Chapter 9

I have arrived, my dearest love, in perfect health, at the house of an American officer; and, by the most fortunate chance in the world, a French vessel is on the point of sailing; conceive how happy I am. I am going this evening to Charlestown, from whence I will write to you. There is no important news. The campaign is opened, but there is no fighting, or at least, very little. The manners in this part of the world are simple, polite, and worthy in every respect of the country in which the noble name of liberty is constantly repeated. I intended writing to Madame d'Ayen, but I find it is impossible. Adieu, adieu, my love. From Charlestown I shall repair, by land, to Philadelphia, to rejoin the army. Is it not true that you will always love me?

Footnotes:

1. At the moment when M. de Lafayette's project of departure was taking place, he had been desired to join the Duke d'Ayen, and Madame de Tessé, his sister, who were setting out for Italy and Sicily.

2. The first-born of M. de Lafayette, which died during his voyage. (See letter 16th June, 1778.)

3. The Viscount de Noailles, brother-in-law to M. de Lafayette.

4. The Prince de Poix, son of the Marshal de Mouchy, and consequently uncle, according to the mode of Bretagne, to Madame de Lafayette.

5. Mademoiselle Marin was governess to Mesdemoiselles de Noailles; and the Abbé Fayon was tutor to M. de Lafayette.

6. Madame de Lafayette, author of the _Princess de Clever_, had only one daughter, who became Madame de la Tremoille, and heiress to the property of the Lafayette family; and who cheerfully consented to restore to her cousins, who inhabited the province, those estates which a love of their family might make them wish to conserve to the heritors of the name of Lafayette. Since that period, the members of that branch, of which M. de Lafayette was the last scion, have constantly kept up feelings, not only of relationship, but of friendship, with the family of la Tremoille.

7. An old valet de chambre.

8. The father of him who so generously devoted himself to save Lafayette from the prisons of Olmutz--(Note of M. de Lafayette.)

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

June 19th, 1777, Charlestown.

If my last letter, my dearest love, written five or six days ago, was closed hastily, I hope at least that the American captain, whom I then believed to be a French one, will remit it to you as soon as possible. That letter announced to you that I had landed safely in this country, after having suffered a little from sea-sickness during the first weeks of my voyage; that I was staying with a very kind officer, in whose house I was received upon my arrival; that I had been nearly two months at sea, and was anxious to continue my journey immediately; that letter spoke of everything which interests my heart most deeply, of my regret at having quitted you, of your pregnancy, and of our dear children; it told you, also, that I was in perfect health. I repeat this extract from it, because the English may very possibly amuse themselves by seizing it on its way. I place, however, so much confidence in my lucky star, that I hope it will reach you safely. That same star has protected me to the astonishment of every person; you may, therefore, trust a little to it in future, my love, and let this conviction tranquillize your fears. I landed after having sailed for several days along a coast swarming with hostile vessels. On my arrival here every one told me that my ship must undoubtedly be taken, because two English frigates had blockaded the harbour. I even sent, both by land and sea, orders to the captain to put the men on shore, and burn the vessel, if he had still the power of doing so. Well! by a most extraordinary piece of good fortune, a sudden gale of wind having blown away the frigates for a short time, my vessel arrived at noon-day, without having encountered friend or foe. At Charlestown I have met with General Howe, a general officer, now engaged in service. The governor of the state is expected this evening from the country. All the persons with whom I wished to be acquainted have shewn me the greatest attention and politeness (not European politeness merely); I can only feel gratitude for the reception I have met with, although I have not yet thought proper to enter into any detail respecting my future prospects and arrangements. I wish to see the congress first. I hope to set out in two days for Philadelphia, which is a land journey of more than two hundred and fifty leagues. We shall divide into small parties; I have already purchased horses and light carriages for this purpose. There are some French and American vessels at present here, who are to sail out of the harbour in company to-morrow morning, taking advantage of a moment when the frigates are out of sight: they are numerous and armed, and have promised me to defend themselves stoutly against the small privateers they will undoubtedly meet with. I shall distribute my letters amongst the different ships, in case any accident should happen to either one of them.

I shall now speak to you, my love, about the country and its inhabitants, who are as agreeable as my enthusiasm had led me to imagine. Simplicity of manner, kindness of heart, love of country and of liberty, and a delightful state of equality, are met with universally. The richest and the poorest man are completely on a level; and although there are some immense fortunes in this country, I may challenge any one to point out the slightest difference in their respective manner towards each other. I first saw and judged of a country life at Major Hughes's house: I am at present in the city, where everything somewhat resembles the English customs, except that you find more simplicity here than you would do in England. Charlestown is one of the best built, handsomest, and most agreeable cities that I have ever seen. The American women are very pretty, and have great simplicity of character; and the extreme neatness of their appearance is truly delightful: cleanliness is everywhere even more studiously attended to here than in England. What gives me most pleasure is to see how completely the citizens are all brethren of one family. In America there are none poor, and none even that can be called peasants. Each citizen has some property, and all citizens have the same rights as the richest individual, or landed proprietor, in the country. The inns are very different from those of Europe; the host and hostess sit at table with you, and do the honours of a comfortable meal; and when you depart, you pay your bill without being obliged to tax it. If you should dislike going to inns, you may always find country houses in which you will be received, as a good American, with the same attention that you might expect in a friend's house in Europe.

My own reception has been most peculiarly agreeable. To have been merely my travelling companion, suffices to secure the kindest welcome. I have just passed five hours at a large dinner given in compliment to me by an individual of this town. Generals Howe and Moultrie, and several officers of my suite, were present. We drank each other's health, and endeavoured to talk English, which I am beginning to speak a little. I shall pay a visit to-morrow, with these gentlemen, to the governor of the state, and make the last arrangements for my departure. The next day, the commanding officers here will take me to see the town and its environs, and I shall then set out to join the army. I must close and send my letter immediately, because the vessel goes to-night to the entrance of the harbour, and sails to-morrow at five o'clock. As all the ships are exposed to some risk, I shall divide my letters amongst them. I write to M M. de Coigny, de Poix, de Noailles, de Ségur, and to Madame d'Ayen.~[1] If either of these should not receive my letter, be so kind as to mention this circumstance.

From the agreeable life I lead in this country, from the sympathy which makes me feel as much at ease with the inhabitants as if I had known them for twenty years, the similarity between their manner of thinking and of my own, my love of glory and of liberty, you might imagine that I am very happy: but you are not with me, my dearest love; my friends are not with me; and there is no happiness for me when far from you and them. I often ask you if you still love, but I put that question still more often to myself and my heart ever answers, yes: I trust that heart does not deceive me. I am inexpressibly anxious to hear from you; I hope to find some letters at Philadelphia. My only fear is that the privateer which was to bring them to me should have been captured on her way. Although I can easily imagine that I have excited the especial displeasure of the English, by taking the liberty of coming hither in spite of them, and landing before their very face, yet I must confess that we shall be even more than on a par if they succeed in catching that vessel, the object of my fondest hopes, by which I am expecting to receive your letters. I entreat you to send me both long and frequent letters. You are not sufficiently conscious of the joy with which I shall receive them. Embrace, most tenderly, my Henriette: may I add, embrace our children? The father of those poor children is a wanderer, but he is, nevertheless, a good honest man,--a good father, warmly attached to his family, and a good husband also, for he loves his wife most tenderly. Present my compliments to your friends and to mine; may I not say _our_ friends? with the permission of the Countess Auguste and Madame de Fronsac.~[2] By _my friends_, you know that I mean my own dear circle, formerly of the court, and which afterwards became the society of _the wooden sword_;~[3] we republicans like it the better for the change. This letter will be given you by a French captain, who, I think, will deliver it into your own hands; but I must confide to you that I have an agreeable anticipation for to-morrow, which is to write to you by an American, who will sail on the same day, but at a later hour. Adieu, then, my dearest love; I must leave off for want of time and paper; and if I do not repeat ten thousand times that I love you, it is not from want of affection, but from my having the vanity to hope that I have already convinced you of it. The night is far advanced, the heat intense, and I am devoured by gnats; but the best countries, as you perceive, have their inconveniences. Adieu, my love, adieu.

Footnotes:

1. The Viscount de Coigny, son of the last marshal of that name, was the intimate friend of M. de Lafayette in his youth. He died young, perhaps even during this voyage.--(See the letters of January the 6th, and February 13th, 1778.) The Count de Ségur, who had married the sister of the Duchess d'Ayen, and who was, therefore, the uncle of M. de Lafayette, continued, to the last, his friend--(See the memoirs published before his death, which occurred in 1830.)

2. The Countess Auguste d'Aremberg, the wife of Count de Lamark, the friend of Mirabeau, and the Duchess de Fronsac, daughter-in-law to the Marshal de Richelieu.

3. A society of young men, who first assembled at Versailles, and afterwards at an inn at Paris.--(Note by M. de Lafayette.)

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

Petersburg, July 17th, 1777.

I am very happy, my dearest love, if the word happiness can truly be applied to me, whilst I am separated from all I love; there is a vessel on the point of sailing for France, and I am enabled to tell you, before setting out for Philadelphia, that I love you, my dearest life, and that you may be perfectly tranquil respecting my health. I bore the fatigue of the journey without suffering from it; although the land expedition was long and wearisome, yet the confinement of my melancholy ship was far more so. I am now eight days' journey from Philadelphia, in the beautiful state of Virginia. All fatigue is over, and I fear that my martial labours will be very light, if it be true that General Howe has left New York, to go I know not whither. But all the accounts I receive are so uncertain, that I cannot form any fixed opinion until I reach my destination; from thence, my love, I shall write you a long letter. You must already have received four letters from me, if they have not fallen into the hands of the English. I have received no news of you, and my impatience to arrive at Philadelphia to hear, from you cannot be compared to any other earthly feeling. Conceive the state of my mind, after having passed such an immense length of time without, having received a line from any friend! I hope all this will soon end, for I cannot live in such a state of uncertainty. I have undertaken a task which is, in truth, beyond my power, for my heart was not formed for so much suffering.

You must have learnt the particulars of the commencement of my journey: you know that I set out in a brilliant manner in a carriage, and I must now tell you that we are all on horseback,--having broken the carriage, according to my usual praiseworthy custom,--and I hope soon to write to you that we have arrived on foot. The journey is somewhat fatiguing; but although several of my comrades have suffered a great deal, I have scarcely myself been conscious of fatigue. The captain who takes charge of this letter will, perhaps, pay you a visit; I beg you in that case to receive him with great kindness.

I scarcely dare think of the time of your confinement, and yet I think of it every moment of the day. I cannot dwell upon it without the most dreadful anxiety. I am, indeed, unfortunate, at being so distant from you; even if you did not love me, you ought to pity me; but you do love me, and we shall mutually render each other happy. This little note will be short in comparison to the volumes I have already sent you, but you shall receive another letter in a few days from me.

The farther I advance to the north, the better pleased am I with the country and inhabitants. There is no attention or kindness that I do not receive, although many scarcely know who I am. But I will write all this to you more in detail from Philadelphia. I have only time to intreat you, my dearest love, not to forget an unhappy man, who pays most dearly for the error he committed in parting from you, and who never felt before how tenderly he loved you.

My respectful compliments to Madame d'Ayen, and my affectionate regards to my sisters. Tell M. de Coigny and M. de Poix that I am in good health, in case some letters should miscarry which I shall send by another opportunity, by which I shall also send a line to you, although I do not consider it so secure as this one.

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

July 23rd, 1777.

I am always meeting, my dearest love, with opportunities of sending letters; I have this time only a quarter of an hour to give you. The vessel is on the point of sailing, and I can only announce to you my safe arrival at Annapolis, forty leagues from Philadelphia. I can tell you nothing of the town, for, as I alighted from my horse, I armed myself with a little weapon dipt in invisible ink. You must already have received five letters from me, unless King George should have received some of them. The last one was despatched three days since; in it I announced to you that my health was perfectly good, and had not been even impaired by my anxiety to arrive at Philadelphia. I have received bad news here; Ticonderoga, the strongest American post, has been forced by the enemy; this is very unfortunate, and we must endeavour to repair the evil. Our troops have taken, in retaliation, an English general officer, near New York. I am each day more miserable from having quitted you, my dearest love; I hope to receive news of you at Philadelphia, and this hope adds much to the impatience I feel to arrive in that city. Adieu, my life; I am in such haste that I know not what I write, but I do know that I love you more tenderly than ever; that the pain of this separation were necessary to convince me how very dear you are to me, and that I would give at this moment half my existence for the pleasure of embracing you again, and telling you with my own lips how well I love you. My respects to Madame d'Ayen, my compliments to the viscountess, my sisters, and all my friends: to you only have I time to write. O! if you knew how much I sigh to see you, how much I suffer at being separated from you, and all that my heart has been called on to endure, you would think me somewhat worthy of your love! I have left no space for Henriette; may I say for my children? Give them a hundred thousand embraces; I shall most heartily share them with you.

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

Philadelphia, September 12th, 1777.

I write you a line, my dearest love, by some French officers, my friends, who embarked with me, but, not having received any appointment in the American army, are returning to France. I must begin by telling you that I am perfectly well, because I must end by telling you that we fought seriously last night, and that we were not the strongest on the field of battle. Our Americans, after having stood their ground for some time, ended at length by being routed: whilst endeavouring to rally them, the English honoured me with a musket ball, which slightly wounded me in the leg,--but it is a trifle, my dearest love; the ball touched neither bone nor nerve, and I have escaped with the obligation of lying on my back for some time, which puts me much out of humour. I hope that you will feel no anxiety; this event ought, on the contrary, rather to reassure you, since I am incapacitated from appearing on the field for some time: I have resolved to take great care of myself; be convinced of this, my love. This affair, will, I fear, be attended with bad consequences for America. We will endeavour, if possible, to repair the evil. You must have received many letters from me, unless the English be equally ill-disposed towards my epistles as towards my legs. I have not yet received one letter, and I am most impatient to hear from you. Adieu; I am forbidden to write longer. For several days I have not had time to sleep. Our retreat, and my journey hither, took up the whole of last night; I am perfectly well taken care of in this place. Tell all my friends that I am in good health. My tender respects to Madame d'Ayen. A thousand compliments to the viscountess and my sisters. The officers will soon set out. They will see you; what pleasure! Good night, my dearest life! I love you better than ever.

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

October 1st, 1777.

I wrote to you, my dearest love, the 12th of September; the twelfth was the day after the eleventh, and I have a little tale to relate to you concerning that eleventh day. To render my action more meritorious, I might tell you that prudent reflections induced me to remain for some weeks in my bed, safe sheltered from all danger; but I must acknowledge that I was encouraged to take this measure by a slight wound, which I met with I know not how, for I did not, in truth, expose myself to peril. It was the first conflict at which I had been present; so you see how very rare engagements are. It will be the last of this campaign, or, in all probability, at least, the last great battle; and if anything should occur, you see that I could not myself be present.

You may, therefore, my love, feel perfectly secure. I have much pleasure in thus reassuring you. While I am desiring you not to be alarmed on my account, I repeat to myself that you love me; and this little conversation with my own heart is inexpressibly delightful to me, for I love you more tenderly than I have ever done before.

My first occupation was to write to you the day after that affair: I told you that it was a mere trifle, and I was right; all I fear is that you should not have received my letter. As General Howe is giving, in the meantime, rather pompous details of his American exploits to the king his master, if he should write word that I am wounded, he may also write word that I am killed, which would not cost him anything; but I hope that my friends, and you especially, will not give faith to the reports of those persons who last year dared to publish that General Washington, and all the general officers of his army, being in a boat together, had been upset, and every individual drowned. But let us speak about the wound: it is only a flesh-wound, and has neither touched bone nor nerve. The surgeons are astonished at the rapidity with which it heals; they are in an ecstasy of joy each time they dress it, and pretend it is the finest thing in the world: for my part, I think it most disagreeable, painful, and wearisome; but tastes often differ: if a man, however, wished to be wounded for his amusement only, he should come and examine how I have been struck, that he might be struck precisely in the same manner. This, my dearest love, is what I pompously style my wound, to give myself airs, and render myself interesting.

I must now give you your lesson, as wife of an American general officer. They will say to you, "They have been beaten:" you must answer,--"That is true; but when two armies of _equal number_ meet in the field, old soldiers have naturally the advantage over new ones; they have, besides, had the pleasure of killing a great many of the enemy, many more than they have lost." They will afterwards add: "All that is very well; but Philadelphia is taken, the capital of America, the rampart of liberty!" You must politely answer, "You are all great fools! Philadelphia is a poor forlorn town, exposed on every side, whose harbour was already closed; though the residence of congress lent it, I know not why, some degree of celebrity. This is the famous city which, be it added, we will, sooner or later, make them yield back to us." If they continue to persecute you with questions, you may send them about their business in terms which the Viscount de Noailles will teach you, for I cannot lose time by talking to you of politics.

I have delayed writing your letter till the last, in the hope of receiving one from you, answering it, and giving you the latest intelligence of my health; but I am told, if I do not send immediately to congress, twenty-five leagues from hence, my captain will have set out, and I shall lose the opportunity of writing to you. This is the cause of my scrawl being more unintelligible than usual; however, if I were to send you anything but a hurried scrawl, I ought, in that case, to beg your pardon, from the singularity of the case. Recollect, my dearest love, that I have only once heard of you, from Count Pulaski. I am much provoked, and am very miserable. Imagine how dreadful it is to be far from all I love, in this state of suspense and almost despair; it is impossible to support it; and I feel, at the same time, that I do not deserve to be pitied. Why was I so obstinately bent on coming hither ? I have been well punished for my error; my affections are too strongly rooted for me to be able to perform such deeds. I hope you pity me; if you knew all I suffer, especially at this moment, when everything concerning you is so deeply interesting! I cannot, without shuddering, think of this. I am told that a parcel has arrived from France; I have despatched expresses on every road and in every corner; I have sent an officer to congress; I am expecting him every day, and you may conceive with what feelings of intense anxiety. My surgeon is also very anxious for his arrival, for this suspense keeps my blood in a state of effervescence, and he would fain require that it should flow calmly. O, my dearest life, if I receive good news from you, and all I love,--if those delightful letters arrive to-day, how happy I shall be!--but with what agitation, also, I shall open them!