by S. P. Grogan
THE NEXT EVENING, HE and the Prince de Poix attended the opera. An Italian soprano, Giasto Tenducci was singing in C. W. Gluck’s Orfee ed Eurdice (Orpheus & Eurydice) and Gilbert was told to listen for the aria, ‘Che faro senza Euridice’ which the singer had made popular several years earlier in concerts in Rome. Gilbert had not heard the theme produced as a French version and performed in 1774, but was familiar with the German composer Gluck. Marie Antoinette as a child had been one of his pupils.
Being polite and he said he enjoyed music, but did not say he approved of martial bands over Italian warblers (Adrienne more so for songs of fated love). Ambassador Noailles in response told him prior to the performance that he might enjoy certain English compositions, like the popular Beggar’s Opera, an English satire on Italian opera, in revival at the King’s Theatre. The Ambassador only sought to make conversation ignoring Gilbert’s lack of English to understand lyrics which would certainly stifle his enjoyment.
At the conclusion of the performance, and in a chance meeting with certain military and diplomatic dignitaries Gilbert found in one set of introductions he came face to face with General Clinton, hero of the Battle of New York, accompanied by his political and military friends.
At what he judged the opportune moment, his Ambassador had turned away, Gilbert mentioned he had met Lord Rawdon a previous evening, and Gilbert repeated Rawdon’s question about possible war between the two countries. Gilbert quickly went on to say, to avoid effrontery at putting out there anything sounding challenging, though he might wish to do so.
“To his question, I told Lord Rawdon I would pray there is no war between our two great countries. Peace is more preferable.” He paused for effect as he did have General Clinton’s close attention. “Yet it does seem to me that if these untrained American ’rabble’ as Lord Rawdon called them from his personal experience, had officers of higher worth, say French line officers, who could train and guide them, I wonder: would not such future battles be on more equal footing?”
General Clinton laughed politely. He could understand French and its conversational nuances.
“I would not wish to take issue on any unknown possibilities,” said General Clinton seeing less confrontation than sparring with wit, “But it would be quite certain that a bouquet of British bayonets would outshine a Fleur-de-Lis.”
“Sir, though I am a mere Captain on reserve leave with His Majesty’s forces, if by chance, I were to be, say, a Major General in this Continental Army, rabble they are but with lofty purpose, then perhaps my skills might have some value. And from a Fleur-de-Lis planted among the weeds may spring a floral field of victory. Or such rabble may, just to quote your own bard Shakespeare: ‘What need we any spur but our own cause / To prick us to redress?”
“What ho, Marquis,” grinned the General, “You are indeed a right tempered champion for a lost cause. I do pray, without offending, sir, that were I to face reformed ‘rabble’ led by your skills, I might first extend an invitation to dinner at my headquarters, for there we might meet again after a spirited fight, you as my guest.”
Gilbert tightened his face, teeth clenched but kept his fervor held in and unreadable.
“It does feel a wager in the offering,” quipped Gilbert, “And I hear you British are a race of sportsmen. Myself and others in Paris do have stables of thoroughbreds we race and place bets upon. A wager on war? Such an interesting idea.”
Gilbert wanted to flash with fury, call the General out, but again reined in his temper to match the jocularity of the exchanges, General Clinton in jest, Gilbert in baiting.
“All I know that the American battlefields seem less defined,” said Gilbert, trying to match the light taunt. “The Americans seem to do best when they come to supper, but leave with full bellies before the first course is served. If I were there, to have me to dinner requires you to first secure my attention.”
“That is true, hide and seek is a strategy of the rebels. They cannot win when faced in an open field. And when threatened with flanking, they will always retreat.” General Clinton knew that full well, having seen those mornings where General Washington’s had jumped the night before from the closing net, as it had been in the fights at Harlem Heights and then at Fort Washington.
“Then, General,” and at this statement Gilbert gave a cavalier bow like he, a former Musketeer might,“ if you were to invite me, I would properly decline, though perhaps leave a well remembered calling card.” And Gilbert smiled a grin of gotcha. The General took in the Marquis’ light banter yet sensing a hidden challenge before guffawing at the fanciful aspersions from this young child noble.
The evening ended with all in good humor, except for Gilbert, who after two weeks on this Albion island where he might accept the general people as tolerable still had not lessened his dislike for the British military.
His valet, Blasse-Camus, met him at the carriage door, as he prepared to return to the Ambassador’s house.
“Do not look over your shoulder, just be warned, our man with the scar on his cheek, the one who hid at your Noailles residence, stands again in the shadows across the horse park.”
“Do we know who he represents?”
“If I were to guess, Minister Vergennes sees you no problem as long as you are safe with your Uncle, but Lord Stormont who sees Commissioner Deane and General De Broglie up to no good, knows by his network you run with that crowd.”
“Do you think they know I have bought a ship?”
“The Dubois-martin brothers are better with secrets than those they serve. So far your splurge at being a ship owner, from what I know, remains undiscovered. Or if so, would not the Duc d’Ayen be after you with an ox whip.”
“His shouts are stinging pain enough.” Gilbert wanted to say, ‘Only if he understood my desires, and that this quest is honorable.’ But one did not say such inner thoughts to a servant.
“Should I give our watcher a cudgel of head knots that he may never forget?”
“No, we are unsure his orders or his sponsor. Still, there may come a time when we need to separate him from our travels.”
“My pleasure, sire.”
“Let’s see if he shows up at tomorrow night’s dinner when I dine with the Earl of Shelburne. Now, there a spy might find good fortune for his reports.”
George III, King of England
61.
FOR THOSE ACTIVITIES of the day he let himself be guided around by one of the Ambassador’s functionaries to see the various historical sites which he had little interest in viewing. Or at other times the Prince de Poix might bring along a coquettish daughter of some duchess or so, who wished to practice her tutored basic French, learned by a master, usually one who taught with an accent of the merchant class of Paris and not in the court language. With late evening to early morning, the Prince seldom moved to make toilette and himself presentable until nearly high noon. Tagging along, Gilbert in these afternoon outings would find himself observant but not excited in the itinerary, his mind always wondering when he would hear news of when his ship was ready to leave the Bordeaux harbor.
One day is well exampled. Gilbert and the Prince, and several solicitous young women of lesser rank, went shopping. Gilbert had been instructed by his father-in-law to find certain chemicals from the home of Joseph Priestley, or at a British apothecary. The Duchess d’Ayen sought ostrich feathers for a costume gown she had a seamstress designing, and Segur wanted to secure a first English edition of the writings of philosopher John Locke. Adrienne, as new mother, aware of the Anglophile phenomenon sweeping through Paris salons, wondered if there might an ‘English style summer dress’ for Henrietta, and had asked for herself: was the Belgium lace of better quality in London than Paris? The hint being obvious and added to his shopping list.
The French coterie on one day became a touring group visiting Westminster Abbey, searching out Queen Elizabeth’s grave and where the composer Handel was buried (they were to hear his works that evening). They walked to Newgate Prison
so the women could see if there were any prisoners taking their final one-way trip to the Tyburn gallows. Public executions were a great form of mob entertainment and for all classes. They saw several eye-plucked heads, dried out, on pikes on the prison wall, but little activity. Construction impeded closer inspection. It was underway with deep mudded refuse everywhere for they were tearing down the old Roman Gate and part of the prison of the 12th Century, making way for an expansion for the incarcerated, as the exploding inmate population of recent years brought on overcrowding.
Further along on their tour, Gilbert and the Prince dallied at the goldsmith and clock shop of James Cox, who famously had closed his Cox’s Museum only two years earlier. Though most of his curios were sold off, including Cromwell’s head, one of his greater creations done in concert with inventor John Merlin remained in his shop: the exquisite Silver Swan, a large musical automata, where the jeweled swan gave the illusion to be swimming, in front of a waterfall, and would from time to time, seem to be preening itself.
In browsing the clockmaker’s wares, The Prince acquired a gold clock that ran, it was said, on perpetual motion, while Gilbert found a pocket watch which could tell time, simultaneous to various countries. Unknown to his attending party, such a time piece would let him know date and time in Paris when against his positioning wherever he might be somewhere in North America. No one else took notice in the value of such use, merely admired the goldsmith’s design.
That evening the party, without the Ambassador in attendance, went to the Theatre-Royal in Covent-Garden to hear a musical oratorio called ‘Jephtha’, the music composed by Handel, sung by six talented performers, followed by individual performances, a duetto on viola and Violin. The British, Gilbert found out, were entranced by George Handel. He had been born in Germany and in 1710 he became Kapellmeister to German Prince George, the Elector of Hanover, who in 1714 would become King George I of Great Britain and Ireland. Handel immigrated to London in 1712 where he composed over forty operas in thirty years, and other styles of music, including British baroque. ‘Jephtha’ would be the last oratorio he wrote, and the last of his works he heard performed before he died in 1759 was his ‘Messiah’. Gilbert fell asleep during the violin solo.
THOUGH HE DECLINED to admit to himself he enjoyed meeting the great gentlemen of England, primarily to gain their opinion on the American war they were fighting. Certainly, he admitted, this might be inferred as intelligence gathering, but did he not turn down an invitation to tour the great warship port at Portsmith? This week they were outfitting with stores and powder an armada to sail into the American summer campaign (this would be General Burgoyne’s gathering task force). To the Portsmouth invitation the Prince declined because of his exhaustion from over indulgence during the evening rounds, and Gilbert concurred in begging off, knowing that trip might indeed brand him a spy if he were caught on the open sea, and his ‘espionage tour’ discovered, then it would be carted off to The Tower of London, if not his own fatal steps to the Tyburn Gallows.
On this particular evening, he, the Prince, and the Ambassador attended a formal supper at the Earl of Shelburne’s residence. Gilbert found interest because this was the ‘loyal opposition’ to the North government currently in the prime minister’s chair and controlling the government policy.
Gilbert walked with translator Rochette among the elite, unaware of who was who, but willing to strike up a conversation with polite manners and soon have it drift to the war. Shelburne’s friends and political colleagues were then a form of conservative Whigs, and opposed to the Tories, whom the King found favor in with their prosecution of the war.
Gilbert was introduced to Irish politician-writer Edmund Burke, who had been a private secretary to Lord Rockingham, now serving as a Whig in Parliament. Gilbert listened more than spoke but it soon became apparent that Burke had always been opposed to the policies against the Colonies, and now that war had commenced, wanted to see a speedy end into peace. Burke, told his listeners, Lafayette included, that people should have liberty but must be well regulated. That property should be the fee for voting membership in a democracy, that having a figurehead worked better than individual states in total freedom, a good ingredient for anarchy to blossom.
When Gilbert innocently asked what he thought about the colonial war. Burke had answered, as if speaking before his constituency, “"I do not know how to wish success to those whose Victory is to separate from us a large and noble part of our Empire. Still less do I wish success to injustice, oppression and absurdity."
Gilbert soaked in the comments only because he knew he wanted to fight and was more curious as to the form of their make-up. He pressed and was answered by Burke.
“If they won’t accept our sovereign as sole ruler, then perhaps they should form under a constitution, and be regulated under that.”
Gilbert had heard enough this evening to realize this crowd was hungry as jackals in politics to fight against their opposite, than they were totally in favor of complete independence for the American colonists. Burke spoke on in a fast clip; much Gilbert’s translator failed to follow adequately and believed Lafayette to be disinterested.
Another gentleman who caught Gilbert’s attention was introduced to him as Richard Fitzpatrick. Gilbert was soon to discover this Parliament Whig was another Irishman and a Catholic and a Freemason. In fact what speeded his introduction into English society had been his social status as a Freemason. In England, they took such membership quite serious and a member as someone with great intelligence and position.
“I am surprised,” asked Gilbert, after the pleasantries were done, “That you are opposed to this American War, yet still deign to go and fight as an officer when called upon.”
“Sir,” offered Fitzpatrick, “One must be loyal always to his country and his country’s wishes. So I obey His Majesty. And with that I am curious, for I feel my exposure to what is going on in America will give my voice in Parliament a more authoritative trill against what I see as great waste of our resources.”
Fitzpatrick continued in cordiality but sly wit, “And will I have the honor in the near future to find the French and English at war again, and over this trifle as our large colony?”
Gilbert held his secret close but had to reply, “Sir, you have already taken our large colony called Canada, would it not be fair for us to exchange that cold land for one of more sunny southern exposure.”
Fitzpatrick laughed and found the young man had intensity in his conversation.
“Many of my colleagues believe we will be at war with France within five years. Already I hear the French seek to be allies with our colonies. That indeed would be an effrontery worth a battle or two. I do not see any reason a monarchy should well support a nascent republic confederation of peoples so different unto themselves?”
“France believes in the liberty of men, Monsieur Fitzpatrick. And if these thirteen colonies so invite a foreign army as friends to give them aid, but unlike the Hessians, hired mercenaries, I can see no excuse not to extend a mutual hand of comradeship.”
“You speak well, sir, and seem active and ready to extend your hand. Since I sail for America in two weeks, I would not want ever to have the pleasure of meeting you on any battlefield.”
“I would also pray so,” replied Gilbert, “but if it is to be my first regard is to fight with my honor as a badge of my worthiness.”
“Ah, the true soldier’s motto. If I should spy you on a battlefield, across from me, I should shout, “How is your honor today, Marquis La Fayette?”
And both men laughed in silent judgment of what they would be like in warring opposition.
Across the room, surveying the pompous crowed of his friends and cronies and having another glass of port, sat the historian- antiquarian, a man of letters, Horace Walpole, a Whig now out of office. Ten years earlier he had written one of the first gothic novels, The Castle of Otrante, an adventure story of castle intrigue, prison and escapes that had captured Gilbert’s e
arly imagination, where minor characters could rise to be kings. Gilbert was a great admirer of the author. Walpole had several French friends as letter correspondents, several who knew Gilbert and the Noailles family on a social basis.
The two men, Walpole and La Fayette never were introduced that night and never spoke to each other. Such are the coincidences of life.
In a letter to Sir Horace Mann, a few days later, Walpole would write in part... “The campaign in America has lost a great deal of its florid complexion, and General Washington is allowed by both sides not to be the worst general in the field. The stocks are grown positive that we shall have a French war. Saw several of their kind at Shelburne’s the other night, haughty and silent but eager to give us our comeuppance...”
62.
SEEKING NOT TO BE OUT of sorts by being feted nightly in a smothering nest of his enemies, Gilbert had those he could turn to who espoused his cause...or so he thought.
Commissioner Deane had sent a letter along with Gilbert to London to introduce him to Dr. Edward Bancroft. The doctor had once been a pupil under Schoolmaster Deane in Connecticut, and in his early medical practice as a plantation doctor in Dutch Guiana had written several naturalist tracts that attracted fellow scientist and observer of the natural world, Benjamin Franklin.
Relocating to London in 1769 Bancroft published that year, Natural History of Guiana. He opened a practice, married, had children, and in 1773 became a fellow of the Royal Society, a year later membership in the London Medical Society, and in 1774 received his medical degree from Aberdeen University.