by S. P. Grogan
One remaining choice was to return to Auvergne and take up the position of a country squire. That was now an anathema to him for his related families, had changed him so much into an educated and sophisticate he could not, though he loved the countryside, could not see himself as a gentleman farmer, tending sheep and planting crops—and being away from a lively city like Paris, away from such possibilities that might lead for action for a now unemployed captain of nothing.
He looked to friends Segur and Noailles who were totally sympathetic, agitated against St. Germain, but they remained in Royal service as officers and could offer no quick solution to his position. Adrienne gave him comfort as she could saying things would improve, telling him it was certain he was fated to do great things. That gave him slight mollification, but when he sought to act like a family man, sit with his wife and child, he reacted with nervousness. Doing nothing meant he was nothing.
He continued his close inspection by newspapers of the war in America but at this time there were no great events which gave insight on who was carrying the field. However, two small items in the local Parisian gazettes had caught his eye. First, an American merchant by the name of Silas Deane had arrived in Paris to purchase supplies for trade in the Colonies. To Gilbert, that seemed odd and mysterious, since the only materials needed in the Colonies were for the war—gunpowder and arms. To Gilbert’s interpretation this meant that this Mr. Deane had the confidence of Congress and therefore was an agent, if not an ambassador without portfolio. This man had power but Gilbert was at loss for what to do with it, except it began to give him an idea, laughed about only a few months later. Perhaps his officer talents were better used, if not by France, but by another government, or at least a government-in-formation.
The second bit of news that gave him further direction to at least do something was the notice, because of the army’s consolidation, that the Comte de Broglie, the General, had returned to Paris. This excited Gilbert for here was a man who had called him friend, who in fact had said, as son of a war hero like his father, that if the Comte could ever do anything for him, just call upon him. This news was fortuitous, for if anyone could give great advice for a soldier, it would be a former commanding officer. Lafayette sent around his card to set upon a time he could call upon the General de Broglie.
Fortuitous indeed. General de Broglie had been stewing these last two months, still impatient that he had not been recognized by King and court for the services he could render. He had been pushed aside by St. Germain’s army remodel and though not furloughed as Captain La Fayette who agitated to what he should do next. And with such an ego and mind as he had Broglie began to scheme to find advantages, and then the idea struck him.
It was apparent to those with military bearing within France that though they were quietly supportive of the colonists to bring low the British crown, military men like de Broglie felt the Continental Army as seen from afar, lacked militaristic bearing and expertise in leadership. As he saw this the problem, de Broglie came to the decision in his own mind, that he was the best candidate to act as Generalissimo and with his military insight and genius he was the one who could pull all the colonies together, to give the army cohesion and direction, and he would lead them, and with victory, who knew, there was a chance they would see him as the central leader to lead their fledgling government. Such a solution stewed within until it boiled into his self truth: he was the only choice. He knew that he had to tread carefully and create a strategy and political support before approaching the Foreign Minister Vergennes with his plan.
“Comte,” said his servant, bowing upon entering, “per his appointment time, the Marquis de la Fayette his here to attend you, sire.”
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot.” He had not forgotten. De Broglie held a brief remembrance of the boy. He had known his tragic father, and on more than one occasion in passing had mentioned that to cement a personal connection. Yet, this marquis, rich as he had heard had been a mere background to the more socially prominent officers like the comte de Noailles and the staunch Masonic studious comte de Segur. Still, it was true, de Broglie had encouraged familiarity with these young nobles and as he knew they would be of use to him, perhaps as a staff entourage when he approached the King and commanded to lead the Colonial insurgents to victory.
“Please ask him to come in, and bring us some Port.”
De Broglie’s impression of the young man required new appraisal. La Fayette was dressed in fine clothes, but not in uniform. And then the situation dawned, the boy had been, as he had, shoved aside at St. Germain’s whims of shuffling around the military legions.
“Monsieur, comte. I have come to you as a fellow officer, and as my past commander, to gain your opinion and advice,” Gilbert wasted no time before launching into his objective. He spoke slowly and paced with articulation holding the fear that de Broglie might dismiss him if he spoke poorly or acted immature in his request.
“Why, it is so glad to see you again, Captain. Do have a seat. I have called for some libation.” Though both men were in civilian dress he saw La Fayette in discomfort. “Oh, I am sorry; I assumed you are on leave, but in your dress because of the new ideas from the Royal Council.”
“Yes, sire. I have been placed in the reserve at half-pay. Though I, and the Duc d’Ayen, my father-in-law, feel it both an injustice.”
“As do I, Marquis. We have a great deal of talented men who should be put to constructive use for King and country.”
“And the reason to my visit. I—and he slowed to form his words with care—“I and a few of my officer friends (he had yet to talk to anyone of his idea) are thinking about offering our services to the American patriots and assist in their gaining their liberty and freedoms from the disreputable and intolerable British.”
De Broglie taken aback for a moment let the wheels of his own schemes turn a few rotations and fit into a new modified plan.
“Well, young sir, certainly a noble quest. And who might be your other friends?”
Gilbert hesitated but then said strongly, “My fellow offices, Noailles and Segur. There are others I know harbor a desire to go to the American’s aid, but many retain their silence so as not to offend the King’s wishes.”
“I must confess I have also been approached by certain officers who see the chance of great distinction for themselves if they go on such a journey. I would heartily support them.”
“You would?”
“There is no doubt in my mind that our government is beginning, if not already, in motion to start rendering aid to the colonists and in their battle. But we have a cautious government, and I do not blame them. To rush into war unprepared is disaster. It would be far better if, let’s say, an ‘excursion force’ went first to understand the terrain and to show the Americans the best of the French officer cadre.”
“I agree with you totally.”
“But don’t be in a rush. One must plan carefully, and we must gain the approval of the King. It is paramount that the Americans accept the King’s emissaries and they have the power to act on behalf of the King’s prime directives.”
Gilbert did not like the thought of having to slow down when an idea of his had been sprouting for at least a month. The first week in July was ending and his feeling of emptiness was being filled with new optimism that an adventure lay just over the horizon.
De Broglie sensing a letdown in the boy’s countenance was haste to add.
“There are several reasons for my advice of prudence and caution before undergoing such an admirable undertaking. Keep in mind, I knew your father, and it would break my heart that his son might subject himself to danger and loss of life. It would be hard for me to bear, as your friend. One always must prepare a battle plan.
“Another factor towards such preparation is that I am expecting any time this month or next the return of my Aide de Camp, Johan de Kalb. You recall him from his service to me in Metz. I think it was eight years ago, Minister Choiseul sent him to America to inves
tigate the temperament of then quarreling colonies. He came back with great interest in their affairs. I would like him to visit with Noailles, Segur, you, and any others. In that meeting we should discuss and come to decisions that might meet your expectations. Two weeks from now, would that work for you?”
To this Gilbert readily agreed. He had no better plan, no plan at all, just an idea of action to go help, and fight in a foreign war.
“Yes. Yes, I can wait. I will talk to my friends and bring them next time. And we will follow your guidance.” Gilbert left in a better mood. Here was a man, a marquis, as himself, the Marquis de Ruffec, who was also a soldier, General de Broglie, who had fought beside his father, who understood what he sought to obtain. Here was a man he could follow.
After the proper amount of time spent on social talk the young marquis departed, much pleased with his new circumstances. It was then a side door from the library slid open and a man, dressed in fine, well tailored, but nondescript day clothes entered.
De Broglie smiled at him.
“Well, Baumarchais, did I not say I could identify the support needed to convince the King that I am the man to take over the Continental Army?”
French businessman Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, former royal watchmaker, sometimes playwright and lately a spy just returned from assignment in England sat down where La Fayette had been moments earlier. He poured himself his own glass of port, sipped it, and returned the smile.
“Your plans are in motion. Seems you are attracting the officers you might require.”
Broglie felt in a good mood. The visit from the Marquis de La Fayette was a surprise, but the boy could be manipulated and he did have the wealth and Noailles name which would lend legitimacy and draw in more supporters. He yet needed action from France’s most effective agent in the American theatre of internal operations.
“And how goes your tasks, Beaumarchais, especially with this American merchant?”
“Mr. Silas Deane was sent by their Congress’s Committee of Secret Correspondence, which would be similar I presume with our Department of Foreign Affairs. I will be giving him some time to fail of his own accord. He arrived only this last week in the guise of a commercial agent. I will let him wallow in his effort to secure contracts of supply. When my associates who will keep their eyes on him say he is at a point of desperation, I will then introduce myself as emissary of the King, and that all contracts should come through me.”
“And we have our understanding?”
“Certainly, for me your cause is mine: to help these colonists against England. Minister Vergennes will be selling to him, through me, various military supplies needed by this General Washington’s troops.”
“Washington is such a poor excuse as a military man. His only battle was seeing his commanding officer Braddock ambushed and slain, and this Washington’s only command was to lead the retreat. I call it a great blunder, that entire escapade. He will be easily replaced by French officers once they are dependent upon the goods you deliver to them.”
“And by officers you mean yourself at the head of the Continental Army?”
“It is so apparent they need our assistance. You supply the arms and I the military expertise; that is if you can persuade Agent Deane of his responsibilities.”
Yes, comte, it will be my goal to gently nudge our American shopkeeper to suggest that his army needs French military prowess. Such as this little Marquis de La Fayette?”
“Oh, not him. He has no military experience at all, just a papegai [popinjay]. We want competent officers.”
“Of your choosing, of course?”
“For my future staff, for my divisional commanders, those who will obey my commands. As Baron De Kalb who is my man, loyal to a fault.”
“Then,” said the spy, “let us drink to a promising venture.”
44.
GILBERT, MOVING IN his world day to day, did not take notice of this momentous event towards his developing personality, a key transformation in his maturity. He had made an independent choice. For all his previous life he had moved to other’s decisions. School or where he lived was directed by his late mother. His joining the Musketeers from a command by his grandfather, and more recently the last several years his marriage and military positions were delegated by Noailles influence. All this structuring he accepted, with casual fatalism if it seemed ‘duty’ and enthusiasm if he could find ‘joy’ for but a moment. His life these days flowed like a leaf upon a gently moving current, moving but to no definite end. Life would have gone on remaining so, easy, undistinguished as courtier in the mass retinue, living at ease in the reign of Louis XVI.
Except, and this may not have been a responsible decision, for it would bring consternation to the adults around him, but Gilbert was eager, too narrow in focus, to this new goal arising precipitated by world news: there existed a destination for adventure. And this meant an overwhelming desire to go to America and fight in a war he knew little about. Within him was the rationalization he was doing so to prove his worth: to himself and to the adults in his world who held him in low esteem, and further coming more a part of the problem, to maintain the high pedestal upon which his loving and idolizing wife placed him believing he could do no wrong.
But a firm decision cannot be achieved in a vacuum. Politics with luck and mischance will all bear against the outcome. Gilbert had made his decision, knew where he wanted to go but not how to get there. It would take actions outside his control by a variety of characters with their own self-interest agendas who would move him on towards...this life altering adventure.
In France, during the remainder of the year 1776, the last six months specifically, should receive its own naming: The Time of the Conspiracies. Here, secrets kept did not remain secrets for long, where spy spied on spy, where politicians said one thing while winking their true feelings. Into this swirling of subterfuges, the one person who seemed oblivious was the eighteen year old almost nineteen year old Marquis de La Fayette.
The secrets had begun in May, when France and Spain each had forwarded a million livres and reals, respectively, in gold to the Colonies. France sent the gold through its colorful middle man Caron de Beaumarchais. And in this month through the spy’s direction the first ships began sending military supplies to the colonies and receiving return shipments of tobacco.
As Gilbert saw his personal goal proceeding he thought it moved to slow with the steady steps of a sloth. In fact from July on everything hustled in a frenzied blur.
Silas Deane gazed at his calendar. 19 July. He rose to meet his guest.
Monsieur Beaumarchais, it is a pleasure.” Deane spoke poor French; Beaumarchais barely could converse in halting English
“Monsieur Deane, welcome to France. How goes your visit here as an ‘agent for the Indian tribes’?” That was Deane’s cover, which in time would fool no one.
“I find my task of locating the supplies required a daunting undertaking.” In fact only being in Paris since 7 July, newly arrived Deane [designated secret Commissioner appointed by the Congressional Congress] had no success at all in even identifying suppliers of military arms.
“Sir,” said Beaumarchais, glancing at Deane’s sparse accommodations at the Hôtel du Grand Villars on the Left Bank, “as you might have received previous communication I am at your service ready to help as you might desire.”
“That is most kind.”
“In fact, with your permission, I have been able to obtain a private conference with a gentleman who has even more resources than I to fill your list of desired goods. However, he asks through me, for one favor, he cannot personally ask for himself, but it is to all’s mutual benefit.”
Deane knew this was coming. He would be caught up in the give-and-take of demands. He did not respond and Beaumarchais continued, knowing France held the power to ask for many favors for the American Colonists, now desperate insurgents.
“It is perhaps minor, but we have noted that by the recent battles and the
military organization as it exists now that your army would benefit by the expertise of having several French officers giving advice, if not commanding a few army groups.”
Deane knew this true. Sitting on the Congressional Committees, he knew how woeful the Army was not just in the supplies he was directed to obtain but in character and strength of its own officer corps. He could not disagree.
“Yes, that is true. We need not only friends but those who might help directly.”
“Sir, with your acceptance, I would bring to your attention certain French officers who are quite qualified to assist your Army. The only thing I think they might ask is that they are not seen as French officers but as brought into the American Army as general officers and ones whose ranks are sufficient that they will be able to command.”
“I do not think that an impossibility. I have been given great latitude in my discretion in that matter [He had been given none]. I have in fact been instructed to seek out engineers who can design our fortifications [their only request, four engineers].”
“We have plenty of those at hand, and I think if we find the best, and they can be given a lengthy leave of absence to join your forces.”
“Excellent. And when do we meet your particular advantageous ‘gentleman’?”
“Tomorrow.” Deane surprised but pleased that his task might find improvement.
Lord Stormont, British Ambassador to France, had paid spies everywhere, and they knew most everything. Deane was unaware of England’s complete knowledge of France’s attempt at secrecy, and was therefore somewhat unsettled that his first visit to the Palace at Versailles was to enter through one of the servant’s side entrances, not the palace front entrance itself. Past many rooms he and Beaumarchais walked, then through a hidden doorway, into a well-appointed room, an office, with gilded trim, and large portraits of previous monarchs.