THE primary cause of discontent among the American colonies, which led to the Declaration of Independence in 1776, was the proclamation by the King of England after the evacuation of America by the French in 1763, forbidding the colonists to extend their settlements west of the Alleghenies.[1]

This proclamation instantly roused the ire of the men of the New World, for the war waged for so many years in the wilderness against the French and the Indians had taught the settlers the incomparable value of their vast “Hinterland,” and having won at so great cost and by such effort a footing on the coast, they were by no means willing to be dictated to in the matter of expansion. Like stalwart sons of a mighty race, grown to manhood in heroic struggle with the forces of nature, brought to self-consciousness by the conflict they had endured, these men of the New World felt within themselves the power, and therefore believed in their right, to conquer the great and almost unexplored wilderness lying beyond them. From the moment they were made to feel a restriction to their liberty in this direction, there was nothing wanting but a pretext for breaking with the mother country. Nor had they long to wait. One petty act of tyranny after another showed the determination of the English King still to treat as a child the son now grown to manhood. At length the time was ripe and the outbreak came.

Righteous indignation and personal prowess, however, are of themselves unable to win battles or to insure victory. To be effective they must rest upon a material basis, and in the contest of the colonies with England this material basis was conspicuously wanting.

Sparingly provided with munitions of war, possessing no central government, and lacking unity among themselves, the colonies seemed at the first to be leading a forlorn hope. The feeling of resentment roused by the arbitrary interference of England was indeed great, yet the jealousy that existed between the colonies themselves was, if possible, greater still.[2]

Nor was this surprising. Up to the time of forming the determination to break with England there had been no common interest to unite them. Neither habits of life nor uniformity of opinion bound them together; on the contrary, the causes which had brought them into being were just so many forces tending to keep them widely apart. It was this spirit of jealous fear that made of the Continental Congress a body so conspicuously devoid of dignity and incapable of commanding respect either at home or abroad. Composed of delegates representing the colonies, this improvised body found itself, when assembled in Philadelphia, practically without power. It could advise and suggest, but it had no authority to tax the people or even to levy troops.[3]

The presence of members representing different party factions was a fertile source of discord. More than once the whole cause was brought to the brink of ruin through the injudicious actions of this incompetent body.[4] Once it was put to flight by a handful of drunken soldiers and during the entire course of its existence it remained a living demonstration of the fact that where there is no authority, no respect can be commanded, no law enforced.

In this state of affairs help from outside was imperatively needed and eagerly sought. The question that presented itself was, to whom could the Americans turn in their dilemma. Naturally to no second-rate European power, for in combating England, England so lately victorious over all her enemies, powerful support was necessary; and for powerful support to whom could she turn but to France? (Geo. Bancroft, Vol. IV, p. 360.) It is not therefore surprising that we find her looking in this direction. Nor was France herself indifferent to the situation for she was still smarting under the humiliating treaty of 1763. The blood of every true-born Frenchman boiled with indignation when he realized the position to which his proud nation had been brought through the frivolity and egotism of Louis XV. From her place among the nations France had been cast down. She had fallen, not because her own courage or strength had failed her, but because she had been foully betrayed by those who placed the satisfaction of their immense egotism before their country’s honor; she was burning with desire to vindicate herself before the nations of the earth, and to reconquer her place among them. No wonder, then, that she hailed with joy the first symptoms shown by the Americans of resistance to British rule.

On the part of the colonists, however, there was no feeling of real sympathy uniting them with the French. English still at heart, though for the moment fighting against England, the descendants of the Puritans looked with a half disdain upon what they considered the light and frivolous French. More than this, the war terminated by the treaty of 1763 had left many bitter memories:—Indian massacres, and midnight atrocities, all laid at the door of England’s historic foe. Moreover, the disinterestedness of her offers of help seemed to the colonists at the beginning to be open to question. Had France for a moment shown signs of a desire to regain her footing upon the western continent, there was not an American but would have scorned her proffered services. Upon this point, indeed, they were one—their “Hinterland.” For this they would fight, and in regard to this they would make no compromises.

Perhaps even better than they themselves, France understood the instinctive attitude of the Americans towards their own continent, and her first care was to assure the colonists that in case she should decide to come to their assistance it would be with no intention of laying claim to any part of the New World. (See Recommendations to Bonvouloir, by the Comte de Vergennes—“Canada,” he says, “is with them le point jaloux; they must be made to understand that we do not think of it in the least.”)[5]

But however great her interest in the struggle, however enthusiastic her admiration of the heroic part played by the colonists, she was yet far from desiring to enter prematurely into the contest by openly espousing their cause at the moment. As a people, she might give them her moral support, but as a body politic she was forced to act with extreme caution, for not only was the treasury exhausted, the army and navy demoralized,[6] but above all the irresolute character of the young Monarch, his settled aversion to war, his abhorrence of insurrection, were almost insurmountable obstacles which had to be overcome before the French Government could attempt to send aid to the insurgent colonies.

The interests of France were, however, too deeply involved to permit the ministry to look on as idle spectators, and early in 1775 Bonvouloir had been sent to Philadelphia with secret instructions to sound the attitude of Congress in regard to France, but bearing positive orders to compromise the Government in no wise by rousing in the colonies hope of assistance.

As soon, however, as it became known that a kindly interest was felt for them by France, the secret committee of Congress began to investigate how far this interest could be relied upon for the benefit of their cause.[7]

Early in the summer of 1776, Silas Deane was sent to Paris with a commission to secure the urgently needed military supplies and also to enlist foreign officers, especially engineers, for the war. He was received at Versailles in a friendly manner, and though no open support was given him, a secret agent of the Government was pointed out, and Deane was made to understand that there would be no interference with any proceedings that might go on between them. The direct result of these negotiations was that during the spring of 1777, ammunition, guns, and the complete military equipment for twenty-five thousand men, amounting in value to no less than five million French livres, were landed on the American coast. The joy of the colonists knew no bounds, for by this time they were not only practically destitute of all munitions of war, but they were quite without means of securing them. The timely arrival of these immense cargoes permitted the vigorous carrying on of the campaign of 1777 which ended in the decisive victory of Saratoga. This proved the turning-point of the war. Emboldened by the success of our arms, Congress began forming plans for urging upon the French Government the open espousal of our cause. The delicate mission of securing this recognition was entrusted to Franklin, while the entire hope of our ultimate victory over the British rested with the success of his endeavors.

Notwithstanding the victory which terminated the campaign of 1777, the winter that followed was in reality the darkest period of the war. While the fate of the new nation hung in the balance at the court of Versailles, the forlorn remnant of the American Army, half-clothed and half-fed, was wintering under the command of Washington at Valley Forge, and the incompetent Congress, unable to supply men or money to the public cause, was exerting what influence it possessed in undermining the authority of Washington, the one man who in this time of general depression, by his quiet strength and unwavering faith, was able to infuse hope and courage into the hearts of the forlorn upholders of the cause of independence. Had Congress possessed the power, it would have supplanted him in command by the mock hero of Saratoga, the scheming Gates, who had succeeded in having himself named to the command of the forces of the north, at the moment when the scattered divisions of the army under Herkimer, Schuyler, and Arnold, had been able to unite their forces and entrap Burgoyne at Saratoga. The subsequent career of Gates in the South showed him to have been a man of unprincipled character and devoid of real ability, so that the danger to the country was very great. Fortunately Congress did not possess this power and Washington remained Commander-in-Chief of the American Army.[8]

With the spring, however, fresh hope came to the budding nation. The winter passed so painfully at Valley Forge had not been spent in vain; the men had grown used to camp life, and under the excellent discipline of Baron von Steuben, they had become the nucleus of a formidable army that was ready to take the field. With the spring, too, came news of the alliance which Franklin had been able to consummate at the Court of Versailles. Already victory seemed assured for the cause of independence. Not only had the colonies become more united in interest and better trained in the art of war, but England found herself confronted by a new and formidable enemy which gave to the war a different aspect. Millions of money at once began to pour into the treasury of the new nation, while armies and fleets were sent to help fight her battles and to guard her coasts. From this time forward, the aid rendered by France was openly avowed; no more mystery was necessary, and the results are too generally known to need dwelling upon here. It is sufficient to recall that after two more years of fighting, came the brilliant victory of De Grasse over the English fleet off Cape Henry, at the moment when Cornwallis had taken up his position on the peninsula of Yorktown, confidently relying upon the English supremacy of the seas; that later through the masterful tactics of Washington, aided by the genius of Rochambeau, the combined American and French forces were rapidly moved southward, cutting off the retreat of Cornwallis; and two years later, that peace was declared which deprived England of her American Colonies.

The very important rÔle played by France in this gigantic drama never has received due recognition even in her own annals. Its significance was dwarfed by the stupendous events which followed so soon after, known as the French Revolution.

Naturally England has taken little public notice of French achievement in this war; like all nations, she dwells upon her victories more than upon her defeats, so that the entire subject of the War of American Independence has received scant attention from her historians.

The conspicuous lack of recognition among Americans of the value of French aid is certainly less pardonable. Real gratitude is so rare and fine a quality that it is hardly to be expected from aggregates of mankind, yet from America, indeed, we have the right to expect it, for she is a country preËminently based upon high ideals. Her children always have been taught to sound the praises of her national heroes, especially those of ‘76 who won for us liberty and independence. But shall America stop here and refuse to tell them the whole truth about our national existence? There can be no danger to the patriotism of our children in giving them a correct idea of what we as a nation owe to France, for the actions of our own heroes can lose none of their lustre by a generous recognition of what we owe others.

In giving the rising generation a true understanding of what we as Americans owe the nation that stood by us in our time of trial, we shall be training them to an ideal higher than that of mere patriotism, namely, that of justice.

A decided step in this direction was taken a few years ago, when Theodore Roosevelt, then President of the United States, caused a statue of the French General Rochambeau to be erected at Washington and in so doing opened the way to a more general recognition of a great historical truth.

In 1917, the arrival upon our shores of the Allied Missions has struck a new note in our national consciousness. Resentment towards England has died away long ago and warm friendship has taken its place. For France nothing but the most enthusiastic admiration exists, and men’s minds everywhere are opening to a new realization of the part that that country has always played in the grand epic of human emancipation.

But America’s debt of gratitude to France never can be fully repaid until she has been brought to consider the claims of the one Frenchman who was the first of all Europeans to recognize the importance of the uprising among the colonists. This is no other than Caron de Beaumarchais, the secret agent to whom Silas Deane had been directed by the French Ministers in 1776. That his claim to the gratitude of Americans has so long been neglected is due to a complexity of causes, chief of which is the fact that not until 1886 were the archives of the French Government touching this period, given to the public.[9] Among these archives may be found the complete outline of the help given by France to America during the period which elapsed between the arrival of Deane in 1776 and the open recognition by France of American Independence in 1778, all of which aid passed through the hands of Beaumarchais. After a careful study of these documents it must be conceded that to him belongs the credit of having roused the French Government to a realization of the honorable part it might play in the great conflict. Long before the historic dinner at Metz, where Lafayette conceived his chivalrous design, before even the Signing of the Declaration of Independence, Beaumarchais had planned and worked out the details of the aid to be rendered by France and then literally had forced the cautious and conservative government of France into acquiescence with his plans.

The earliest authentic biography of this remarkable man was from the pen of his ardent admirer and lifelong friend, Gudin de la Brenellerie. It was intended to be prefixed to the first edition of the works of Beaumarchais which appeared in 1809. This biography was suppressed, however, for Gudin, it would seem, was an old philosopher of the eighteenth century who had outlived his time. In writing the life of his friend, the spirit of freedom revived in his breast. The Declaration of Independence called from him imprudent outbursts of enthusiasm. Almost every page gave expression to the ideas that filled men’s minds in the days before the Revolution. In 1809 such expressions were not only out of place: they were dangerous. Madame de Beaumarchais felt that it was wiser to suppress the work, dreading lest it should bring upon her family the hostile attention of the emperor. It was therefore set aside. Although many of its pages afterwards appeared in the remarkable life of Beaumarchais by Monsieur de LomÉnie, it was not until many years later that Gudin’s work as a whole was given to the public.[10]

By far the most important of the many lives of Beaumarchais, which have appeared, is the Study by Louis de LomÉnie, from unedited letters and documents preserved in the family, which was published in 1855. In this work Beaumarchais’s participation in the cause of American independence was first made known to the French public. It is incomplete, however, because in 1855 the Secret Archives of the French Government relative to this period, were not accessible. The German biography by Bettleheim published in 1886, lays more emphasis upon the importance of Beaumarchais’s aid in the War of American Independence than has come from any other recent writer. But it, too, is only fragmentary. In 1887 came the master work by E. Lintilhac—which is chiefly, however, a critical analysis of Beaumarchais’s literary productions, barely touching upon his other activities, and making no attempt to penetrate his political career. This is natural; recognition of the services rendered by Beaumarchais in the War of Independence rightly should come first from America, since it was primarily America that was benefited by those services.

But until recently the Hon. John Bigelow is the only American who has rendered anything like adequate justice to the merits of this great Frenchman in advocating our cause. During the years that Mr. Bigelow was minister to France, he made the acquaintance of descendants of Beaumarchais and was given free access to family papers dealing with the subject. In 1870, in an article entitled Beaumarchais, The Merchant read before the New York Historical Society, Mr. Bigelow says: “To him (Beaumarchais) more than to any other person belongs the credit of making Louis XVI comprehend the political importance of aiding the Colonies in their struggle with Great Britain; he planned and executed the ingenious scheme by which the aid was to be extended; he sent the first munitions of war and supplies which the Colonists received from abroad and he sent them too, at a time when, humanly speaking, it was reasonably certain that without such aid from some quarter, the Colonists must have succumbed. He, too, was mainly responsible for sending them forty or fifty superior officers, some of whom not only rendered incalculable service in the field, but a still greater service, perhaps, in enlisting for the Colonies the sympathies of continental Europe.”

In making a close survey of the part played by Beaumarchais in the cause of American independence, it would seem that we as a nation owe to him not only a debt of gratitude, but also one of reparation.[11] Surely this is not because we are incapable of gratitude. The young and chivalrous Lafayette, throwing himself heart and soul into our cause, won an undying place in the hearts of the American people. We shall learn, however, that even Lafayette owed something to Beaumarchais.

Universal gratitude is felt also for the inestimable services rendered by Baron von Steuben; and here it is primarily to Beaumarchais that we are indebted for those services. It is easy to give honor where nothing else is required to be paid; neither Baron von Steuben, nor any other officer, received from us money for their services; they did not need to ask it, for the purse of Beaumarchais was ever open to aid the friends of America when other means were wanting; but because Beaumarchais expected tobacco and indigo in return for the several million dollars’ worth of ammunition and other supplies which he had furnished the American cause, he was denied all claims to gratitude, although it was his own boundless energy and enterprise that had overcome all obstacles in sending those supplies upon which success depended. More than this, his financial claims were long ignored and he himself was stamped with the character of a dishonest adventurer.

It cannot be denied, however, that Beaumarchais’s own character lent itself to misrepresentation. The very brilliancy and versatility of his genius was a snare to him, while the expansiveness of his nature gave such an air of adventure to his most sober acts, that they often were regarded with suspicion by those whom he most desired to serve. The misunderstandings which arose from these innate qualities were keenly felt by Beaumarchais. Moreover, he early realized that the ministry, while making use of his rare abilities, intended to keep him in the background. Beaumarchais was neither willing to forego recognition nor resigned to the obscurity in which he was left. The gay philosophy of his nature enabled him to laugh at his misfortunes, although it was only as he himself has said through his creation, Figaro, “that he might not be obliged to weep.” Stung to the quick on finding himself thrust aside in the midst of his almost superhuman exertions in the American cause, he turned for relief to lighter matters and found distraction by writing Le Mariage de Figaro, the gayest comedy perhaps ever put upon the stage, and one so full of political significance that it was condemned by the authorities, though in the end he succeeded in bringing it before the public, in spite of the King and his ministers. Such a man was Beaumarchais, that it is no wonder that he failed to receive recognition for his serious labors, or that many people refused to believe him in earnest at all. If his own nation regarded him somewhat in the light of an adventurer, surely the men of the New World, bred in stern necessity, accustomed to deal only with hard facts and unyielding realities, may be judged with less severity if they failed in comprehending the true nature of their benefactor and friend. He himself was the first to forgive them, and no spirit of enmity or personal resentment was ever to be observed in his subsequent attitude towards them. To the end he called them “My friends, the free men of America.”

When, during the French Revolution, Beaumarchais, finding himself an exile, reduced to a beggarly garret in an obscure quarter of Hamburg while his wife, his daughter, and his sisters were languishing in a French prison, his property confiscated, and his credit ruined, addressed a final desperate appeal to the American people, begging for justice, not a voice was raised in his favor. Since Robert Morris, the Philadelphia financier, was allowed to remain for years in a debtor’s prison, it is not surprising that little interest was roused by the claims of a foreigner, in whose existence even, people refused seriously to believe.

Tardy and very partial justice was at last rendered the heirs of Beaumarchais by the United States Government, when in 1835 their claims were settled by the payment of a portion of the debt owed to him; but as a personality he still remains unknown to us. The study which follows aims at portraying this unusual character in its true colors; it does not attempt to make of him an ideal hero, faultless and blameless; but it endeavors to show him as he was, full of violent contrasts, of limitless resource and energy, raising constantly about him a whirlwind of opposition, loved by his family and friends, hated by those whom he outstripped in the rapidity of his advancement, plunging from one gigantic enterprise into another, never at rest; ready at all times to come to the aid of distress which presented itself in any form, entering with sympathetic interest into the minutest details, always with time for everything, but above all, with persistent determination demanding justice, and in the pursuit of this aim, rousing the antagonism of all classes; attacking fearlessly time-honored institutions,—literary, social and judicial,—so that he becomes one of the most powerful undermining forces which finally brought about the total collapse of the old regime.

In his adventurous career, the part which he played in the War of American Independence forms but an incident. Though the primary object of this book is to show what that part really was, yet it is necessary to study his life and character in order to understand why Beaumarchais was interested in our cause, and how it came about that he was able to render us such signal service.

[1] See Bancroft, Vol. III, p. 62.