“As General Howe is giving, meanwhile, rather pompous details of his American exploits to the king his master, if he should write that I am wounded, he may also write 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 touched neither 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 this 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, the harbor of which 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 shall, 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 Vicomte de Noailles will teach you, for I cannot lose time by talking to you of politics.
“Be perfectly at ease about my wound; all the faculty in America are engaged in my service. I have a friend who has spoken to them in such a manner that I am certain of being well attended to. That friend is General Washington. This excellent man, whose talents and virtues I admired, and whom I have learned to revere as I know him better, has now become my intimate friend. His affectionate interest in me instantly won my heart. I am established in his house, and we live together like two attached brothers, with mutual confidence and cordiality. This friendship renders me as happy as I can possibly be in this country. When he sent his best surgeon to me, he told him to take charge of me as if I were his son, because he loved me with the same affection. Having heard that I wished to rejoin the army too soon, he wrote me a letter full of tenderness, in which he requested me to attend to the perfect restoration of my health. I give you these details, my dearest love, that you may feel quite certain of the care which is taken of me. Among the French officers who have all expressed the warmest interest in me, M. de Gimat, my aide-de-camp, has followed me about like my shadow, both before and since the battle, and has given me every possible proof of attachment. You may thus feel quite secure on this account, both for the present and the future.
“I am at present in the solitude of Bethlehem, which the Abbé Raynal has described so minutely. This establishment is a very interesting one; the fraternity lead an agreeable and very tranquil life—but we will talk over all this on my return. I intend to weary those I love, yourself, of course, in the first place, by the relation of my adventures, for you know that I was always a great chatterbox.
“You must become a prattler also, my love, and say many things for me to Henriette—my poor little Henriette! embrace her a thousand times; talk of me to her, but do not tell her all I deserve to suffer: my punishment will be, not to be recognized by her on my arrival; that is the penance Henriette will impose upon me.”
In the life of Madame de La Fayette, written by her daughter, Madame de Lasteyrie, this touching account is given of La Fayette’s wife at this time.
“In the month of April, 1777, my father carried out his plan of going to America. It is easy to judge of my mother’s grief on receiving tidings so new, so unexpected, and so terrible. In addition to all she was herself suffering; she had the pain of witnessing my grandfather’s anger. ‘The French ladies,’ Lord Stomont, the English ambassador, wrote to his government, ‘blame M. de La Fayette’s family, for having tried to stop him in so noble an enterprise. If the Duc d’Ayen,’ one of them said, ‘crosses such a son-in-law in such an attempt, he must not hope to find husbands for his other daughters.’
“My mother felt that the more she excited pity, the more my father would be censured. All her endeavors were then to conceal the tortures of her heart, preferring to be thought childish or indifferent to bringing down greater blame on his behavior. My mother found much comfort in the kindness shown to her by my grandmother, whose noble mind made her appreciate each detail of her son-in-law’s conduct.
“It was with truly maternal tenderness that she broke to her daughter the different accounts of my father’s departure, of his arrest, of his return to Bordeaux, and of his ultimate embarkation at the Port du Passage in Spain.
“The first accounts of my father’s arrival in America reached my mother a month after the birth of my sister Anastasie. His charming letters, the accounts of his deeds, the success he had already achieved, caused her a delight mingled with apprehensions for the dangers of war. The news of my father having been wounded at the battle of Brandywine reached my mother’s ears, but still more alarming reports were hidden from her.”