all-nighters became routine. Naturally, love became a form of rest.

  Compared with the wilful Marquise de Fontenay, the slightly older Comtesse pleased André more: delicate in feeling, more understanding; a goddess at rest, a kitten on waking. The rounded arms and the long, clean lines of her legs were dangerously attractive to a man’s eye. In such a mood, André would go for a second, a third round.

  On the third day after moving into the Lafite villa, the Comtesse asked leave to refit the salon and the bedroom to suit André’s rakish, reticent taste.

  In the salon, Turkish carpets and tablecloths covered the floor; square-footed, cabriole-leg furniture; a carved-oak buffet; Louis XV gilt footrests; armchairs and chaises in pink satin or Utrecht velvet; André’s favorite—an ample leather easy chair; an ebony armoire with carved reliefs and brass bands; a Boulle table inlaid with enamel and porcelain; a backgammon board; a full dressing table; a commode veneered with floral marquetry.

  The bedroom became a fine blue room: window hangings with Tours lace; in the center, a rosewood bed with steps before and a canopy above; bright flames in a white marble fireplace (nights at month’s end came close to 10°C); twelve fragrant candles burning in a chandelier sculpted by Clodion; a blue-lacquered screen gilded with old Oriental figures; even the door-handles were gilt.

  The bedchamber opened in all directions—to the meeting room, the study, the dining room, and the salon. The study was forbidden ground; none might enter without the master’s leave. One reason André had turned the Marquise out of the villa was that she had once slipped into the study unbidden. After paying 2 louis d’or to Lussac for sundry inside tips, the Comtesse swore privately never to touch the study’s handle.

  André stroked her flushed cheek, his eyes on the carpet.

  “Is something the matter?” he asked gently. He had noticed her hesitation—and, after the frenzy just now, that the usually reserved Comtesse had tried several advanced maneuvers with him.

  She was silent, studying his face—the handsome lines, the bright gaze, the slightly wavy fair hair.

  “Is it the Baron de Sauternes? Do you need my help?” he asked again. By this he meant her late husband’s brother, who had always despised the Comtesse and wished to drive the long-widowed guardian of the family holdings from power and seize the Chateau de Lur-Saluces.

  Yet once the Comtesse actually left Lur-Saluces and moved to Lafite, the Baron de Sauternes grew terrified: not only lest André swallow the Lur-Saluces estate, but lest the Comtesse whisper in bed and the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court find a pretext of tax evasion to clap him in prison or ship him overseas. Kind at heart, the Comtesse did not want her lover to intrude too far into family affairs; seeing this, André let the matter drop.

  She only shook her head. After a pause she said, “It is the family business. Even with your Bordeaux solution restraining downy mildew, many vineyards may still lose 15–30%. I worry more that the quality of the wine will suffer.”

  André smiled. “Your nectar—worth its weight in gold…” He broke off, glanced at her, and, finding she had missed the slip, relaxed.

  So-called noble-rot wine existed only in two places within the Holy Roman Empire: Tokaj in Hungary and the Johannisberg estate on the Rhine. In history, the Lur-Saluces estate would not send to Johannisberg to learn the craft for another forty years.

  He chose to give her the shortcut early by forty years. “I have heard,” he said, “that the microclimate in Sauternes is peculiar. The Garonne throws up heavy vapors by day which turn to night fog; this fosters a ‘noble mold’ on the grape skins. In fact, the golden botrytized wine of Tokaj is made from such affected grapes.”

  Her eyes lit, then dimmed. “My husband sent to Tokaj while he lived, to learn the method; we were refused. Austrians and Hungarians dislike the French; still less would they publish a treasure craft.”

  André smiled, pleased. “Tokaj is not alone. There is an estate that knows the same art. Its name is modest, but the wine rivals Tokaj—perhaps is more distinctive. Best of all, they do not guard the secret. For a price, you can buy the whole pathway—from vineyard care to botrytized vinification. If you meet the price, they will even second their specialists.”

  “Tell me—quickly—the name and where?” The Comtesse rolled over him, urgent with questions.

  “I will—if you first reward my…” He grinned.

  “Oh—oh—oh… near Mainz… yes, like that… on the Rhine… the Johannisberg estate…”

  Note:

  Cap-Fran?ais is the principal port and colonial capital of French Saint-Domingue, a strategic hub in the Caribbean whose stability would soon be tested by the coming slave uprising.