Chapter Text
“Washington blushed like a fond father whose child is being praised. Tears fell from his eyes, he clasped by hand, and could hardly utter the words: ‘I do not know a nobler, finer soul, and I love him as my own son.’” (from the account of the Marquis de Barbé-Marbois, after he praised Lafayette at a dinner with Washington in September 1779)
General George Washington shivered involuntarily in the cool evening air. Although it was only early September, the nights, in contrast to the still quite pleasant days, could already be uncomfortably brisk. He, and probably every other man in the army had hoped for a mild, merciful winter after the disastrous months the army had spent encamped at Valley Forge two years ago. Almost five-thousand soldiers had either frozen to death in their pitiable, leaky huts, died of starvation or fallen victim to an illness. The army had lacked all kinds of supplies, ranging from blankets, shoes and clothes to food and medicine. Washington and the other generals had done everything in their power to try and move Congress to send more supplies, but their efforts had been futile. Congress had simply lacked the financial means to grant the forces some relief. Most of the few deliveries that had been sent had never reached camp, owing to attacks on the convoys, the weather conditions and human error in the logistical organization. Thus, the poor men had been left with no other option but to silently endure their suffering, clench their teeth and hope that the would still be alive to see the next sunrise. The memory of these months were still vivid in the mind of everyone who had been with the army at Valley Forge.
At the moment, the upcoming winter did not display any intention to fulfill Washington’s wish for bearable temperatures. The commander-in-chief felt cold after only half an hour spent on horseback and the autumn wind was already stinging in his face. Washington had spent the day at camp to inspect its defense status, converse with the officers and submit some orders personally. Now, in the early evening hours, he was making his way back to his headquarters at West Point. It was a six-mile ride from New Windsor, where major parts of the army where encamped, and Washington was glad when he saw the town appear in the distance. He was not used to the brisk temperatures yet, he told himself, it was not unusually cold for this time of the year. Yet the icy wind permeating his coat made him dread the following months. If there would not be a silver lining soon, promising aid for the harsh winter, the men would rather desert instead of living through another Valley Forge.
The army’s entire hope rested on France and its potential support for the next campaign. Unfortunately, owing to a lack of military success and mutual distrust between the French and the Continental forces, the alliance threatened to shatter before it had been able to achieve any major victories in this war. There were some unconfirmed reports that d’Estaing’s fleet had left the West Indies to join the American naval forces in an attempt to take back the city of Savannah, which was currently under enemy control. Still, the American generals feared that King Louis would not be in favor of sending any more troops and financial aids, if the Revolution continued to grow more and more hopeless.
Tonight, Washington would be meeting for dinner with the newly arrived French minister La Luzerne and his secretary, the Marquis de Barbé-Marbois, to discuss the current state of the alliance. The commander-in-chief hoped that the two Frenchmen would be able to offer him some pleasant news. Moreover, as Washington had to confess, he was anxious to learn of the whereabouts of the Marquis de Lafayette. More than nine months had passed since Lafayette had set sail for his native country and even though there was a regular flow of letters by his young friend, Washington longed to speak to someone who had seen the Marquis in person only weeks ago.
He knew that Lafayette was mobilizing all efforts he could to convince the court to continue and strengthen the French support for the United States. Together with John Adams and Benjamin Franklin, the American delegates to Paris, the Marquis spent day after day in rest- and endless pleading. Washington was convinced that there was not a single man in this world who stood a better chance of persuading the French to send more troops and supplies. Lafayette’s charm, his enthusiasm and unbreakable persistence was almost a guarantee that he would at least be able to achieve some concessions for the Americans. Washington could not have sent a better man to handle the negotiations.
Still, Lafayette’s absence grew more painful for the general with every day. Oh, how he missed him and how much he longed to see his young friend! He hoped that the dinner with the two French delegates would at least be able to lessen his constant worries about the Marquis. Who knew how he had been received in Paris, after his scandalous departure two and a half years ago? Maybe he had fallen in disgrace, and was too humiliated to mention such in his letters?
Washington shook his head, scolding himself for these irrational concerns. Lafayette was a competent man and very much able to look after himself. He would surely return soon, and good news would be accompanying him. In the meantime, Washington had reached West Point. It was nearly dark when he dismounted from his horse and led the animal to the stable close to the house of Colonel Stephen Moore, where he was staying since June. He could have called a servant to look after his horse, but a glance at his pocket watch had shown the general that almost an entire hour remained until he was to meet with La Luzerne.
Washington, who had the reputation of being an excellent horseman, did enjoy spending time with the animals in comfortable silence. Being the commander-in-chief, he was not often able to allow himself enough leisure time to care for his horses himself. Today, however, he was tempted to make an exception and eventually gave in. Luckily, nobody besides him was inside the barn at this hour and thus he was able to enjoy a few moments of solitude. He led his gray stallion into its stall and began to take off the horses’ tack. The sounds of the animals chewing their hay, interrupted by occasional snorts, never failed to calm him. The atmosphere in a stable always was strangely peaceful, even in the midst of a war. The horses did not care about troop movements, intelligence, traitors or the colonies’ independence. All that occupied their minds was the wish to stand in a safe stall, to have some hay and water and to be given a friendly pat on the neck from time to time. Sometimes, Washington wished he could live in a state of such untroubled obliviousness.
He banished that childish thought from his mind and began to brush his horse with a bundle of straw. The stallion was already fully occupied with eating his hay. After the passing of a few minutes, Washington reluctantly decided that it was time for him to make his way to the headquarters. The two guests would surely be arriving soon and Washington was not in any position to let the delegates of the United States’ only ally wait. He left his horses’ stall and put the tack away into the chamber where the saddles and snaffles for the officers’ horses were kept.
He was already on his way back out, when he heard steps approaching, accompanied by a voice talking in French. It was a young man speaking, with a melodic and elated voice, and Washington could not prevent his heart from taking a leap. Could it be…? He knew it was impossible, that his mind was playing tricks on him. Still, he did not let go of his irrational hope just yet. Stepping out of the saddle chamber, he turned in the direction the sounds had come from, only to experience a sting of bitter disappointment.
Only La Luzerne’s aides were inside the stable, feeding their superior’s horses. They saluted sharply when they saw the general on the alley and Washington nodded at them, concealing that he had hoped to encounter someone else instead of them. He left the barn, pulling his cloak closer around his shoulders to protect himself from the brisk wind. Ridiculous, he thought to himself. He should have known better. As if Lafayette would not notice him beforehand, if he was to return to America. Maybe the letter had been lost on the way, he had hoped, maybe his friend had wanted to surprise him. Washington knew he was being foolish, but God, how he missed this man. Nine months of separation were far too long.
Now, however, was not the time for pondering about his personal affections. He had a dinner to attend which would hopefully provide him with good news concerning the French-American alliance – and with a bit of luck with a report on Lafayette’s whereabouts. After he had assured himself that there was no straw or dirt remaining on his uniform, Washington entered the red brick building that currently served as his headquarters. He made his way to the first floor, where the smaller one of the houses’ two dining rooms was located. Since La Luzerne and his secretary were, at least for the time being, living at the headquarters as well, Washington assumed that the Frenchmen would already be awaiting his arrival.
When he entered the room, his assumption was proven right. Three men were standing next to the already laid table, making conversation while waiting for the commander-in-chief. Two of them Washington was not familiar with, and he presumed that they were La Luzerne and the Marquis. They were dressed in the attire of French noblemen, their wealth and status obvious to everyone who laid eyes upon them. Washington had learned over the course of the last two years, to overlook the fact that nearly every single one of the French allies was constantly dressed better than the highest ranking officers in the Continental Army. Their military support was of importance after all, not their outer appearance. The third man was Hamilton, Washington’s aide-de-camp, who would be translating. The newly arrived Frenchmen did know approximately as much English as Washington did know French.
The three of them turned around when they noticed that the door had been opened.
“Ah, here he is”, Hamilton commented with a smile and urged the two men to step forward.
“Le commandant général de la armeé continental, général George Washington”, he introduced Washington to the Frenchmen. It was merely a formality to do so - the general needed no introduction.
“The new minister from France, the Chevalier de la Luzerne and his secretary, the Marquis de Barbé-Marbois”, Hamilton presented the two men with a sweeping gesture. La Luzerne, a stocky, broad-shouldered man, bowed to Washington and spoke some words in French.
“The ambassador is delighted to finally see the famous General Washington in person, as he has heard many tales of your heroic conduct in battle”, Hamilton translated for Washington.
“Your Excellency.” The Marquis greeted Washington in English. Presumably, Hamilton had taught him the two words earlier. Washington took his efforts as a friendly gesture and smiled at the secretary. The Marquis was several inches taller than his superior, and also quite a few years younger. The smile he gave the general revealed that he had the well-practiced ability to charm people. Washington tried not to think of the man the secretary inevitably reminded him of.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen.”, he said, “I hope you have already been able to recover from the fatiguing voyage.”
Hamilton translated for La Luzerne and the Marquis. The secretary replied something, with a smile still remaining on his lips.
“The Marquis says that in an environment as pleasant as these quarters the exhaustion is soon all but forgotten.”
Maybe it was the title of Marquis that gifted a man with an unlimited amount of disarming charm, Washington mused.
“Let us sit”, he then said, with a gesture toward the table, and the Frenchmen understood the meaning of his words without a translation. The four men sat down, with Washington at the head of the table and Hamilton to his right. La Luzerne and the Marquis took a seat on Washington's left. They exchanged the usual courtesies while some wine was brought for them. The ambassador complimented the friendliness with which he had been received in America, whereas his secretary once again emphasized how pleased he was with his accommodation.
Washington knew they were being polite. The Marquis, being an aristocrat, was used to lodgings much more noble and opulent than a redbrick-house on the American countryside. Still, the general smiled at his guests in response and did his duty in voicing his appreciation for the Frenchmen's efforts they had taken to travel to America. During the usual trivial conversations about the journey, the weather and the well-being of family members, Washington grew gradually more anxious. He knew that it was expected to have exchanges of that kind, but were there not more pressing matters at hand? The important questions, about the alliance, about the king’s opinion on sending more troops and supplies, about D'Estaing's fleet; those were the questions that demanded answers. Hoping he would not offend the Frenchmen, but at the same time unable to withhold his impatience, he terminated the conversation about American food customs and put down his glass of wine to signal the importance of his words.
“Now, let us talk about the matters that allow no further postponement, shall we?”
A frown appeared on La Luzerne’s features while he was listening to Hamilton’s translation. Washington felt the sudden desire to give himself a smack on the face. Could he not have waited for another five minutes? He should have known how easily the French were to feel insulted and now he had created unnecessary tensions that had the potential to endanger the whole alliance. He was already opening his mouth to offer an apology to the two men, when La Luzerne suddenly smiled and nodded at him. The ambassador and his secretary both put down their knives and forks to signal Washington their full attention. The general internally sighed with relief. He was walking on thin ice here.
“Ambassador, what news are there of His Majesty's position regarding the alliance? Can we expect troops and arms for the next campaign?”
How he hated that they needed a translator. Every conversation took twice as long as a normal one and at the moment he did not have the patience to wait thus long for an answer. He unconsciously tapped his foot underneath the table and put a hand onto his thigh when he finally became aware of it.
“The ambassador has to confess that he can give no definite answer as to the upcoming campaign yet”, Hamilton started to translate, and Washington’s heart sank. “The lack of military success has raised doubts at the court about the future of this alliance. His Majesty is yet to decide whether or not he will send more troops or if he will withdraw his forces entirely.”
Washington felt as if he had received a punch into his stomach. All the words he had prepared prior to this dinner had vanished from his mind. He had to struggle in order to stop tears of anger and despair burning in his eyes.
“Tell him, Hamilton, that if the French support for this cause ceases, there is no prospect of victory. All the losses the French troops had to suffer, they were senseless then”, he managed to say and by the look Hamilton gave him, his aide was equally as shaken as he was by La Luzerne's words. When he repeated in French what Washington had said, it was obvious that Hamilton was not only translating. His own emotions were entangled in the words which he, at the end of the sentence, almost shouted at the Frenchmen. Washington placed a hand on the young man's forearm in what he intended to be a calming gesture, but he only earned a furious glare from his aide. He was glad when an escalation was prevented by the Marquis, who was quick to respond. Washington watched Hamilton’s reaction to the secretary's words and allowed himself a small amount of hope when he saw the aide relax slightly.
“He says that there is no need to lose faith just yet. The court does not make its decisions easily and there remains some time until the next campaign is to begin. Also, he can confirm that Admiral D'Estaing is indeed taking his fleet up to Savannah, to support the American naval forces in their efforts of retaking the city.”
That was at least a glimpse of a future that promised more than a bitter defeat. As long as the influential Admiral kept on believing in the American cause, hope was not forsaken.
“I am pleased to hear of D'Estaing's decision. He is an able commander and I hold him in the highest regards”, Washington said, in the intention of calming the assembled men after his and Hamilton’s eruptions of anger. The Marquis smiled complaisantly when he heard Washington's words being translated into French. He replied in a calm tone, and Washington was watching Hamilton’s reactions instead of listening closely to the secretary, as he was unable to understand his words anyway. When, however, Barbé-Marbois mentioned the name “Lafayette", Washington's head jerked up instantly. He anxiously waited for the Marquis to finish talking and could almost not endure the short pause in which Hamilton decided which words to translate the French terms with. What had he been saying about Lafayette? Was his friend all right? In any danger? The look on his face was almost pleading when he turned toward Hamilton.
“The American delegates to France are doing everything they can to convince the court of the righteousness and the importance of the American cause.”, Hamilton began, “There passes not a day without a pamphlet being written, a speech being given or someone having an audience with the king. Especially the Marquis de Lafayette is absolutely restless in his efforts . If he will continue the way he currently does, he might be able to convince the court all by himself to send several thousand troops.” The aide smiled when he spoke these words. He himself was a close friend to Lafayette and it was a delight also to him, to hear from the young Frenchman. Washington felt a warm sensation spreading inside his chest.
“Lafayette”, he just said, quietly, as if talking to himself. He had to be careful not to grow too emotional in the presence of the ambassadors but the pain of his friend’s long absence eventually got the better of him.
“Did you get a chance to see him before you departed from France? Is he well?”, he asked, the urgency in his voice unconcealed. Washington saw the Marquis exchange a look with La Luzerne he could not quite read. He felt his anxiousness grow in an instant. The ambassador finally smiled slightly at his secretary and the Marquis began to speak again.
“He says he did not get the chance to speak to him in person, as Lafayette is a very busy man.”, Hamilton translated for the impatiently waiting general. “However, all that he hears people say about him is praise and words of the most sincere admiration. His merits in the American war have made him the hero of the French people and there is not a single person at the court who is not entirely taken with him. He appears to be charming the whole of France. His Majesty King Louis himself holds him in his highest regards, a position he is more than worthy of.”
Hamilton could obviously not help the grin spreading on his face as he repeated what the Frenchman had told him. For a moment, Washington lost all control over his facial expression. He stared at Hamilton and the Marquis, not noticing that his mouth was gaping slightly and that tears had started to gather in his eyes. What the secretary had just said was more than he could have ever hoped for. Not only had Lafayette re-gained his status as an honorable man in France, but now he appeared to be the most loved one in the whole country. Oh, the boy deserved nothing less, Washington thought, nothing less would ever be enough to do Lafayette's merits and his person justice. Washington could vividly imagine how his young friend was leaving no stone unturned in his efforts to convince the court of continuing France's support for the American cause. He knew that Lafayette was not going to cease his fight until he would be given what he demanded.
Pride was a word understating the overwhelming sensation spreading in Washington's chest. Lafayette, his dear Lafayette, the most loved man in the whole of France, fighting for America on the battlefield of diplomats as ferocious as on any other battlefield. How proud the young man would be upon his return to America! He already was considered a hero here, but he would be practically worshipped if he returned with troops, supplies and the guarantee that France would remain America's ally. And oh, how much Washington wished for the day of his return to come soon. He wanted to tell Lafayette how immensely proud and grateful he was, embrace him, and imagine for a moment how it would be if his friend would never leave for France again. The tears had returned into his eyes and now Washington also became aware that he was still looking at the secretary with a dumbfounded stare. He was quick to close his mouth and wipe over his cheek with the back of his hand.
Washington noticed that the Marquis spoke some words to Hamilton, to which the aide responded with a broad smile and a nod. With a questioning expression, Washington turned to Hamilton. He was quick to translate what the Frenchman had said.
“He says that it seems to him that you are very fond of the Marquis de Lafayette”, Hamilton said, a smile still tucking at the corners of his lips. Washington, still on the brink of tears, could not prevent his voice from shaking when he replied.
“Tell him, Hamilton, that he is right in that assumption. I do not know a finer, nobler soul in this world than our dear Lafayette, and-”, his voice threatened to falter for a moment, “and I love him as my own son.”
He could not help another tear leaving his eye and he had to take several deep breaths to calm himself. What impression would a general leave who started crying when his subordinate was praised? A good one, judging by the soft look that had appeared on both the ambassador's and the secretary’s features. La Luzerne kept this warm expression while he spoke to the general.
“He says, that he believes that affection to be mutual", Hamilton translated. “Lafayette is praising you at every opportunity given, calling you the greatest general to ever set foot on this earth. He seems to take an immense pride in being your friend and does not miss any chance to mention you. The ambassador believes that the separation is paining Lafayette quite a bit, from what he has heard.”
This time, Washington was able to retain at least some control over his face. On the inside, however, he was crying with joy and pride, and with the agonizing pain of missing his dear friend. His voice shaking with emotion, he reached over the table to place a hand on top of La Luzerne’s.
“Merci", he said, one of the few words he knew in French. The ambassador appeared a bit startled a first at Washington's emotional outburst, but then he gave the general a warm smile. Washington took another deep breath when he leaned back. He then reached for his glass.
“Let us drink to this alliance, to His Majesty King Louis, to friends near and far, and to our Marquis de Lafayette.”
He waited until Hamilton had finished translating his toast and received sounds of approval from the Frenchmen. The dinner went on quite a bit, with the four men discussing all kinds of topics related to the war and the alliance, and Washington felt more and more assured in his impression that the French court had chosen the right delegates to be sent to America.
When La Luzerne and the Marquis finally retired to their quarters, it was already close to midnight. Washington wished Hamilton a good night and crossed the hallway leading to his quarters. He felt the effects of the wine, a slight sensation of light-headedness but not enough for him to be called drunk. After he had closed the heavy wooden door of his quarters behind himself, he lit some candles on his desk and his nightstand. Usually, he went to bed way earlier than today, but right now his mind was too troubled to allow him to rest just yet. Although he had been able to contain his emotions for the rest of the dinner, he was unable to do so now. For too long he had been holding back the grief Lafayette’s absence caused him. God, how Washington missed him.
Who would have thought that this young French aristocrat would grow to be his closest friend and even more than that, his adopted son? He had expected another spoiled, naïve boy when he had first heard of Lafayette's arrival in America. Instead he had met a most honorable, sincere and noble young man, practically bursting with enthusiasm and zeal. It had not taken long until he had grown quite fond of the young Marquis. Evening after evening the two of them had spent in intimate conversation, regardless of Lafayette’s still limited abilities of talking in English. It had felt natural for Washington to confide in him his most private emotions and worries, and everything else that had occupied his mind. Lafayette had been listening, attentive, cunning, and never once Washington had had the impression that the young man felt obliged to speak to him because he was his superior officer. It had seemed that he genuinely enjoyed the older man's company.
Soon, the bond between the two men had grown to be inseparable. When Generals Gates and Conway had conspired against Washington during the winter months of Lafayette’s first year in America, the Frenchman had been one of the few generals to stand up for Washington. He had defended him and his position as commander-in-chief as ardently as if he were fighting on a battlefield. This had been the ultimate proof for the young man’s unwavering loyalty. Ever since these weeks, Washington had not had a single doubt that Lafayette would always stay by his side. He had even grown accustomed to addressing him with “son” in private – it felt like the most natural thing to do. Lafayette had proven to be one of the few men in camp Washington could trust without reservations. Without any exaggeration or hesitance he could say that he loved not a single person with the same tenderness and paternal devotion as he did love Lafayette. To not have his friend near him, caused Washington a great amount of pain, and since the first day of their separation he longed to be reunited with him.
Washington sat down at his desk, opening the top drawer in which he kept his personal correspondence. After a sort search, he found the stack of letters he was looking for. In the months of Lafayette’s absence, quite a number of letters had found their way to Washington and the general had kept every single one of them. He had avoided reading the letters too often, since he knew that he would not remain the master of his emotions if he was to read his friend’s words. Now, however, that he was already beyond what could be considered a stable mental state, what did it matter? He pulled out one letter at random. When he opened it, he knew which one is was in an instant. Of course. As if the pain had not been strong enough already. It was the note Lafayette had written him on board of the ship that had carried him to France, while it had still lain in the harbor of Boston. His last farewell before the Alliance had set sail. Tears gathered in Washington’s eyes before he had even started to read the letter.
There was barely a day Washington did not think of their painful farewell back in December and now that he was too upset already to keep his emotions at bay, the memory made him ache even more than usual. He remembered the lump in his throat and the sting in his eyes that had accompanied his every second on that day. How he and Lafayette had spent their last minutes together in silence, standing at the window, with their shoulders and arms touching, watching the snow fall outside. How he had tried and failed to hold back his tears at the thought of not seeing his friend for many months. The shaky breath he had heard from Lafayette, and the quick movement of his hand to wipe away a tear that had started to roll down his cheek. He remembered how he had finally pulled the young man into a tight embrace, which had been returned with equal force. Washington could almost still feel his hand gripping the fabric of Lafayette’s cloak, as if this would have prevented his friend from leaving. The boy had been shaking, with his face buried at Washington’s shoulder and mumbling something the general had not been able to comprehend. When they had eventually terminated their embrace, Washington had still been holding on to Lafayette’s upper arms. The obvious redness in his friend’s eyes had made the stinging pain in his heart even more violent than it had been before.
“I shall be back soon, mon général”, Lafayette had finally said and it had seemed quite an effort for him to keep his voice steady. There had been so many words Washington had wanted to say – that he would be dearly missed, that he and the whole of America would be counting the days until his return, that he wished him a safe journey. The lump in his throat had prevented him from speaking a single word. Instead, he had only nodded, not even bothering to hold back his tears anymore. After they had gone outside and Lafayette had mounted his horse, they had shared a long glance, and they both had been attempting to smile despite the tears in their eyes. Long after Lafayette and his aides had disappeared behind the slight hill near camp, Washington had been standing on the stairs outside of headquarters, shivering in the cold December air, and with his eyes burning with tears.
Now, after nine months had gone by since Lafayette had left America, Washington desired nothing more than to have the young man back at his side. Someone who would stay with him come what may, and brighten even the darkest hours. He longed for Lafayette to call him pére, father, in an affectionate tone, to talk to him all night when his hope was faltering, and to distract him when he felt as if he was trapped inside an endless maze. The words in front of Washington’s eyes began to blur.
“Do not forget an absent friend”, Lafayette had written to him, “Adieu, my dear and beloved general, adieu. I hope your French friend will ever be dear to you.”