It is not to be supposed that the French monarchy had any deep sympathy with the Americans in their struggle for independence.  Only a few years had elapsed since the Colonies had fought with England against France, to her intense humiliation.  Canada had been by their help wrenched from her hands.  But France hated England, and was jealous of her powers, and would do anything to cripple that traditionary enemy.  Secret and mysterious overtures had been made to Congress which led it to hope for assistance.  And yet the government of France could do nothing openly, for fear of giving umbrage to her rival, since the two powers were at peace, and both were weary of hostilities.  Both were equally exhausted by the Seven Years’ War.  Moreover, the king, Louis XV., sought above all things repose and pleasure.  It was a most unpropitious time for the Colonies to seek for aid, when the policy of the French government was pacific, and when Turgot was obliged to exert his financial genius to the utmost to keep the machine of government in running order.

Under these circumstances the greatest prudence, circumspection, and tact were required of a financial and diplomatic agent sent to squeeze money from the French treasury.  If aid were granted at all it must be done covertly, without exciting even the suspicions of the English emissaries at Paris.  But hatred of England prevailed over the desire of peace, and money was promised.  There were then in France many distinguished men who sympathized with the American cause, while the young king himself seems to have had no decided opinions about the matter.

The philosophy of Rousseau had permeated even aristocratic circles.  There was a charm in the dogma that all men were “created equal.”  It pleased sentimental philosophers and sympathetic women.  I wonder why the king, then absolute, did not see its logical consequences.  Surely there were rumblings in the political atmosphere to which he could not be deaf, and yet with inconceivable apathy and levity the blinded monarch pursued his pleasures, and remarked to his courtiers that the storm would not burst in his time:  Apres moi, le deluge.

Turgot, the ablest man in France, would have stood aloof; but Turgot had been dismissed, and the Count de Vergennes was at the helm, a man whose ruling passion was hatred of England.  If he could help the Colonies he would, provided he could do it secretly.  So he made use of a fortunate adventurer, originally a watchmaker, by the name of Beaumarchais who set up for a merchant, through whom supplies were sent to America,—­all paid for, however, out of the royal exchequer.  The name, even, of this supposed mercantile house was fictitious.  A million of livres were transmitted through this firm to America, apparently for business purposes, Silas Deane of Connecticut, the first agent of the Americans, alone being acquainted with the secret.  He could not keep it, however, but imparted it to a friend, who was a British spy.  In consequence, most of the ships of Hortalez & Co., loaded with military stores, were locked up by technical governmental formalities in French ports, while the American vessels bearing tobacco and indigo in exchange also failed to appear.  The firm was in danger of bankruptcy, while Lord Stormont, the British ambassador, complained to Vergennes of the shipment of contraband goods,—­an offence against the law of nations.