BEAUMARCHAIS
And the War of
American Independence

“We have been surprised that no descendant of Beaumarchais was invited to represent France at the unveiling of that Statue of Liberty, upon the pedestal of which his name would not be out of place by the side of that of Lafayette. Since 1870 Mr. Bigelow has invited his compatriots to ask themselves seriously if they have done their whole duty towards the memory of Beaumarchais.”

E. Lintilhac.
“Beaumarchais et ses œuvres,”
Paris, 1887.

FOREWORD

IF “good wine needs no bush” and a “good play needs no epilogue,”—and we have high authority for both these maxims,—then it should also be true that a good book needs no prologue, especially where, as in the case of Beaumarchais and the War of American Independence, the author has prefaced a valuable contribution to history by a scholarly and effective introduction.

Notwithstanding this, it gives me pleasure to introduce Miss Elizabeth S. Kite’s work to the American public by a tribute to its value as a timely contribution alike to the truth of history and the spirit of patriotism. In these “times that try men’s souls,” the latter consideration may be the more important.

The historic tie, which binds together the two great Republics (France and the United States) in, please God, an indissoluble alliance, cannot be too constantly emphasized at this time.

It is difficult for America to play the full part, which it should play in the present world tragedy of supreme interest, unless its people have a conscious sense of their vital interest in the great issues of the titanic struggle. Unfortunately our century-old policy of isolation has until recent months given them a somewhat provincial view of world politics. The balance of power and similar questions, which were primarily of European origin and interest, but which vitally affect the whole world in these days, when Civilization is unified by the centripetal ties of steam and electricity,

were until recent months only of academic interest to the average American, who like Gallio, “cared for none of these things.” The result was that at the beginning of the world war, the average American felt that we were not as a nation concerned with the causes of the quarrel, and to this narrow and apathetic attitude is to be justly attributed America’s temporary infidelity to its noblest ideals and vital interests for a period of nearly three years. Fortunately, this policy of narrowing isolation is at an end. President Wilson’s epoch-making message of January 9, 1918, dealt with world-wide problems from a cosmopolitan attitude that would have been impossible less than twelve months ago. The transformation of America from a politically hermit nation to a, if not the, leading world power has been amazing in its swiftness.

Even at the beginning of the world crisis, one circumstance gave America a partial, although an inadequate, appreciation that America had a direct relation to the issues of the world war. It was the instinctive feeling that the American people owed something to its ancient ally, France. It was not that the average American believed that France’s interests were our interests, but a subconscious feeling of gratitude stirred America’s emotions and slowly developed an ever-growing sentiment that America could not stand idly by, when its ancient ally was in danger of destruction as a world power.

The submarine peril gave to America a practical interest in the war, but as it affected only a small portion of the nation, the denial of our rights on the high seas did not have an appeal to the American people, which, of itself, would have reconciled them to the inevitable sacrifices of the war. In the soul of America, there was always a deeper, even if a subconscious feeling, which powerfully

moved her emotions and sympathies; and that feeling was one of deep solicitude for the great nation, which, in our hour of peril, had come to our relief and whose destruction as a beneficent world force would have been an irreparable disaster to Civilization. This feeling of gratitude—and republics are not always ungrateful—was powerfully stimulated by the admiration with which we witnessed the heroism of France in beating back a more powerful invader on the Marne, and later in the titanic struggle at Verdun, and on the Somme.

This factor in America’s epoch-making departure from its traditional policy of isolation would have been even greater had the average American known sufficient of his own history to realize the full measure of his country’s obligation to France. It is an extraordinary fact that the average American has scant knowledge of his own history, with the exception of the few basic and elementary facts which are taught in the schools. As a very practical people we are more interested in the living present and the future, and are too little concerned with our past. If the American reads history at all, he is more apt to study the Napoleonic wars, which always have had a fascinating interest for Americans because of the dramatic features of Napoleon’s career, and because in his earlier career he represented the democratic principle of the “career open to talent”.

If this lack of knowledge of American history were not so, this book would not be as much of a revelation to the average American, as I am confident it will be. I venture to say that not one in a hundred Americans ever heard of Beaumarchais as one of the earliest and most effective friends of the Colonies in their epic struggle for independence.

The writer of this foreword studied the facts, which are so effectively and attractively narrated in this volume, some

years ago; and although he always had been from early boyhood a student of history, the facts were then new to him and came with the force of a revelation. Since then, I have taken occasion to make many inquiries among educated Americans, and found few who had any adequate knowledge of the facts narrated in this book.

I have made a number of addresses on the same subject, which Miss Kite has so fully and ably treated, and I have found few in any audience, even of educated Americans, to whom the story of Beaumarchais did not come as a new and almost incredible chapter in history.

In my book, The War and Humanity, in discussing America’s lack of vision and the failure of its colleges and universities to teach adequately to the American youth their own history, I took occasion to say