served the Elector Palatine, Maria Theresa, and the Elector of Bavaria;
enrolled finally by Marshal Saxe, he had distinguished himself under his
orders; as lieutenant-general during the Seven Years' War, he had brought
up his divisionn at Rosbach more quickly than his colleagues had theirs,
he had fled less far than the others before the enemy; but his character
was difficult, suspicious, exacting; he was always seeing everywhere
plots concocted to ruin him.  "I am persecuted to the death," he would
say.  He entered the service of Denmark: returning to France and in
poverty, he lived in Alsace on the retired list; it was there that the
king's summons came to find him out.  In his solitude M. de St.  Germain
had conceived a thousand projects of reform; he wanted to apply them all
at once.  He made no sort of case of the picked corps and suppressed the
majority of them, thus irritating, likewise, all the privileged.  "M. de
St. Germain," wrote Frederick II. to Voltaire, "had great and noble plans
very advantageous for your Welches; but everybody thwarted him, because
the reforms he proposed would have entailed a strictness which was
repugnant to them on ten thousand sluggards, well frogged, well laced."
The enthusiasm which had been excited by the new minister of war had
disappeared from amongst the officers; he lost the hearts of the soldiers
by wanting to establish in the army the corporal punishments in use
amongst the German armies in which he had served.  The feeling was so
strong, that the attempt was abandoned.  "In the matter of sabres," said
a grenadier, "I like only the edge."  Violent and weak both together, in
spite of his real merit and his genuine worth, often giving up wise
resolutions out of sheer embarrassment, he nearly always failed in what
he undertook; the outcries against the reformers were increased thereby;
the faults of M. de St. Germain were put down to M. Turgot.

It was against the latter indeed, that the courtiers' anger and M. de
Maurepas' growing jealousy were directed.  "Once upon a time there was
in France," said a ,pamphlet, entitled _Le Songe de M. de Maurepas,_
attributed to Monsieur, the king's brother,--"there was in France a
certain man, clumsy, crass, heavy, born with more of rudeness than of
character, more of obstinacy than of firmness, of impetuosity than of
tact, a charlatan in administration as well as in virtue, made to bring
the one into disrepute and the other into disgust, in other respects shy
from self-conceit, timid from pride, as unfamiliar with men, whom he had
never known, as with public affairs, which he had always seen askew; his
name was Turgot.  He was one of those half-thinking brains which adopt
all visions, all manias of a gigantic sort.  He was believed to be deep,
he was really shallow; night and day he was raving of philosophy,
liberty, equality, net product."  "He is too much (trop fort) for me," M.
de Maurepas would often say.  "A man must be possessed (or inspired--
_enrage_)," wrote Malesherbes, "to force, at one and the same time, the
hand of the king, of M. de Maurepas, of the whole court and of the
Parliament."

Perhaps the task was above human strength; it was certainly beyond that
of M. Turgot.  Ever occupied with the public weal, he turned his mind to
every subject, issuing a multiplicity of decrees, sometimes with rather
chimerical hopes.  He had proposed to the king six edicts; two were
extremely important; the first abolished jurorships (_jurandes_) and
masterships (_maitrises_) among the workmen.  "The king," said the
preamble, "wishes to secure to all his subjects, and especially to the
humblest, to those who have no property but their labor and their
industry, the full and entire enjoyment of their rights, and to reform,
consequently, the institutions which strike at those rights, and which,
in spite of their antiquity, have failed to be legalized by time,
opinion, and even the acts of authority."  The second substituted for
forced labor on roads and highways an impost to which all proprietors
were equally liable.

This was the first step towards equal redistribution of taxes; great was
the explosion of disquietude and wrath on the part of the privileged; it
showed itself first in the council, by the mouth of M. de Miromesnil;
Turgot sprang up with animation.  "The keeper of the seals," he said,
"seems to adopt the principle that, by the constitution of the state, the
noblesse ought to be exempt from all taxation.  This idea will appear a
paradox to the majority of the nation.  The commoners (_roturiers_) are
certainly the greatest number, and we are no longer in the days when
their voices did not count."  The king listened to the discussion in
silence.  "Come," he exclaimed abruptly, "I see that there are only M.
Turgot and I here who love the people," and he signed the edicts.

The Parliament, like the noblesse, had taken up the cudgels; they made
representation after representation.  "The populace of France," said the
court boldly, "is liable to talliage and forced labor at will, and that
is a part of the constitution which the king cannot change."  Louis XVI.
summoned the Parliament to Versailles, and had the edicts enregistered at
a bed of justice.  "It is a bed of beneficence!" exclaimed Voltaire, a
passionate admirer of Turgot.

The comptroller-general was triumphant; but his victory was but the
prelude to his fall.  Too many enemies were leagued against him,
irritated both by the noblest qualities of his character, and at the same
time by the natural defects of his manners.  Possessed of love "for a
beautiful ideal, of a rage for perfection," M. Turgot had wanted to
attempt everything, undertake everything, reform everything at one blow.
He fought single-handed.  M. de Malesherbes, firm as a rock at the head
of the Court of Aids, supported as he was by the traditions and corporate
feeling of the magistracy, had shown weakness as a minister.  "I could
offer the king only uprightness and good-heartedness," he said himself,
"two qualities insufficient to make a minister, even a mediocre one."
The courtiers, in fact, called him "good-heart" (_bonhomme_).  "M. de
Malesherbes has doubts about everything," wrote Madame du Deffand; "M.
Turgot has doubts about nothing."  M. de Maurepas having, of set purpose,
got up rather a serious quarrel with him, Malesherbes sent in his
resignation to the king; the latter pressed him to withdraw it: the
minister remained inflexible.  "You are better off than I," said Louis
XVI. at last, "you can abdicate."

For a long while the king had remained faithful to M. Turgot.  "People
may say what they like," he would repeat, with sincere conviction, "but
he is an honest man!"  Infamous means were employed, it is said, with the
king; he was shown forged letters, purporting to come from M. Turgot,
intercepted at the post and containing opinions calculated to wound his
Majesty himself.  To pacify the jealousy of M. de Maurepas, Turgot had
given up his privilege of working alone with the king.  Left to the
adroit manoeuvres of his old minister, Louis XVI. fell away by degrees
from the troublesome reformer against whom were leagued all those who
were about him.  The queen had small liking for M. Turgot, whose strict
economy had cut down the expenses of her household; contrary to their
usual practice, her most trusted servants abetted the animosity of M. de
Maurepas.  "I confess that I am not sorry for these departures," wrote
Marie Antoinette to her mother, after the fall of M. Turgot, "but I have
had nothing to do with them."  "Sir," M. Turgot had written to Louis
XVI., "monarchs governed by courtiers have but to choose between the fate
of Charles I. and that of Charles XI."  The coolness went on increasing
between the king and his minister.  On the 12th of May, 1776, the
comptroller-general entered the king's closet; he had come to speak to
him about a new project for an edict; the exposition of reasons was, as
usual, a choice morsel of political philosophy.  "Another commentary!"
said the king with temper.  He listened, however.  When the
comptroller-general had finished, "Is that all?" asked the king.  "Yes,
Sir."  "So much the better," and he showed the minister out.  A few hours
later, M. Turgot received his dismissal.

[Illustration: Turgot's Dismissal----367]

He was at his desk, drawing up an important decree; he laid down his pen,
saying quietly, "My successor will finish;" and when M. de Maurepas
hypocritically expressed his regret, "I retire," said M. Turgot, "without
having to reproach myself with feebleness, or falseness, or
dissimulation."  He wrote to the king: "I have done, Sir, what I believed
to be my duty in setting before you, with unreserved and unexampled
frankness, the difficulty of the position in which I stood and what I
thought of your own.  If I had not done so, I should have considered
myself to have behaved culpably towards you.  You, no doubt, have come to
a different conclusion, since you have withdrawn your confidence from me;
but, even if I were mistaken, you cannot, Sir, but do justice to the
feeling by which I was guided.  All I desire, Sir, is that you may always
be able to believe that I was short-sighted, and that I pointed out to
you merely fanciful dangers.  I hope that time may not justify me, and
that your reign may be as happy and as tranquil, for yourself and your
people, as they flattered themselves it would be, in accordance with your
principles of justice and beneficence."

Useless wishes, belied in advance by the previsions of M. Turgot himself.
He had espied the danger and sounded some of the chasms just yawning
beneath the feet of the nation as well as of the king; he committed the
noble error of believing in the instant and supreme influence of justice
and reason.  "Sir," said he to Louis XVI., "you ought to govern, like
God, by general laws."  Had he been longer in power, M. Turgot would
still have failed in his designs.  The life of one man was too short, and
the hand of one man too weak to modify the course of events, fruit slowly
ripened during so many centuries.  It was to the honor of M. Turgot that
he discerned the mischief and would fain have applied the proper remedy.
He was often mistaken about the means, oftener still about the strength
he had at disposal.  He had the good fortune to die early, still sad and
anxious about the fate of his country, without having been a witness of
the catastrophes he had foreseen and of the sufferings as well as
wreckage through which France must pass before touching at the haven he
would fain have opened to her.

The joy of the courtiers was great, at Versailles, when the news arrived
of M. Turgot's fall; the public regretted it but little: the inflexible
severity of his principles which he never veiled by grace of manners,
a certain disquietude occasioned by the chimerical views which were
attributed to him, had alienated many people from him.  His real friends
were in consternation.  "I was but lately rejoicing," said Abbe Very, "at
the idea that the work was going on of coolly repairing a fine edifice
which time had damaged.  Henceforth, the most that will be done will be
to see after repairing a few of its cracks.  I no longer indulge in hopes
of its restoration; I cannot but apprehend its downfall sooner or later."
"O, what news I hear!" writes Voltaire to D'Alembert; "France would have
been too fortunate.  What will become of us?  I am quite upset.  I see
nothing but death for me to look forward to, now that M. Turgot is out of
office.  It is a thunderbolt fallen upon my brain and upon my heart."

A few months later M. de St. Germain retired in his turn, not to Alsace
again, but to the Arsenal with forty thousand livres for pension.  The
first, the great attempt at reform had failed.  "M. de Malesherbes lacked
will to remain in power," said Abbe Wry, "M. Turgot conciliatoriness
(_conciliabilite_), and M. de Maurepas soul enough to follow his lights."
"M. de Malesherbes," wrote Condorcet, "has, either from inclination or
from default of mental rectitude, a bias towards eccentric and
paradoxical ideas; he discovers in his mind numberless arguments for and
against, but never discovers a single one to decide him.  In his private
capacity he had employed his eloquence in proving to the king and the
ministers that the good of the nation was the one thing needful to be
thought of; when he became minister, he employed it in proving that this
good was impossible."  "I understand two things in the matter of war,"
said M. de St. Germain just before he became minister, "to obey and to
command; but, if it comes to advising, I don't know anything about it."
He was, indeed, a bad adviser; and with the best intentions he had no
idea either how to command or how to make himself obeyed.  M. Turgot had
correctly estimated the disorder of affairs, when he wrote to the king on
the 30th of April, a fortnight before his disgrace: "Sir, the parliaments
are already in better heart, more audacious, more implicated in the
cabals of the court than they were in 1770, after twenty years of
enterprise and success.  Minds are a thousand times more excited upon all
sorts of matters, and your ministry is almost as divided and as feeble as
that of your predecessor.  Consider, Sir, that, in the course of nature,
you have fifty years to reign, and reflect what progress may be made by a
disorder which, in twenty years, has reached the pitch at which we see
it."

Turgot and Malesherbes had fallen; they had vainly attempted to make the
soundest as well as the most moderate principles of pure philosophy
triumphant in the government; at home a new attempt, bolder and at the
same time more practical, was soon about to resuscitate for a while the
hopes of liberal minds; abroad and in a new world there was already a
commencement of events which were about to bring to France a revival of
glory and to shed on the reign of Louis XVI. a moment's legitimate and
brilliant lustre.




CHAPTER LVII.----LOUIS XVI.--FRANCE ABROAD.--UNITED STATES' WAR OF
INDEPENDENCE.  1775-1783.

"Two things, great and difficult as they may be, are a man's duty and may
establish his fame.  To support misfortune and be sturdily resigned to
it; to believe in the good and trust in it perseveringly.  [M. Guizot,
_Washington_].

"There is a sight as fine and not less salutary than that of a virtuous
man at grips with adversity; it is the sight of a virtuous man at the
head of a good cause and securing its triumph.

"If ever cause were just and had a right to success, it was that of the
English colonies which rose in insurrection to become the United States
of America.  Opposition, in their case, preceded insurrection.

"Their opposition was founded on historic right and on facts, on rational
right and on ideas.

"It is to the honor of England that she had deposited in the cradle of
her colonies the germ of their liberty; almost all, at their foundation,
received charters which conferred upon the colonists the franchises of
the mother-country.

"At the same time with legal rights, the colonists had creeds.  It was
not only as Englishmen, but as Christians, that they wanted to be free,
and they had their faith even more at heart than their charters.  Their
rights would not have disappeared, even had they lacked their charters.
By the mere impulse of their souls, with the assistance of divine grace,
they would have derived them from a sublimer source and one inaccessible
to human power, for they cherished feelings that soared beyond even the
institutions of which they showed themselves to be so jealous.

"Such, in the English colonies, was the happy condition of man and of
society, when England, by an arrogant piece of aggression, attempted to
dispose, without their consent, of their fortunes and their destiny."

The uneasiness in the relations between the mother-country and the
colonies was of old date; and the danger which England ran of seeing her
great settlements beyond the sea separating from her had for some time
past struck the more clear-sighted.  "Colonies are like fruits which
remain on the tree only until they are ripe," said M. Turgot in 1750;
"when they have become self-sufficing, they do as Carthage did, as
America will one day do."  It was in the war between England and France
for the possession of Canada that the Americans made the first trial of
their strength.

Alliance was concluded between the different colonies; Virginia marched
in tune with Massachusetts; the pride of a new power, young and already
victorious, animated the troops which marched to the conquest of Canada.
"If we manage to remove from Canada these turbulent Gauls," exclaimed
John Adams, "our territory, in a century, will be more populous than
England herself.  Then all Europe will be powerless to subjugate us."
"I am astounded," said the Duke of Choiseul to the English negotiator who
arrived at Paris in 1761, "I am astounded that your great Pitt should
attach so much importance to the acquisition of Canada, a territory too
scantily peopled to ever become dangerous for you, and one which, in our
hands, would serve to keep your colonies in a state of dependence from
which they will not fail to free themselves the moment Canada is ceded to
you."  A pamphlet attributed to Burke proposed to leave Canada to France
with the avowed aim of maintaining on the border of the American
provinces an object of anxiety and an everthreatening enemy.

America protested its loyalty and rejected with indignation all idea of
separation.  "It is said that the development of the strength of the
colonies may render them more dangerous and bring them to declare their
independence," wrote Franklin in 1760; "such fears are chimerical.  So
many causes are against their union, that I do not hesitate to declare it
not only improbable but impossible; I say impossible--without the most
provoking tyranny and oppression.  As long as the government is mild and
just, as long as there is security for civil and religious interests, the
Americans will be respectful and submissive subjects.  The waves only
rise when the wind blows."

In England, many distinguished minds doubted whether the government of
the mother-country would manage to preserve the discretion and moderation
claimed by Franklin.  "Notwithstanding all you say of your loyalty, you
Americans," observed Lord Camden to Franklin himself, "I know that some
day you will shake off the ties which unite you to us, and you will raise
the standard of independence."  "No such idea exists or will enter into
the heads of the Americans," answered Franklin, "unless you maltreat them
quite scandalously."  "That is true," rejoined the other, "and it is
exactly one of the causes which I foresee, and which will bring on the
event."

The Seven Years' War was ended, shamefully and sadly for France; M. de
Choiseul, who had concluded peace with regret and a bitter pang, was
ardently pursuing every means of taking his revenge.  To foment
disturbances between England and her colonies appeared to him an
efficacious and a natural way of gratifying his feelings.  "There is
great difficulty in governing States in the days in which we live," he
wrote to M. Durand, at that time French minister in London; "still
greater difficulty in governing those of America; and the difficulty
approaches impossibility as regards those of Asia.  I am very much
astonished that England, which is but a very small spot in Europe, should
hold dominion over more than a third of America, and that her dominion
should have no other object but that of trade.  .  .  .  As long as the
vast American possessions contribute no subsidies for the support of the
mother-country, private persons in England will still grow rich for some
time on the trade with America, but the State will be undone for want of
means to keep together a too extended power; if, on the contrary, England
proposes to establish imposts in her American domains, when they are more
extensive and perhaps more populous than the mother-country, when they
have fishing, woods, navigation, corn, iron, they will easily part
asunder from her, without any fear of chastisement, for England could not
undertake a war against them to chastise them."  He encouraged his agents
to keep him informed as to the state of feeling in America, welcoming and
studying all projects, even the most fantastic, that might be hostile to
England.

When M. de Choiseul was thus writing to M. Durand, the English government
had already justified the fears of its wisest and most sagacious friends.
On the 7th of March, 1765, after a short and unimportant debate,
Parliament, on the motion of Mr. George Grenville, then first lord of the
treasury, had extended to the American colonies the stamp-tax everywhere
in force in England.  The proposal had been brought forward in the
preceding year, but the protests of the colonists had for some time
retarded its discussion.  "The Americans are an ungrateful people," said
Townshend; "they are children settled in life by our care and nurtured by
our indulgence."  Pitt was absent.  Colonel Barre rose: "Settled by your
care!" he exclaimed; "nay, it was your oppression which drove them to
America; to escape from your tyranny, they exposed themselves in the
desert to all the ills that human nature can endure!  Nurtured by your
indulgence!  Nay, they have grown by reason of your indifference; and do
not forget that these people, loyal as they are, are as jealous as they
were at the first of their liberties, and remain animated by the same
spirit that caused the exile of their ancestors."  This was the only
protest.  "Nobody voted on the other side in the House of Lords," said
George Grenville at a later period.

In America the effect was terrible and the dismay profound.  The Virginia
House was in session; nobody dared to speak against a measure which
struck at all the privileges of the colonies and went to the hearts of
the loyal gentlemen still passionately attached to the mother-country.
A young barrister, Patrick Henry, hardly known hitherto, rose at last,
and in an unsteady voice said, "I propose to the vote of the Assembly the
following resolutions: 'Only the general Assembly of this colony has the
right and power to impose taxes on the inhabitants of this colony; every
attempt to invest with this power any person or body whatever other than
the said general Assembly has a manifest tendency to destroy at one and
the same time British and American liberties.'"  Then becoming more and
more animated and rising to eloquence by sheer force of passion: "Tarquin
and Caesar," he exclaimed, "had each their Brutus; Charles I. had his
Cromwell, and George III.  .  .  ."  "Treason! treason!" was shouted on
all sides .  .  .  "will doubtless profit by their example," continued
Patrick Henry proudly, without allowing himself to be moved by the wrath
of the government's friends.  His resolutions were voted by 20 to 19.

The excitement in America was communicated to England; it served the
political purposes and passions of Mr. Pitt; he boldly proposed in the
House of Commons the repeal of the stamp-tax.  "The colonists," he said,
"are subjects of this realm, having, like yourselves, a title to the
special privileges of Englishmen; they are bound by the English laws,
and, in the same measure as yourselves, have a right to the liberties of
this country.  The Americans are the sons and not the bastards of
England.  .  .  .  When in this House we grant subsidies to his Majesty,
we dispose of that which is our own; but the Americans are not
represented here: when we impose a tax upon them, what is it we do?  We,
the Commons of England, give what to his Majesty!  Our own personal
property?  No; we give away the property of the Commons of America.
There is absurdity in the very terms."

The bill was repealed, and agitation was calmed for a while in America.
But ere long, Mr. Pitt resumed office under the title of Lord Chatham,
and with office he adopted other views as to the taxes to be imposed;
in vain he sought to disguise them under the form of custom-house duties;
the taxes on tea, glass, paper, excited in America the same indignation
as the stamp-tax.  Resistance was everywhere organized.

"Between 1767 and 1771 patriotic leagues were everywhere formed against
the consumption of English merchandise and the exportation of American
produce; all exchange ceased between the mother-country and the colonies.
To extinguish the source of England's riches in America, and to force her
to open her eyes to her madness, the colonists shrank from no privation
and no sacrifice: luxury had vanished, rich and poor welcomed ruin rather
than give up their political rights" [M. Cornelis de Witt, _Histoire de
Washington_].  "I expect nothing more from petitions to the king," said
Washington, already one of the most steadfast champions of American
liberties, "and I would oppose them if they were calculated to suspend
the execution of the pact of non-importation.  As sure as I live, there
is no relief to be expected for us but from the straits of Great Britain.
I believe, or at least I hope, that there is enough public virtue still
remaining among us to make us deny ourselves everything but the bare
necessaries of life in order to obtain justice.  This we have a right to
do, and no power on earth can force us to a change of conduct short of
being reduced to the most abject slavery.  .  .  ."  He added, in a
spirit of strict justice: "As to the pact of non-exportation, that is
another thing; I confess that I have doubts of its being legitimate.  We
owe considerable sums to Great Britain; we can only pay them with our
produce.  To have a right to accuse others of injustice, we must be just
ourselves; and how can we be so if we refuse to pay our debts to Great
Britain?  That is what I cannot make out."

The opposition was as yet within the law, and the national effort was as
orderly as it was impassioned.  "There is agitation, there are meetings,
there is mutual encouragement to the struggle, the provinces concert
opposition together, the wrath against Great Britain grows and the abyss
begins to yawn; but such are the habits of order among this people, that,
in the midst of this immense ferment among the nation, it is scarcely
possible to pick out even a few acts of violence here and there; up to
the day when the uprising becomes general, the government of George III.
can scarcely find, even in the great centres of opposition, such as
Boston, any specious pretexts for its own violence" [M. Cornelis de Witt,
_Histoire de Washington_].  The declaration of independence was by this
time becoming inevitable when Washington and Jefferson were still writing
in this strain:

Washington to Capt. Mackenzie.

"You are taught to believe that the people of Massachusetts are a people
of rebels in revolt for independence, and what not.  Permit me to tell
you, my good friend, that you are mistaken, grossly mistaken.  .  .  .
I can testify, as a fact, that independence is neither the wish nor the
interest of this colony or of any other on the continent, separately or
collectively.  But at the same time you may rely upon it that none of
them will ever submit to the loss of those privileges, of those precious
rights which are essential to the happiness of every free State, and
without which liberty, property, life itself, are devoid of any
security."


Jefferson to Mr. Randolph.

"Believe me, my dear sir, there is not in the whole British empire a man
who cherishes more cordially than I do the union with Great Britain.
But, by the God who made me, I would cease to live rather than accept
that union on the terms proposed by Parliament.  We lack neither motives
nor power to declare and maintain our separation.  It is the will alone
that we lack, and that is growing little by little under the hand of our
king."


It was indeed growing.  Lord Chatham had been but a short time in office;
Lord North, on becoming prime minister, zealously promoted the desires of
George III. in Parliament and throughout the country.  The opposition,
headed by Lord Chatham, protested in the name of the eternal principles
of justice and liberty against the measures adopted towards the colonies.
"Liberty," said Lord Chatham, "is pledged to liberty; they are
indissolubly allied in this great cause, it is the alliance between God
and nature, immutable, eternal, as the light in the firmament of heaven!
Have a care; foreign war is suspended over your heads by a thin and
fragile thread; Spain and France are watching over your conduct, waiting
for the fruit of your blunders; they keep their eyes fixed on America,
and are more concerned with the dispositions of your colonies than with
their own affairs, whatever they may be.  I repeat to you, my lords, if
ministers persist in their fatal counsels, I do not say that they may
alienate the affections of its subjects, but I affirm that they will
destroy the greatness of the crown; I do not say that the king will be
betrayed, I affirm that the country will be ruined!"

Franklin was present at this scene.  Sent to England by his
fellow-countrymen to support their petitions by his persuasive and
dexterous eloquence, he watched with intelligent interest the disposition
of the Continent towards his country.  "All Europe seems to be on our
side," he wrote; "but Europe has its own reasons: it considers itself
threatened by the power of England, and it would like to see her divided
against herself.  Our prudence will retard for a long time yet, I hope,
the satisfaction which our enemies expect from our dissensions.  .  .  .
Prudence, patience, discretion; when the catastrophe arrives, it must be
clear to all mankind that the fault is not on our side."

[Illustration: Destruction of the Tea----378]

The catastrophe was becoming imminent.  Already a riot at Boston had led
to throwing into the sea a cargo of tea which had arrived on board two
English vessels, and which the governor had refused to send away at once
as the populace desired; already, on the summons of the Virginia
Convention, a general Congress of all the provinces had met at
Philadelphia; at the head of the legal resistance as well as of the later
rebellion in arms marched the Puritans of New England and the sons of the
Cavaliers settled in Virginia; the opposition, tumultuous and popular in
the North, parliamentary and political in the South, was everywhere
animated by the same spirit and the same zeal.  "I do not pretend to
indicate precisely what line must be drawn between Great Britain and the
colonies," wrote Washington to one of his friends, "but it is most
decidedly my opinion that one must be drawn, and our rights definitively
secured."  He had but lately said: "Nobody ought to hesitate a moment to
employ arms in defence of interests so precious, so sacred, but arms
ought to be our last resource."

The day had come when this was the only resource henceforth remaining to
the Americans.  Stubborn and irritated, George III. and his government
heaped vexatious measures one upon another, feeling sure of crushing down
the resistance of the colonists by the ruin of their commerce as well as
of their liberties.  "We must fight," exclaimed Patrick Henry at the
Virginia Convention, "I repeat it, we must fight; an appeal to arms and
to the God of Hosts, that is all we have left."  Armed resistance was
already being organized, in the teeth of many obstacles and
notwithstanding active or tacit opposition on the part of a considerable
portion of the people.

It was time to act.  On the 18th of April, 1775, at night, a picked body
of the English garrison of Boston left the town by order of General Gage,
governor of Massachusetts.  The soldiers were as yet in ignorance of
their destination, but the American patriots had divined it.  The
governor had ordered the gates to be closed; some of the inhabitants,
however, having found means of escaping, had spread the alarm in the
country; already men were repairing in silence to posts assigned in
anticipation.  When the king's troops, on approaching Lexington, expected
to lay hands upon two of the principal movers, Samuel Adams and John
Hancock, they came into collision, in the night, with a corps of militia
blocking the way.  The Americans taking no notice of the order given them
to retire, the English troops, at the instigation of their officers,
fired; a few men fell; war was begun between England and America.  That
very evening, Colonel Smith, whilst proceeding to seize the ammunition
depot at Concord, found himself successively attacked by detachments
hastily formed in all the villages; he fell back in disorder beneath the
guns of Boston.

Some few days later the town was besieged by an American army, and the
Congress, meeting at Philadelphia, appointed Washington "to be general-
in-chief of all the forces of the united colonies, of all that had been
or should be levied, and of all others that should voluntarily offer
their services or join the said army to defend American liberty and to
repulse every attack directed against it."

George Washington was born on the 22d of February,

1732, on the banks of the Potomac, at Bridge's Creek, in the county of
Westmoreland in Virginia.  He belonged to a family of consideration among
the planters of Virginia, descended from that race of country gentlemen
who had but lately effected the revolution in England.  He lost his
father early, and was brought up by a distinguished, firm, and judicious
mother, for whom he always preserved equal affection and respect.
Intended for the life of a surveyor of the still uncleared lands of
Western America, he had led, from his youth up, a life of freedom and
hardship; at nineteen, during the Canadian war, he had taken his place in
the militia of his country, and we have seen how he fought with credit at
the side of General Braddock.  On returning home at the end of the war
and settling at Mount Vernon, which had been bequeathed to him by his
eldest brother, he had become a great agriculturist and great hunter,
esteemed by all, loved by those who knew him, actively engaged in his own
business as well as that of his colony, and already an object of
confidence as well as hope to his fellow-citizens.  In 1774, on the eve
of the great struggle, Patrick Henry, on leaving the first Congress
formed to prepare for it, replied to those who asked which was the
foremost man in the Congress: "If you speak of eloquence, Mr. Rutledge of
South Carolina is the greatest orator; but, if you speak of solid
knowledge of things and of sound judgment, Colonel Washington is
indisputably the greatest man in the Assembly."  "Capable of rising to
the highest destinies, he could have ignored himself without a struggle,
and found in the culture of his lands satisfaction for those powerful
faculties which were to suffice for the command of armies and for the
foundation of a government.  But when the occasion offered, when the need
came, without any effort on his own part, without surprise on the part of
others, the sagacious planter turned out a great man; he had in a
superior degree the two qualities which in active life render men capable
of great things: he could believe firmly in his own ideas, and act
resolutely upon them, without fearing to take the responsibility." [M.
Guizot, _Washington_].

He was, however, deeply moved and troubled at the commencement of a
contest of which he foresaw the difficulties and the trials, without
fathoming their full extent, and it was not without a struggle that he
accepted the power confided to him by Congress.  "Believe me, my dear
Patsy," he wrote to his wife, "I have done all I could to screen myself
from this high mark of honor, not only because it cost me much to
separate myself from you and from my family, but also because I felt that
this task was beyond my strength."  When the new general arrived before
Boston to take command of the confused and undisciplined masses which
were hurrying up to the American camp, he heard that an engagement had
taken place on the 16th of June on the heights of Bunker's Hill, which
commanded the town; the Americans who had seized the positions had
defended them so bravely that the English had lost nearly a thousand men
before they carried the batteries.  A few months later, after unheard of
efforts on the general's part to constitute and train his army, he had
taken possession of all the environs of the place, and General Howe, who
had superseded General Gage, evacuated Boston (March 17, 1776).

Every step was leading to the declaration of independence.  "If everybody
were of my opinion," wrote Washington in the month of February, 1776,
"the English ministers would learn in few words what we want to arrive
at.  I should set forth simply, and without periphrasis, our grievances
and our resolution to have justice.  I should tell them that we have long
and ardently desired an honorable reconciliation, and that it has been
refused.  I should add that we have conducted ourselves as faithful
subjects, that the feeling of liberty is too strong in our hearts to let
us ever submit to slavery, and that we are quite determined to burst
every bond with an unjust and unnatural government, if our enslavement
alone will satisfy a tyrant and his diabolical ministry.  And I should
tell them all this not in covert terms, but in language as plain as the
light of the sun at full noon."

Many people still hesitated, from timidity, from foreseeing the
sufferings which war would inevitably entail on America, from hereditary,
faithful attachment to the mother-country.  "Gentlemen," had but lately
been observed by Mr. Dickinson, deputy from Pennsylvania, at the reading
of the scheme of a solemn declaration justifying the taking up of arms,
"there is but one word in this paper of which I disapprove--Congress."
"And as for me, Mr. President," said Mr. Harrison, rising, "there is but
one word in this paper of which I approve--Congress."

Deeds had become bolder than words.  "We have hitherto made war by
halves," wrote John Adams to General Gates; "you will see in to-morrow's
papers that for the future we shall probably venture to make it by three-
quarters.  The continental navy, the provincial navies, have been
authorized to cruise against English property throughout the whole extent
of the ocean.  Learn, for your governance, that this is not Independence.
Far from it!  If one of the next couriers should bring you word of
unlimited freedom of commerce with all nations, take good care not to
call that Independence.  Nothing of the sort!  Independence is a spectre
of such awful mien that the mere sight of it might make a delicate person
faint."

Independence was not yet declared, and already, at the end of their
proclamations, instead of the time-honored formula, 'God save the king!'
the Virginians had adopted the proudly significant phrase, 'God save the
liberties of America!'

The great day came, however, when the Congress resolved to give its true
name to the war which the colonies had been for more than a year
maintaining against the mothercountry.  After a discussion which lasted
three days, the scheme drawn up by Jefferson, for the declaration of
Independence, was adopted by a large majority.  The solemn proclamation
of it was determined upon on the 4th of July, and that day has remained
the national festival of the United States of America.  John Adams made
no mistake when, in the transport of his patriotic joy, he wrote to his
wife: "I am inclined to believe that this day will be celebrated by
generations to come as the great anniversary of the nation.  It should be
kept as the day of deliverance by solemn thanksgivings to the Almighty.
It should be kept with pomp, to the sound of cannon and of bells, with
games, with bonfires and illuminations from one end of the continent to
the other, for ever.  You will think me carried away by my enthusiasm;
but no, I take into account, perfectly, the pains, the blood, the
treasure we shall have to expend to maintain this declaration, to uphold
and defend these States; but through all these shadows I perceive rays of
ravishing light and joy, I feel that the end is worth all the means and
far more, and that posterity will rejoice over this event with songs of
triumph, even though we should have cause to repent of it, which will not
be, I trust in God."

The declaration of American Independence was solemn and grave; it began
with an appeal to those natural rights which the eighteenth century had
everywhere learned to claim.  "We hold as self-evident all these truths,"
said the Congress of united colonies: "All men are created equal, they
are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; among those
rights are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Governments are
established amongst men to guarantee those rights, and their just power
emanates from the consent of the governed."

To this declaration of the inalienable right of people to choose their
own government for the greatest security and greatest happiness of the
governed, succeeded an enumeration of the grievances which made it
forever impossible for the American colonists to render obedience to the
king of Great Britain; the list was long and overwhelming; it ended with
this declaration: "Wherefore we, the representatives of the United States
of America, met together in general Congress, calling the Supreme Judge
of the universe to witness the uprightness of our intentions, do solemnly
publish and declare in the name of the good people of these colonies,
that the United colonies are and have a right to be free and independent
States, that they are released from all allegiance to the crown of Great
Britain, and that every political tie between them and Great Britain is
and ought to be entirely dissolved.  .  .  .  Full of firm confidence in
the protection of Divine Providence, we pledge, mutually, to the
maintenance of this declaration our lives, our fortunes, and our most
sacred possession, our honor."

The die was cast, and retreat cut off for the timid and the malcontent;
through a course of alternate successes and reverses Washington had kept
up hostilities during the rough campaign of 1776.  Many a time he had
thought the game lost, and he had found himself under the necessity of
abandoning posts he had mastered to fall back upon Philadelphia.  "What
will you do if Philadelphia is taken?" he was asked.  "We will retire
beyond the Susquehanna, and then, if necessary, beyond the Alleghanies,"
answered the general without hesitation.  Unwavering in his patriotic
faith and resolution, he relied upon the savage resources and the vast
wildernesses of his native country to wear out at last the patience and
courage of the English generals.  At the end of the campaign, Washington,
suddenly resuming the offensive, had beaten the king's troops at Trenton
and at Princeton one after the other.  This brilliant action had restored
the affairs of the Americans, and was a preparatory step to the formation
of a new army.  On the 30th of December, 1776, Washington was invested by
Congress with the full powers of a dictator.

Europe, meanwhile, was following with increasing interest the
vicissitudes of a struggle which at a distance had from the first
appeared to the most experienced an unequal one.  "Let us not anticipate
events, but content ourselves with learning them when they occur," said a
letter, in 1775, to M. de Guines, ambassador in London, from Louis XVI.'s
minister for foreign affairs, M. de Vergennes: "I prefer to follow, as a
quiet observer; the course of events rather than try to produce them."
He had but lately said with prophetic anxiety: "Far from seeking to
profit by the embarrassment in which England finds herself on account of
affairs in America, we should rather desire to extricate her.  The spirit
of revolt, in whatever spot it breaks out, is always of dangerous
precedent; it is with moral as with physical diseases, both may become
contagious.  This consideration should induce us to take care that the
spirit of independence, which is causing so terrible an explosion in
North America, have no power to communicate itself to points interesting
to us in this hemisphere."

For a moment French diplomatists had been seriously disconcerted;
remembrance of the surprise in 1755, when England had commenced
hostilities without declaring war, still troubled men's minds.  Count de
Guines wrote to M. de Vergennes "Lord Rochford confided to me yesterday
that numbers of persons on both sides were perfectly convinced that the
way to put a stop to this war in America was to declare it against
France, and that he saw with pain that opinion gaining ground.  I assure
you, sir, that all which is said for is very extraordinary and far from
encouraging.  The partisans of this plan argue that fear of a war,
disastrous for England, which might end by putting France once more in
possession of Canada, would be the most certain bugbear for America,
where the propinquity of our religion and our government is excessively
apprehended; they say, in fact, that the Americans, forced by a war to
give up their project of liberty and to decide between us and them, would
certainly give them the preference."

The question of Canada was always, indeed, an anxious one for the
American colonists; Washington had detached in that direction a body of
troops which had been repulsed with loss.  M. de Vergennes had determined
to keep in the United States a semi-official agent, M. de Bonvouloir,
commissioned to furnish the ministry with information as to the state of
affairs.  On sending Count de Guines the necessary instructions, the
minister wrote on the 7th of August, 1775: "One of the most essential
objects is to reassure the Americans on the score of the dread which they
are no doubt taught to feel of us.  Canada is the point of jealousy for
them; they must be made to understand that we have no thought at all
about it, and that, so far from grudging them the liberty and
independence they are laboring to secure, we admire, on the contrary, the
grandeur and nobleness of their efforts, and that, having no interest in