“At last, on the 10th of October, 1797, we arrived at Witmold. From my aunt De Tessé, who owned this property of Witmold, we received the most tender reception. Here my mother recovered her strength, and found repose of body and mind. My father found his friends. He was fond of Madame de Tessé, and had with her on every point complete community of opinions. His political life had met with her constant approbation, and you may fancy what charm five years of silence at Olmütz added to Madame de Tessé’s lively, animated, and piquante conversation.

“Shortly afterwards my brother arrived from Mount Vernon. Under General Washington’s paternal care he had become a man. My mother was happy, and so were her children. My sister often met at that time Charles de Latour-Maubourg, the younger brother of my father’s friend. Anastasie was captivated by his handsome countenance, and the noble feelings he expressed. Their wedding, celebrated at Madame de Tessé’s, was a fresh link between two families whose old friendship had been sealed by misfortune.

“The course of my mother’s convalescence was disturbed by the imperious necessity of returning to France, where she was summoned by family business. She alone could follow up the affairs of the family, for she alone could return to France, as her name was on none of the lists of proscription or suspicion.”

During this absence of Madame La Fayette her husband thus wrote to her from Vianen, near Utrecht. Young La Fayette had joined the French army in Holland. It was rather a singular fact that while the father, the illustrious upholder of the liberties of his country, was unable to enter his native land, his son was fighting her battles. While not allowed to return to France, the thoughts of La Fayette turned yearningly toward America, and he thus expressed his desires to his wife in a letter written to her at that time:—

“Yesterday and to-day George and I have been planning a farm for you, either in the beautiful valley of the Shenandoah, in the state of Virginia, not far from Federal City and even Mount Vernon, or in the lovely fields of New England, within reach of the town of Boston, for which you know my fancy. I do not conceal from myself, dear Adrienne, the fact that I, who complain of the serfs of Holstein as a sad surrounding for a friend of liberty, should find negro slaves in the valley of the Shenandoah; for if in the northern states there is equality for all, in the southern it exists only for the whites. It is true that, with our ideas of Cayenne, we might console ourselves somewhat. I should, however, prefer New England, and at the same time I feel all the reasons which ought to draw us near Mount Vernon and the seat of government. But we only want the first dollar to buy our farm with.”

Notwithstanding the painful anxieties which filled his mind, consequent upon his own uncertain position, La Fayette was ever keenly alive to the interests of others, especially of his friends. The following letter was written by him during his own exile, to the Directory, in behalf of his friends who had been his companions in prison:—

“Citizen Directors: Permit a citizen who owes his liberation to the government of his country now to avail himself of that obligation to demand of you an act of justice. I am not about to speak of myself; and though my heart and my reason equally remind me of my rights, I appreciate the circumstances which keep me still at a distance from my country; but in offering up my prayers for her liberty, her glory, and her happiness I purpose to speak to you of the few officers who, on an occasion, the responsibility of which belongs to me alone, thought themselves obliged to accompany their general and were made prisoners by the enemy. Their patriotism, which has been tried from the beginning of the Revolution, has been preserved in all its ardor and purity, and the Republic cannot have more faithful defenders.

“Salutation and respect,

“La Fayette.”

While General La Fayette was at Witmold, just after his release, he received the following letter from the illustrious Alexander Hamilton, who, six years after, fell in the fatal duel with Aaron Burr:—