The Marquis

by Laura Auricchio

  Lafayette was slow to see how he had erred, but Rochambeau hammered away until he got the point across, leading Lafayette to write a series of apologetic letters, each more elaborate than the last. Even at the end of the exchange Rochambeau had severe words for the presumptuous young man. “You know me well enough to believe that I do not need to be roused to action,” Rochambeau wrote to Lafayette on August 27. “At my age, when one has made a decision based on military and political reasoning necessitated by circumstances, all the instigations in the world could not make me change without a direct order from my general.” Lacing into Lafayette for his naïveté, Rochambeau allowed that “it is always good, my dear marquis, to believe the French invincible, but I am going to confide in you a great secret based on forty years’ experience. There are none easier to defeat when they have lost confidence in their commander.” And, he noted, they are inclined to “lose that confidence immediately when they have been put in danger because of private and personal ambition.” In the end, however, Rochambeau eased up on Lafayette, assuring him of his “most tender friendship” and concluding his letter by observing “that the warmth of your soul and your heart rather overheated the composure and wisdom of your judgment.” But that was not the end of the world. “Keep this last quality in the council,” Rochambeau recommended, “and reserve all of the first for the moment of action.”

  For Lafayette, the fateful moment finally arrived in February 1781, when Washington placed him in command of 1,200 men, mostly composed of light infantry, with orders “to act against the corps of the enemy now in Virginia.” Lafayette’s primary target was to be Benedict Arnold, the traitorous American general who had crossed over to the redcoats, plotting a British takeover of West Point in September 1780. Since then, Arnold had taken a page from Cornwallis’s playbook and was conducting costly raids throughout Virginia. Lafayette was meant to stop him. If Arnold were to fall into Lafayette’s hands, the marquis had explicit instructions to “execute in the most summary way” the “punishment due to his treason and desertion.” Lafayette set out from New Windsor, Connecticut, on February 21, and joined up with Baron von Steuben in Yorktown, Virginia, on March 14.

  Although Lafayette faced a force far greater than his own and a steady stream of setbacks—pouring rain, scarce provisions, rampant desertions—the return to action restored his spirits. Lafayette estimated that he was outnumbered “four or five to one in our regular infantry and ten to one in cavalry,” yet his letters were nearly as jovial as those he’d sent when he’d first arrived in Charleston. Writing on May 22 to the Vicomte de Noailles, one of several French friends who had sailed with Rochambeau and were now fighting in the north, Lafayette said expected reinforcements were slow in coming. When they arrive, he mused wryly, “we’ll be in a condition to be beaten more decently; but at the moment we can only run.” Finally, he asked Noailles to mention him were he to write to Paris: “Tell them that your poor brother is devilishly busy getting himself thrashed.”

  In reality, Lafayette was far from getting thrashed. Rising to the challenge, he kept his men on the move as he and Cornwallis played a game of cat and mouse throughout the state of Virginia. In August, as Cornwallis began maneuvering toward a secure position on the Chesapeake at the trading port of Yorktown, Lafayette learned that help was on the way. Washington and Rochambeau would soon be joining their forces and heading south together, while a French fleet under the Comte de Grasse sailed for the Chesapeake Bay. Lafayette was given a crucial task: his job was to keep Cornwallis occupied in Virginia while the allies closed in from land and sea. Cornwallis was essentially trapped. While Washington and Rochambeau were descending from the northwest, three American divisions, commanded by Lafayette, Steuben, and Benjamin Lincoln, were taking up positions to the south and west. With the Chesapeake to the east, Cornwallis had nowhere to go.

  By September 28, the allied forces were in place with Washington at the helm, and in early October, Washington tightened the noose around the enemy, digging trenches closer and closer to the British defenses. More than one hundred French and American cannons opened fire on Cornwallis’s fortifications on October 9, began targeting British ships the next day, and continued the bombardment for a week, inflicting heavy damage. On the night of October 14, Lafayette’s detachment struck a decisive blow. Led by Colonel Alexander Hamilton, who was then serving under Lafayette’s command, some 400 light infantrymen armed with axes and bayonets stormed and took one of the last remaining British redoubts. Cornwallis fought for two more days before waving the white flag on October 17. The official ceremony of surrender took place two days later, but the humiliated Cornwallis refused to attend. When the British general Charles O’Hara relinquished Cornwallis’s sword to General Benjamin Lincoln of Massachusetts, the last major battle of the American Revolution officially drew to an end.

  More than four years had passed since the Victoire had deposited Lafayette and his lost band of French officers on the shores of South Carolina. In those four years Lafayette had lived a lifetime’s worth of new experiences. Yet he was still only twenty-four years old, and his remarkable life as a man living between two worlds was just getting under way.

  CHAPTER 8

  HONOR

  Paris was abuzz with revelry on the day of Lafayette’s return, but Lafayette was not the man of honor, who, as it happens, was a rather more diminutive figure. Marie Antoinette, who had produced only one daughter in her first eleven years of marriage, had at last given birth to a son—an heir to the throne—on October 22, 1781. When Lafayette reached Paris on January 21, 1782, the city was celebrating the three-month-old dauphin. In the morning, the queen attended services at two different churches, but the king arrived late; the streets were so densely packed with crowds that His Majesty’s carriage got stuck in traffic. In the afternoon, the notables of the city toasted the future of the royal family at a grand feast at the Hôtel de Ville (city hall). At dusk, a show of fireworks lured the banqueters away from their postprandial gaming tables, if only long enough to behold the display.

  Had Lafayette been any less renowned, his star would have been eclipsed. As it was, the royal fete only added to the brilliance of his return. Adrienne was not at home when Lafayette reached the Hôtel de Noailles. She had gone to the Hôtel de Ville with the rest of her family, but she’d apparently left in more exalted company. Upon the close of the festivities, Marie Antoinette bestowed a tremendous honor upon the marquise by permitting her to ride home in one of the royal carriages. The entire procession, including the carriages of the king and queen, accompanied Adrienne to the door of the Hôtel de Noailles, where they drew to a halt. The revelers gazed out from their vehicles as Adrienne descended from her coach and was reunited with her husband. She promptly collapsed into his arms.

  To the author of Correspondance secrète, politique et littéraire—one of the clandestine serials that spread celebrity news and court gossip to the capitals of Europe in the late eighteenth century—the unprecedented scene of a monarch offering a noblewoman a ride home was not so much a mark of Lafayette’s stature as a sign of Marie Antoinette’s grace. As to Lafayette, the newsletter poked gentle fun at the young man who had grown accustomed to having his every arrival and departure cheered by groups of admiring Americans. The anonymous author deadpanned that, because Lafayette had reached Paris at a moment when everyone who was anyone was otherwise occupied, he must have been greeted by “a large and joyous group of fishwives” who gathered at the entrance to the stately Hôtel de Noailles bearing branches of laurel as offerings to the victorious major general. Marketwomen would certainly have been the only people in town with nothing better to do that day, but how they had gotten word of Lafayette’s imminent arrival remained, the author implied, a mystery.

  After spending the better part of four years as a symbol of France in America, Lafayette was about to embark on a career as an American representative in France. The congressional resolution James Madison wrote into the record on November 23, 1781, we
nt far beyond granting Lafayette a furlough. After approving Lafayette’s leave of absence and commending him for “his conduct throughout the past campaign, and particularly during the period in which he had the chief command in Virginia,” Congress conferred a new set of duties upon the marquis. “The ministers plenipotentiary of the United States” in Europe were instructed to “confer with the Marquis de la Fayette, and avail themselves of his informations relative to the situation of public affairs in the United States.” The minister plenipotentiary to the court of Versailles, Benjamin Franklin, was further directed to “conform to the intention of Congress by consulting with and employing the assistance of the Marquis de la Fayette in accelerating the supplies which may be afforded by his Most Christian Majesty for the use of the United States.” Finally, the American “superintendant of finance, Secretary for foreign affairs and the board of war” were asked to help further these goals by keeping Lafayette apprised of developments “touching the affairs of their respective departments.”

  Based on the resolution’s wording, it seems that Congress might have envisioned an advisory role for Lafayette. Having demonstrated at every turn that his devotion to the United States ran as deep as his love for France, Lafayette had surely earned the right to be consulted on matters concerning both nations. But Lafayette construed his position somewhat more expansively. Although he often worked closely with Franklin, he felt entirely comfortable taking matters into his own hands, and he routinely acted on America’s behalf without prior approval from Congress. Over the course of the next two years, he devised his own diplomatic assignments, proffered political advice on matters both foreign and domestic (whether or not his opinion had been sought), and always made it a point to spread news of his American efforts. In short, serving as America’s foremost friend in Paris and Versailles became more than a pastime for Lafayette—it was even more than a career. The nation that had welcomed him so warmly occupied a place near to his heart and was his driving passion.

  One of the first tasks Lafayette set for himself was fostering trade between France and the United States. Although he had no prior experience in the field of commerce—and no one on either side appears to have asked him to address this particular problem—Lafayette did possess a keen sense of both countries’ needs and was willing to do the work required to meet them. America, newly liberated from the economic yoke of Great Britain, was striving to build up both its domestic manufacturing and its capacity to exchange goods throughout the globe. Matters ranging from the navigation of inland waterways to international trade agreements ranked high on the agendas of the young nation’s legislators, diplomats, farmers, sailors, and merchants. France, for its part, hoped to profit from its investments in the American war by securing advantageous trade relations with the new nation while driving an economic wedge between Great Britain and its former colonies.

  Lafayette devoted much of 1782 and 1783 to studying the intricate details of transatlantic commerce. Writing to Washington in November 1783, he explained that he had been “Collecting the Opinions of Every American Merchant Within My Reach” so that he could better understand their wishes. By December, he had completed his “Observations on Commerce between France and the United States,” filling twelve octavo pages with arguments designed to persuade Vergennes of the advantages to be gained by granting commercial concessions to the United States. “Since we are rivals of the British in both our manufactured goods and our sea trade,” Lafayette wrote, “it is by these very means that our political rivalry will be decided someday.” He was not telling Vergennes anything new, but Lafayette hoped that he might be able to help hasten the pace of a cumbersome bureaucracy, arguing that “each delay, each mistake becomes a sure gain for England.”

  Having lived in the comparatively pared-down manner of the New World, Lafayette understood that the finest French goods would appeal to only a select few Americans. The French would have to create “a taste for our manufactures.” He was right to predict that “our broadcloth, our silks of every kind, our linens and fashionable clothing, etc. will find a considerable American market that with care can be further enlarged.” Although, at first, he believed that “the less refined [recherchées] manufactures will be closer to American taste,” he suggested that “we could cut the costs of our more refined manufactures by simplifying our methods.” Thinking, perhaps, of English factories like Etruria, where Josiah Wedgwood had introduced a division of labor to boost efficiency, Lafayette suggested that “some industries would not lose by adopting the British principle that employs one person for each task, and for each task only the necessary amount of energy.”

  More daunting was the project of increasing American imports into France, where the protectionist practices of mercantilism imposed hefty taxes on foreign-made goods. Yet Lafayette, who was never easily dissuaded, accepted the challenge. He took part in extensive negotiations that resulted in the creation of four “free ports,” where items arriving on American ships would be exempt from all duties and prohibitions, and throughout the 1780s he hammered away at efforts to open up the French market for American goods ranging from timber to whale oil. Some commodities, notably tobacco, posed particular difficulties: the farmers general, as the king’s tax collectors were known, enjoyed a near monopoly over the sale of tobacco, and they were not pleased at the prospect of a sudden spike in supply; nor did they welcome the idea of American merchants competing for clients. Still, through sheer persistence, Lafayette and his American colleagues managed to wrest some concessions even on this thorny issue.

  Having begun to see commerce from an American perspective, Lafayette developed a keen ability to observe and articulate some of the fundamental differences that bedeviled French-American relations. Summing up a sentiment shared by many in the United States, Lafayette’s “Observations” insisted that the French way of doing business “has driven American trade away.” The text asserted that “the intricacies of our regulations are even more annoying than their cost,” so that “time, so precious to a merchant, is as wasted over a slight obstacle as it would be over the most important matter.” Even Lafayette’s boundless enthusiasm could not completely bridge such ingrained cultural differences.

  Lafayette had addressed his “Observations” to Vergennes and sent copies to the French and American officials who were best situated to act upon his recommendations, but he also had a larger audience in mind: the American people. For Lafayette, it was not enough that he act tirelessly on behalf of his adopted country; it was important that those actions be widely known. As he confessed to Robert R. Livingston, secretary for foreign affairs, in a letter written in February 1783, “I Have a Great Value for My American Popularity, and I Want the people at large to know My Affection to them, and My zeal for their Service.” The “Best Way” to publicize his efforts, he suggested to Livingston, would be “to Have a Resolve of Congress Published” announcing its “Approbation” of his efforts on behalf of the United States. To spread the word about his “Observations on Commerce,” Lafayette turned to James McHenry, a former aide-de-camp who was then serving simultaneously in the Maryland state legislature and the Continental Congress. In a letter of December 26, 1783, enclosed with a copy of the document, Lafayette asked if McHenry would please “Be so kind only as to take Care My Commercial efforts Be known in America.”

  In placing a high value on his reputation, Lafayette was hardly alone. Honor, which had long ranked among the most treasured possessions of the French nobility, came to be increasingly understood in the eighteenth century as inseparable from notions of both merit and esteem. Americans, too, recognized the incomparable worth of a man’s public name. In a 1780 letter to the Patriot author Mercy Otis Warren, Abigail Adams had expressed concern about unfounded rumors that accused John Adams of conspiring with the British. “I sometimes contemplate the situation of my absent Friend,” Abigail wrote of John, “… as the most critical and hazardous Embassy to his reputation, his honour, and I know not but I may add life, tha
t could possibly have been entrusted to him.” So highly did America’s founders think of public reputation that, in The Federalist Papers, Alexander Hamilton wrote of “the love of fame” as “the ruling passion of the noblest minds.” At the same time, as the Encyclopédie’s entry on “reputation” makes clear, being overly interested in garnering esteem was deemed a fault. The bulk of the entry is devoted to parsing the apparent contradiction in the fact that “nature strews approbation upon the marks of esteem that one is given; and yet it attaches a sort of stain to the appearance of seeking them out.” Propriety demanded recognizing the fine line between earning fame and seeming to pursue it too ardently or as an end in itself.

  Cognizant of the distinction, Lafayette tried his best to tread carefully, although his enthusiasm for glory sometimes got the better of him. In his December 26 letter to McHenry, Lafayette explained that he wished to have his commercial efforts be made public, in part “Because that Entrusting Temper which You know me to be possessed of, Now and then is Altered By the Selfishness of others.” Lafayette evidently felt that he had been given short shrift in the version of events provided by Franklin, Jay, and Adams concerning a loan of 6 million livres that France had made to the United States. Refraining from his habitual use of the first-person plural “we” in writing of Americans, Lafayette noted “that Your plenipotentiarie’s letters, rather Gave a Ground to think I Have not Been so Active as they in obtaining the last six millions.” Correcting the record, he added that “I cannot help remembering that Jay and Adams Never Went to Versailles But twice, I think, when I pushed them to it.” By spreading word of the “Observations on Commerce,” Lafayette implied, McHenry could help right a wrong. The American ministers, however, believed that Lafayette had developed a habit of claiming undue credit. John Adams’s diary entry of November 23, 1782, records a meeting with Lafayette at Franklin’s home in Passy. “The Marquis’s business,” wrote Adams, “was to shew us a letter he had written, to the C[omte] de V[ergennes], on the subject of money. This I saw nettled F[ranklin] as it seemed an attempt to take to himself the merit of obtaining the loan if one should be procured.”