The Marquis

by Laura Auricchio

  Washington, too, had high hopes for Lafayette. Lafayette’s good nature had already helped dissipate the army’s resentment of French officers. Now Washington relied on Lafayette to smooth whatever wrinkles might mar the new alliance. Writing to Sullivan on July 27, Washington stressed the importance of maintaining “Harmony and the best understanding” between the two forces. This was no simple task. In fact, Washington himself remained wary of working with non-Americans. In a letter to the New York congressman Gouverneur Morris (who, having witnessed the privations of Valley Forge, became an ardent champion of the army), Washington exclaimed, “I do most devoutly wish that we had not a single Foreigner among us, except the Marquis de la Fayette, who acts upon very different principles than those which govern the rest.”

  Perhaps it was inevitable that relations between the new allies would be strained from the start. Shortly after the armies assembled at Newport, their leaders began wrangling over whose troops would land first on the British-occupied islands. Sullivan expected that American troops would be the first to disembark, with d’Estaing’s French forces following them. But d’Estaing insisted that the French deserved the honor of landing before the Americans. Indeed, d’Estaing argued that for the French to land after the Americans would be not merely “militarily inadmissible” but, in fact, “impossible.” Lafayette made valiant efforts to bring the two sides closer together, but with national pride at stake, there was little to be done. To d’Estaing, he emphasized that this was, after all, America’s war, and that it might be “vexing for certain people to watch the beautiful monologues of a play performed by foreign actors.” To Washington, Lafayette urged that the French be allowed to act quickly and decisively, lest d’Estaing’s men feel unappreciated. Having boarded the French ships, Lafayette wrote, he “saw among the Fleet an ardor, and a desire of doing some thing which would soon turn into impatience if we don’t give them a speedy occasion of fighting.”

  It did not go well. A joint attack, with both armies landing simultaneously, was planned for August 10, but Sullivan seized an opportunity to advance one day earlier. Having received word that the British were evacuating, he sent his men forward on August 9 without notifying d’Estaing. As John Laurens related the story to his father, “This measure gave much umbrage to the French officers. They conceived their troops injured by our landing first, and talked like women disputing precedence in a country dance, instead of men engaged in pursuing the common interest of two great nations.” Feeling angry and betrayed, d’Estaing struck out on his own. Without consulting the Americans, he dispatched most of his fleet from Newport Harbor in pursuit of British ships, leaving Sullivan to discover that his naval protection had been reduced to a mere three ships.

  Horrified, Sullivan charged Lafayette with the unenviable task of coaxing d’Estaing back to Newport. But the French had come under fire as they sailed out of Narragansett Bay and were wary of facing the same battery on their return. In a pleading letter, Lafayette promised d’Estaing that his ships would be safe and added, with underlines for emphasis, “that the Americans do not find your situation dangerous.” Still d’Estaing refused to place his fleet in the hands of an ally he deemed untrustworthy. He remained at sea until the elements accomplished what Lafayette could not: on August 12, strong winds scattered the French vessels and inflicted heavy damage that forced d’Estaing to turn back for Newport. Relieved as they were by the return of the fleet, the Americans were all the more livid when d’Estaing declared his intention to remain only long enough to assess the condition of his tattered ships. On August 22, the French sailed for Boston in search of needed repairs, leaving Sullivan to accuse them of desertion, cowardice, or worse. Furious at the French, he committed these and other unflattering opinions to paper and dispatched a small craft to overtake d’Estaing and deliver the missive.

  For a brief moment, Lafayette snapped. He did not condone d’Estaing’s departure, but neither would he abide insults to French honor. With tempers flaring on all sides, Lafayette was so irate that he dared not share his emotions with his mentor, Washington; he later confessed that he feared he might “risk our friendship by expressing the sentiments of an afflicted heart.” Still, he kept striving to make peace. “Would you believe,” he asked d’Estaing in a letter of August 24, “that, forgetting the general obligations owed to France and the services specifically rendered by the fleet, the greater part of these people here allow faded prejudices to revive and speak as though they had been abandoned, almost betrayed.” Nonetheless, Lafayette pointed out that their mutual disgust with Sullivan’s cohort “need not mean falling out with General Washington and Congress,” whom he termed “the two great driving forces of all our work.” The next day, he shared his horror with Washington, asking him to “Reccommend to the several chief persons of Boston to do any thing they can to put the French fleet in situation of Sailing soon.”

  Ultimately, it fell to Washington to calm the anger on both sides. In judiciously phrased letters to Lafayette, Washington tended to the young man’s wounded honor by extolling the virtues of Lafayette, d’Estaing, and all their countrymen. In other letters written at the same time, Washington issued pleas for transatlantic understanding to Sullivan, Major General William Heath, and other American leaders, explaining his wish to “palliate and soften matters.” Wisely, Washington asked his countrymen to remember that the French were “people old in war, very strict in military etiquette, and apt to take fire where others scarcely seem warmed.” There was little to be done about national temperament, but military success required a degree of mutual understanding. Differences would have to be put aside.

  On August 26, Lafayette rode through the night to Boston, making the sixty-mile journey in just seven hours—a remarkably rapid pace. There, he conferred with all parties and helped broker a détente. The success of the alliance depended on Lafayette, and Lafayette’s future depended on that alliance.

  CHAPTER 7

  HOMECOMINGS

  In the fall of 1778, Lafayette was growing restless. Having suffered through a summer of delays and disappointments, he spent the month of September encamped near Bristol, Rhode Island, awaiting an attack that never came, prodding Washington and d’Estaing into actions they would not pursue, and lobbying for permission to return to Washington’s headquarters. On September 1, Lafayette pleaded with Washington, “I long my dear general, to be again with you.” Writing again on September 21, Lafayette added “our Separation has been long enough, and I am here as inactive as anywhere else.”

  With no new orders forthcoming, Lafayette cast about for other ways to contribute to the cause. On September 8 he wrote to Silas Talbot, an American army officer with extensive naval experience, to propose a nocturnal attack on an English frigate moored off the coast of Rhode Island. By the following week Lafayette had developed a new plan: he would challenge Lord Carlisle, the head of the British peace commission, to a duel. As Lafayette explained in a letter to d’Estaing, the commissioners had impugned the French character, alleging that France viewed the American colonies as little more than “the instrument of her ambition.” Not only did Lafayette burn to right the wrong but, he informed d’Estaing, “I have nothing very interesting to do here, and even while killing Lord Carlisle, I can make some more important arrangements at White Plains.” (Lafayette did extend the challenge, but Carlisle declined.) Finally, Lafayette’s last hopes for imminent activity were dashed by a letter of September 25 in which Washington made it clear that a second attempt to invade Canada was not in the offing. Adopting a firm but gracious tone, Washington wrote to his ever-eager comrade,

  If you have entertained thoughts my dear Marquis of paying a visit to your Court—To your Lady—and to your friends this Winter, but waver on acct. of an expedition into Canada, friendship induces me to tell you, that I do not conceive that the prospect of such an operation is so favourable at this time as to cause you to change your views.

  Shortly after the message was written, Lafayette began plann
ing a trip to France.

  As Washington knew, a series of personal misfortunes had been weighing on Lafayette in recent months, but a steadfast commitment to the American Revolution had prevented him from returning home. Henriette, Lafayette’s first daughter, had died on October 3, 1777, at the age of twenty-two months. But news traveled slowly and unreliably, especially in times of war, and Lafayette did not learn of the death until late spring. When he did, he was crushed. “How dreadful my isolation is,” he wrote to Adrienne on June 16. “My heart is afflicted by my own sadness and by yours, which I was not able to share. The immense time that it took for me to learn of that event makes it that much worse.” Lafayette was also facing financial troubles. Since arriving in America, he had been drawing on credit to pay for expenses that were rapidly multiplying. Making matters worse, the Victoire had foundered off the eastern seaboard in the summer of 1777, scuttling Lafayette’s plans to recoup his investment in the ship by sending it back to France loaded with cargo.

  The most pressing reason for Lafayette’s return to France might well have been the one highlighted in his October 13 letter to the president of Congress requesting leave of absence from the Continental Army. “Now … that France is involv’d in a war,” Lafayette wrote, “I am urg’d by my duty as well as by patriotic love, to present myself before the king, and know in what manner he judges proper to employ my services.” Perhaps Lafayette had come to understand that he would not be permitted to fight under the French flag until he begged the king’s forgiveness for sailing to America against explicit royal orders. At first, Lafayette seems not to have comprehended the difficulties of his situation, or the awkward position in which he placed d’Estaing, Bouillé, and the other French officers whom he petitioned for an appointment in the summer of 1778. But his interlocutors were more keenly attuned to questions of decorum and dared not welcome a fugitive—even a fugitive in name only—into the fold.

  As Lafayette planned his return voyage, France’s representatives in America began preparing carefully crafted letters to the king and his ministers in support of the wayward youth. The French ambassador, Conrad Alexandre Gérard, reported to the Comte de Vergennes on the “wisdom and dexterity” with which Lafayette had comported himself in America but deemed it prudent to distance himself from any laudatory views. In his letter of October 20, Gérard professed, “You know, Monseigneur, how far I am from adulation, but I would be unfair if I did not convey to you the testimonials that are on the lips of everyone here without any exception.” Gérard noted that Lafayette had “offered very salutary advice informed by friendship and experience” and that his “prudent, courageous, and likable” conduct had made him “the idol of Congress, of the army, and of the American people.” Moreover, he added, Lafayette’s “military talents are held in high esteem.” D’Estaing, too, wrote on Lafayette’s behalf while couching his commendations in apologetic terms. In a November report to the Ministry of the Marine, d’Estaing singled out the tremendous enthusiasm exhibited by Lafayette, which, he wrote, had obliged him to receive the young man with “personal satisfaction mingled with political unease.” Americans, in contrast, were unstinting in their praise of Lafayette. Knowing that the war could not be won without French support, and fully aware that Lafayette was America’s strongest advocate in France, Congress did all it could to shore up Lafayette’s standing in his native land. When Congress approved Lafayette’s leave of absence on October 21, it also resolved to furnish him with a letter extolling his virtues to Louis XVI. The official dispatch recommended “this young Nobleman to your Majesty’s notice,” lauding Lafayette as “one whom we know to be Wise in Council, gallant in the Fields, and Patient under the hardships of War.” Citing not only Lafayette’s “Zeal, Courage and attachment” but also his “Devotion to his Sovereign,” Congress attested that Lafayette had earned “the confidence of these United States … and the Affection of their Citizens.”

  William Carmichael, who had served as Silas Deane’s secretary in Paris, added a personal appeal to Benjamin Franklin, asking him to manage the delicate politics of Lafayette’s return. Lafayette’s diplomatic skills had impressed Carmichael, who reported to Franklin that “no one but [Lafayette] has known how to reconcile the clashing parties of this Continent to his own views.” He did not want to lose Lafayette’s valuable voice but, having witnessed the uproar that surrounded Lafayette’s departure from France, he believed that Franklin—the most beloved American in Paris—would be the best man to usher Lafayette back into the good graces of the king. Consider, Carmichael wrote to Franklin, “what a satisfaction it will be” to the Noailleses “that the Ministry should be acquainted by you rather than any one Else of the opinion entertained of [Lafayette] here.” “May it not be proper,” Carmichael suggested, “to put the resolves letters &c. &c. into the hands of the ministry instantly on the receipt of them & before the Marquis makes his appearance at Versailles?”

  Before he left, Lafayette was promised one more token of Congress’s gratitude: a ceremonial sword to be cast in silver by Lafayette’s Parisian cutler through the intercession of Benjamin Franklin. The sword, its hilt decorated with vignettes commemorating four of Lafayette’s battlefield accomplishments, became one of his most prized possessions. In Paris, John Adams remarked that Lafayette wore it proudly whenever he went out in company—it was tangible proof that Lafayette had found the glory he sought in America.

  When Lafayette had left France in 1777, the smarter sets of Paris and Versailles had deemed him a social liability, but on February 12, 1779, he returned home a hero. His carefully scripted reentry into Paris was an unmitigated success. As he described it, “Upon my arrival, I had the honor of being consulted by all the ministers and, what was even better, embraced by all the ladies.” Satisfying protocol, Lafayette immediately paid a visit to Versailles, where he was “interrogated, complimented, and exiled” to the luxurious confines of the Hôtel de Noailles for a few days of supremely comfortable house arrest—a nominal punishment for having disobeyed royal orders. But even this penalty was not paid in full: on his second day in Paris, Lafayette personally delivered a package of letters to John Adams. All doors were open to him, and even Marie Antoinette, who had so heartily disapproved of his dancing, now intervened with the king on his behalf. Thanks to the queen, Lafayette was granted the rather costly honor of paying 80,000 livres to purchase the command of the regiment of the King’s Dragoons— a position that a man out of royal favor could not have acquired for any amount of money.

  Like so many others before and since, Lafayette had reinvented himself in America. As the Comte de Ségur told it, Lafayette’s faraway exploits had captured the imagination of his homeland. Ever since Paris learned of “the first battles in which Lafayette and his comrades in arms burnished the name of France, the approbation was universal; even people who had most opposed his foolhardy enterprise applauded him; the court nearly burst with pride, and all the young people envied him.” In fact, Ségur believed that Lafayette’s éclat had propelled France into open support for the Americans. “Thus,” Ségur wrote, “public opinion, declaring itself more and more for war, made it inevitable, and dragged along a government too weak to resist such an impulse.”

  Another man might have been content to rest on his laurels, but Lafayette put his popularity to use in the service of the American cause. Throughout the spring of 1779, he corresponded and met with the highest-placed representatives on both sides of the French-American alliance, and thereby sealed his reputation as America’s foremost advocate in France. Speaking with Vergennes, Maurepas, and others at court, Lafayette proposed loan agreements, lobbied for increased naval and ground support, and floated ideas for military offensives against British territories. Of these, the most daring was a bold plan to strike the coastline of England, pillaging the commercial towns of Liverpool and Bristol to raise funds for the Americans. The assault was envisioned as a joint land-and-sea venture led by Lafayette and the naval commander John Paul Jones. In honor o
f Benjamin Franklin, who had been deeply involved in the planning, Jones would be aboard the Bonhomme Richard—a reference to Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanac. Fully anticipating that the offensive might begin at any moment, Lafayette spent much of the summer and autumn of 1779 at the ready at the Channel port of Le Havre, but he never received the go-ahead to sail.