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  Lafayette crossed the ocean on a new American frigate, Alliance. He was seasick most of the time, and the trip was rough. A storm tore away the main topmast and left her shipping water. The ship’s crew included some British deserters and prisoners. “In order to encourage crews to mutiny,” according to Lafayette, “His Britannic Majesty had made the rather immoral declaration that a crew would receive the value of any rebel ship it brought into an English port. Such an act could be accomplished only by the massacre of the ship’s officers and those who opposed the mutiny.”

  The English crewmen hatched a plot to take the ship, but one of them had a careless mouth. The officers and passengers stormed the forecastle, and by the end of the day thirty-three men were in irons, at which point the officers ran out of irons. Alliance sailed into Brest on February 6, 1779, and the prisoners received the hospitality of the port authorities, who threw them into a dungeon.1

  I WOULD WILLINGLY HAVE SOLD OFF THE FURNITURE OF VERSAILLES

  Lafayette and the American Revolution transformed French patriotism, redefining it in terms of “liberty.” This new passion inflamed the younger generation in prominent noble families, including the Noailles and the Ségurs. No longer a callow provincial boy, Lafayette became a paragon of modern French chivalry, his leaving against the king’s wishes underscoring the difference between the new patriotism and moldy old tradition. Because his homeland had entered the war, he was vindicated.

  The marquis also was wrapped in the magical aura of George Washington, who had become venerated in France. He seemed to embody republican virtue as the model of the citizen-soldier, father and fatherland combined. In France, Lafayette was “the friend of Washington.” But despite his later claims, he was not yet a republican. He had not thought much about slavery and was not interested in the conflicts between different groups in America. But he liked Americans and their liberty. Above all, he loved and worshiped Washington. This great man was a modern King Arthur, fighting to establish an ideal republic. To show his devotion, Lafayette wanted to help him build his Camelot.2

  He galloped as hard as he could toward the capital and reached Versailles in the middle of the night of February 11. His uncle (and former colonel) the prince de Poix was holding a midwinter ball at his palace, and Lafayette burst in, wearing his American uniform. He knew he had to present himself at court. He also carried dispatches from America for the various ministers, so the next morning the prince escorted him to the palace, where he visited with Prime Minister Maurepas, Foreign Minister Vergennes, and the rest of the government. They listened to his tales from the American war and argued about what to do with him. The king would not receive him without some sort of penance. He was “questioned, complimented, and exiled,” the marquis recalled; but it was to Paris he was sent, “and the confines of the Hôtel de Noailles were thought preferable to the honors of the Bastille, which was first proposed.” The royal doghouse would not be so flea-ridden after all, although the house of his father-in-law had its drawbacks. D’Ayen’s father, the maréchal-duc de Noailles, would be his jailer. There he was to stay for ten days, in “internal exile,” after which he would be chastised enough to present to the king. He left for Paris that afternoon.3

  Lafayette had deserted Adrienne for nearly two years, and she had suffered through the death of one daughter and the birth of another without him, but she still adored him. That was rare enough among noblewomen, but she was so emotional about it that her mother thought she should break the news gently that her wandering husband had returned. She did not fall into a faint, as her mother feared, but threw herself on him as he walked in the door.

  Her joy was “easy to credit, but impossible to describe,” Adrienne wrote his aunt and grandmother at Chavaniac. “Monsieur de La Fayette has come back to me as modest and as charming as when he went away…. When I reflect on my good fortune in being his wife, I am truly grateful to God.” She thought herself unworthy of him. “The knowledge that I am very far from being as good and gracious as he is makes me sad, and then I hope that my affection may make up for my shortcomings.”4

  She sold herself short, as Lafayette himself would realize years later. It was his responsibility to let his own family know that he was back, but he tossed that duty onto her. He was too busy being a celebrity, living the dream of the resentful adolescent who vows that he will become famous someday, showing all that they had been wrong about him.

  Because Lafayette was young, he needed guidance. Vergennes, who took an immediate liking to him, saw that. Like Laurens and Greene before him, the foreign minister became the young man’s “uncle” when he was far from Washington. And when the marquis met Franklin, he found something that he had never known in his life—a wise grandfather who could explain the world to him.5

  The maréchal-duc imposed the terms of the marquis’ confinement. He could see nobody but relatives, with a few exceptions such as important Americans. Because of intermarriage among the French nobility, almost everybody with a title was at least a cousin, so he met a stream of visitors, and he had no hesitation about sneaking out of the house. On his second night he visited John Adams, and the next day he dined at the home of a relative.6

  Lafayette was no longer a country bumpkin. He was balder, and he stood erect, made small talk with ease, told interesting stories about America, and had turned into a brilliant conversationalist. A journalist reported on his “sensitive and polished intelligence…a lively unaffected power of describing the famous persons he had met.” It was not just his countrymen who were impressed. The affable Franklin and even the grumpy Adams were won over. Everyone was fascinated by his close relationship with the legendary Washington.7

  John Adams, by C.W. Peale, 1791–94. Adams never approved of Lafayette, or anybody else for that matter, but he did acknowledge Lafayette’s contributions to American interests in diplomatic and trade negotiations, especially his role in getting the French army and fleet sent to Washington’s side. (INDEPENDENCE NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK)

  The marquis was on a mission for his adoptive father, and to that end he wanted to meet Franklin immediately. The “Doctor” lived some distance away, at Passy, so Lafayette could not sneak out to his place without sneaking out of the city. He invited Franklin to the Hôtel de Noailles, and then asked Vergennes for instructions, to confirm that Franklin was so fascinating to the French that nobody would object to Lafayette’s receiving him. While he was at it, he warned the foreign minister that rumors were spreading about his Canada project, but they were not his fault. There were loose lips in Congress, although rumors were not such a bad thing. “The truth can remain hidden only if it is lost in a mass of false intelligence,” he said.8

  Canada was one of the things Lafayette wanted to talk to Franklin about, but first he needed to regain his freedom of movement. His father-in-law, d’Ayen, and d’Ayen’s father, the maréchal-duc de Noailles, no longer his critics, were now his boosters. They helped him write a suitably contrite letter to the king begging forgiveness and offering to perform whatever service His Majesty required for him to “absolve” himself. “The misfortune of having displeased Your Majesty,” he began, “produces such a deep sense of sorrow that I am encouraged not to try to excuse an action of which you disapprove but to present the real motives that inspired it. Love of my country, the desire to witness the humiliation of her enemies, a political instinct that the last treaty would seem to justify: these, Sire, are the reasons that governed the part I took in the American cause.” He had thought the royal warrant against his leaving had reflected “the solicitations and tender concern of my family” rather than an act of state. “Persuaded that I was blameless, sir, I fought for my country with a calm heart.”

  He had not returned to France after she entered the war because he was needed to help d’Estaing in America. In any event, “I would not think, Sire, of daring to justify before Your Majesty an act of disobedience of which you disapprove and for which I should repent.” He blamed his errors on his youth
, giving Louis an excuse to forgive him. It was an oily, almost smarmy performance.9

  It had “happy results,” as the marquis put it. The king granted him an audience “to receive a mild reprimand [réprimande douce], and when my freedom was restored I was advised to avoid those places where the public might consecrate my disobedience. On my arrival I had enjoyed the honor of being kissed by all the ladies…. They spoke well of me in all circles.” He enjoyed “what I would have chosen: popular favor and the affection of the people I love.”10

  The young general was the lion of Paris and Versailles. He went riding with the king, attended the salons, and met enthusiastic applause wherever he appeared. When he and Adrienne were at the Comédie Française, the master of ceremonies roared from the stage, “Behold this youthful courtier…his mind and soul inflamed!” The crowd roared back its approval. The queen arranged his return to the army and promotion from capitaine réformé to mestre de camp (cavalry colonel) commanding a regiment of the King’s Dragoons. This honor cost him 80,000 livres for the commission.11

  Lafayette discovered that fame could be a source of political power. In America, power arose from the people, exercised by elected representatives and influenced by famous individuals such as Washington. In absolutist France, in principle all power descended from the king. But Louis was a weak king, swayed by his ministers and increasingly by public opinion. Lafayette was the greatest celebrity in the country, among the nobility, the common people, and the growing bourgeoisie. At first unconsciously, later deliberately, he put his fame to work.

  In “the midst of the various whirlwinds” that tossed him about, Lafayette claimed later, he “did not lose sight of our revolution, the final success of which was still very uncertain.” Accustomed as he was to seeing “great causes sustained by slender means,” he often pointed out that the cost of one banquet would have reequipped Washington’s army. The prime minister charged that “to clothe it I would willingly have sold off the furniture of Versailles.”12

  Lafayette shuttled between Paris, Versailles, and Passy, where Franklin was often laid up with gout. Over the following months, the marquis became the most important and effective agent Franklin ever had, reviving the court’s devotion to American independence. France’s chief aim in getting into the war had been to weaken England, but after Newport and the fall of Savannah, Georgia, in December 1778, it appeared that the war was going badly. It was also draining the treasury.

  Being famous could be a drag when he tried to help the American agents. Often the marquis postponed meetings because he was summoned to a levée by the king or required to join the queen on a ride. “In our kingly countries,” he told Franklin, “we have a foolish law call’d Etiquette that any one tho’ a sensible man, must absolutely follow.” After he saw the ministers, he would have the pleasure of telling Franklin “what is the matter at Versailles.”13

  Lafayette used his influence, in concert with Franklin and Adams, to get additional grants and loans, French fleets, and French troops to support Washington. He besieged the ministers, often speaking for the Americans, and he traded ideas with his newfound friends. He told Adams that England was stretched thin, and a fleet and just 5,000 troops could blast her out of the Western Hemisphere. Adams liked that ambition. The plan, he said, “must infallibly succeed.” He would be happy “to have further conversations with you, Sir, upon those subjects.” But Maurepas in particular resisted such grand schemes. The taking of Senegal in January made him and the other ministers more inclined to favor limited actions, such as raids on the English coast.14

  Franklin had long favored such diversions, to drain resources from Britain’s campaigns in America. Lafayette, if he could not talk the ministry into sending an army to join Washington’s, decided that Franklin’s ideas, which soon came across as his own, were worth pushing. Besides, they offered a chance to realize his ambition of a joint French-American operation. As for who should command the ships, Franklin had the man for the job—John Paul Jones, who had just returned from a raid in English waters.

  John Paul Jones, by C.W. Peale, 1781–84. Jones and Lafayette cooperated on an expedition to raid English ports, although Franklin feared the two proud fighters would go after each other. The campaign was cancelled before it began. (INDEPENDENCE NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK)

  Ten years older than Lafayette, Jones had been born the son of a Scottish gardener as John Paul Jr. Going to sea at the age of thirteen, he fought his way up from below decks to become second mate on a slave ship, then master of his own merchantman. He changed his name to John Paul Jones when he fled a murder charge in the West Indies, and he became an American. His little “Continental Navy” was a branch of Washington’s army, although nobody but Franklin could ever tell him what to do. He was a ruggedly handsome ladies’ man and a notoriously aggressive fighter on land and sea. He also was vain, plagued by inner doubts, arrogant, abrasive, and pugnacious, with a thin skin, loud voice, and quick temper. For all his faults, he was a born sailor who instinctively went “in harm’s way,” as he put it.15

  Lafayette set out to sell the ministers on the idea of a raid on England, with himself in charge of the land forces and Jones the ships. For someone so young, he enjoyed remarkable access to the highest levels of government, thanks to his celebrity. He was also not above complaining about the ministry’s decision not to send troops or any more money to America. So he allowed rumors to circulate that he was organizing an army to join Washington, as a cover for what he was really badgering the government about.

  After talking to Vergennes, in March 1779 Lafayette approached the prime minister, Maurepas. “I grant, Monsieur le Comte, that it is not so much for the sake of America but even more for that of France that I am vexed at the impossibility of aiding the Americans,” he declared. Despite the minister’s belief, the Americans were not losing dedication to their own war, and public opinion among them would favor bold action on the part of France. He believed he had learned what made the greatest impression on them, and “it is this experience that induces me to venture to share with you some ideas on a favorite expedition.”

  This American major general wanted to lead 1,500 French soldiers in a flotilla to raid the ports of England and Ireland, paying for it by exacting tribute from the targeted towns, which would be burned if they did not pay. The benefits from such an expedition were so obvious, he claimed, and his own knowledge of the Americans made the expedition seem so valuable, that he concerned himself “only with the degree of possibility” it offered. While the prime minister chewed on that, he went hunting with the king, and talked him into calling a meeting of the cabinet to discuss it.16

  Franklin was impressed by Lafayette’s energy and zeal and told him so. He also thought the proposed raid could bring in a pile of loot. “Much will depend, on a prudent & brave sea commander who knows the coasts, and on a leader of the troops, who has the affair at heart,” he said, chucking both Jones and the marquis under the chin. The plan could succeed if the egotistical commanders could get along.17

  Lafayette bounced Franklin’s attitude off Maurepas. “It pleases him immensely,” he said, “and his knowledge of England makes him see all its advantages.” He recommended as naval commander “Captain Jones, an excellent sailor, they say, who knows all the coasts thoroughly and whom M. de Sartine [the minister of marine] seemed inclined to employ as head of the naval part of the expedition.” Franklin, he said, would bring the proposal up with Vergennes personally. Meanwhile, the foreign minister was warming to the idea and asked him for more details. By the first of April 1779, hounded relentlessly by Lafayette, all the ministers had come around, provided the expedition did not cost too much.18

  Lafayette spent the next month snarled in the knots of bureaucracy. The ministers had agreed to his project, but they did little to move it along. He pestered the ministers of war and of marine to hurry along the provision of everything from troops and cannons to ship stores and diplomatic cover. He picked up his old dream of invading
Canada and thrust it at Vergennes. The idea of a revolution in Canada seemed “charming to every good Frenchman,” he suggested. Besides the economic advantages from the fur trade, and the chance to “render liberty to our oppressed brothers,” he slyly suggested that a liberated Canada would be a “fourteenth state, which will always be attached to us.” The foreign minister still wanted no part of any such fantasy.19

  Lafayette and Jones got together, under Franklin’s roof, late in April. Giving Jones his sailing orders, the Doctor worried that the temperamental officers would go at each other’s throat rather than the enemy’s. He told them that the campaign was an audition both for them and for future French-American cooperation. “There is honour enough to be got for both of you if the expedition is conducted with a prudent unanimity.” The proud fighters exchanged promises of mutual respect and cooperation. “Be certain, my dear sir,” Lafayette told Jones, “that I’ll be happy to divide with you whatever share of glory may expect us, and that my esteem and affection for you is truly felt, and will last for ever.”20

  Lafayette turned to Jacques-Donatien Leray de Chaumont, a French entrepreneur, to cut through the red tape and get the expedition outfitted. The latter’s home was headquarters for the American delegation in Paris, and he had used his connections to forward clothing and other supplies to Washington. Not even he, however, could overcome problems such as the fact that most of the cannons provided to Jones were substandard. In addition, the finance minister kicked up a fuss over what the whole business was costing.

  Lafayette and Jones offered a revised—and larger—proposal to extend their expedition to invade Ireland and stir up a rebellion there, then go on to America, either to invade Canada or to fight beside Washington. That was too much. Vergennes and Maurepas told Lafayette that an expedition to America was “impossible for the present.” Maurepas said, “We shall have to wait and see what will result from the operations already determined upon.” The marquis had no idea what the minister was talking about.21