confined, and should be desirous of knowing the truth relative to the
treatment they receive, I wish you would take the trouble of
distributing among the most necessitous according to their wants, two or
three hundred pounds, for which your drafts on me here shall be
punctually honour'd. You could then be able to speak with some certainty
to the point in Parliament, and this might be attended with good effect.
If you cannot obtain for us permission to send a commissary, possibly
you may find a trusty, humane, discreet person at Plymouth, and another
at Portsmouth, who would undertake to communicate what relief we may be
able to afford those unhappy, brave men, martyrs to the cause of
liberty. [Your King will not reward you for taking this trouble, but God
will.] I shall not mention the good will of America; you have what is
better, the applause of your own good conscience. Our captains have set
at liberty above 200 of your people, made prisoners by our armed vessels
and brought into France, besides a great number dismissed at sea on your
coasts, to whom vessels were given to carry them in: But you have not
returned us a man in exchange. If we had sold your people to the Moors
at Sallee, as you have many of ours to the African and East India
Companies, could you have complained?
In revising what I have written, I found too much warmth in it, and was
about to strike out some parts. Yet I let them go, as they will afford
you this one reflection; "If a man naturally cool, and render'd still
cooler by old age, is so warmed by our treatment of his country, how
much must those people in general be exasperated against us? And why are
we making inveterate enemies by our barbarity, not only of the present
inhabitants of a great country, but of their infinitely more numerous
posterity; who will in future ages detest the name of _Englishman_, as
much as the children in Holland now do those of _Alva_ and _Spaniard_."
This will certainly happen, unless your conduct is speedily changed, and
the national resentment falls where it ought to [fall] heavily, on your
ministry, [or perhaps rather on the King, whose will they only execute].
With the greatest esteem and affection, and best wishes for your
prosperity, I have the honour to be, dear Sir, &c.
B. FRANKLIN.
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN BRITAIN, FRANCE, SPAIN, HOLLAND, SAXONY AND AMERICA
[92]
_Britain._ Sister of Spain, I have a Favour to ask of you. My Subjects
in America are disobedient, and I am about to chastize them; I beg you
will not furnish them with any Arms or Ammunition.
_Spain._ Have you forgotten, then, that when my Subjects in the Low
Countries rebelled against me, you not only furnish'd them with military
Stores, but join'd them with an Army and a Fleet? I wonder how you can
have the Impudence to ask such a Favour of me, or the Folly to expect
it!
_Britain._ You, my dear Sister of France, will surely not refuse me this
Favour.
_France._ Did you not assist my Rebel Hugenots with a Fleet and an Army
at Rochelle? And have you not lately aided privately and sneakingly my
Rebel Subjects in Corsica? And do you not at this Instant keep their
Chief, pension'd, and ready to head a fresh Revolt there, whenever you
can find or make an Opportunity? Dear Sister, you must be a little
silly!
_Britain._ Honest Holland! You see it is remembered that I was once your
Friend; you will therefore be mine on this Occasion. I know, indeed,
you are accustom'd to smuggle with these Rebels of mine. I will wink at
that; sell 'em as much Tea as you please, to enervate the Rascals, since
they will not take it of me; but for God's sake don't supply them with
any Arms!
_Holland._ 'Tis true you assisted me against Philip, my Tyrant of Spain,
but have I not assisted you against one of your Tyrants;[H] and enabled
you to expell him? Surely that Accompt, as we Merchants say, is
_ballanced_, and I am nothing in your Debt. I have indeed some
Complaints against _you_, for endeavouring to starve me by your
_Navigation Acts_; but, being peaceably dispos'd, I do not quarrel with
you for that. I shall only go on quietly with my own Business. Trade is
my Profession: 't is all I have to subsist on. And, let me tell you, I
shall make no scruple (on the prospect of a good Market for that
Commodity) even to send my ships to Hell and supply the Devil with
Brimstone. For you must know, I can insure in London against the Burning
of my Sails.
[H] James 2d. [_Franklin's note._]
_America to Britain._ Why, you old bloodthirsty Bully! You who have been
everywhere vaunting your own Prowess, and defaming the Americans as
poltroons! You who have boasted of being able to march over all their
Bellies with a single Regiment! You who by Fraud have possessed yourself
of their strongest Fortress, and all the arms they had stored up in it!
You who have a disciplin'd Army in their Country, intrench'd to the
Teeth, and provided with every thing! Do _you_ run about begging all
Europe not to supply those poor People with a little Powder and Shot? Do
you mean, then, to fall upon them naked and unarm'd, and butcher them in
cold Blood? Is this your Courage? Is this your Magnanimity?
_Britain._ Oh! you wicked--Whig--Presbyterian--Serpent! Have you the
Impudence to appear before me after all your Disobedience? Surrender
immediately all your Liberties and Properties into my Hands, or I will
cut you to Pieces. Was it for this that I planted your country at so
great an Expence? That I protected you in your Infancy, and defended you
against all your Enemies?
_America._ I shall not surrender my Liberty and Property, but with my
Life. It is not true, that my Country was planted at your expence. Your
own Records refute that Falshood to your Face. Nor did you ever afford
me a Man or a Shilling to defend me against the Indians, the only
Enemies I had upon my own Account. But, when you have quarrell'd with
all Europe, and drawn me with you into all your Broils, then you value
yourself upon protecting me from the Enemies you have made for me. I
have no natural Cause of Difference with Spain, France, or Holland, and
yet by turns I have join'd with you in Wars against them all. You would
not suffer me to make or keep a separate Peace with any of them, tho' I
might easily have done it to great Advantage. Does your protecting me in
those Wars give you a Right to fleece me? If so, as I fought for you, as
well as you for me, it gives me a proportionable Right to fleece you.
What think you of an American Law to make a Monopoly of you and your
Commerce, as you have done by your Laws of me and mine? Content yourself
with that Monopoly if you are Wise, and learn Justice if you would be
respected!
_Britain._ You impudent b----h! Am not I your Mother Country? Is that
not a sufficient Title to your Respect and Obedience?
_Saxony._ _Mother country!_ Hah, hah, he! What Respect have _you_ the
front to claim as a Mother Country? You know that _I_ am _your_ Mother
Country, and yet you pay me none. Nay, it is but the other day, that you
hired Ruffians[I] to rob me on the Highway,[J] and burn my House![K] For
shame! Hide your Face and hold your Tongue. If you continue this
Conduct, you will make yourself the Contempt of Europe!
[I] Prussians.
[J] They enter'd and rais'd Contributions in Saxony.
[K] And they burnt the fine Suburbs of Dresden, the Capital of
Saxony. [_Franklin's notes._]
_Britain._ O Lord! Where are my friends?
_France, Spain, Holland, and Saxony, all together._ Friends! Believe us,
you have none, nor ever will have any, 'till you mend your Manners. How
can we, who are your Neighbours, have any regard for you, or expect any
Equity from you, should your Power increase, when we see how basely and
unjustly you have us'd both your _own Mother and your own Children_?
TO CHARLES DE WEISSENSTEIN[93]
Passy, July 1, 1778.
SIR,
I received your letter, dated at Brussels the 16th past. My vanity might
possibly be nattered by your expressions of compliment to my
understanding, if your _proposals_ did not more clearly manifest a mean
opinion of it.
You conjure me, in the name of the omniscient and just God, before whom
I must appear, and by my hopes of future fame, to consider if some
expedient cannot be found to put a stop to the desolation of America,
and prevent the miseries of a general war. As I am conscious of having
taken every step in my power to prevent the breach, and no one to widen
it, I can appear cheerfully before that God, fearing nothing from his
justice in this particular, though I have much occasion for his mercy in
many others. As to my future fame, I am content to rest it on my past
and present conduct, without seeking an addition to it in the crooked,
dark paths, you propose to me, where I should most certainly lose it.
This your solemn address would therefore have been more properly made to
your sovereign and his venal Parliament. He and they, who wickedly
began, and madly continue, a war for the desolation of America, are
alone accountable for the consequences.
You endeavour to impress me with a bad opinion of French faith; but the
instances of their friendly endeavours to serve a race of weak princes,
who, by their own imprudence, defeated every attempt to promote their
interest, weigh but little with me, when I consider the steady
friendship of France to the Thirteen United States of Switzerland, which
has now continued inviolate two hundred years. You tell me, that she
will certainly cheat us, and that she despises us already. I do not
believe that she will cheat us, and I am not certain that she despises
us; but I see clearly that you are endeavouring to cheat us by your
conciliatory bills; that you actually despised our understandings, when
you flattered yourselves those artifices would succeed; and that not
only France, but all Europe, yourselves included, most certainly and for
ever would despise us, if we were weak enough to accept your insidious
propositions.
Our expectations of the future grandeur of America are not so
magnificent, and therefore not so vain or visionary, as you represent
them to be. The body of our people are not merchants, but humble
husbandmen, who delight in the cultivation of their lands, which, from
their fertility and the variety of our climates, are capable of
furnishing all the necessaries and conveniences of life without external
commerce; and we have too much land to have the least temptation to
extend our territory by conquest from peaceable neighbours, as well as
too much justice to think of it. Our militia, you find by experience,
are sufficient to defend our lands from invasion; and the commerce with
us will be defended by all the nations who find an advantage in it. We,
therefore, have not the occasion you imagine, of fleets or standing
armies, but may leave those expensive machines to be maintained for the
pomp of princes, and the wealth of ancient states. We propose, if
possible, to live in peace with all mankind; and after you have been
convinced, to your cost, that there is nothing to be got by attacking
us, we have reason to hope, that no other power will judge it prudent to
quarrel with us, lest they divert us from our own quiet industry, and
turn us into corsairs preying upon theirs. The weight therefore of an
independent empire, which you seem certain of our inability to bear,
will not be so great as you imagine. The expense of our civil government
we have always borne, and can easily bear, because it is small. A
virtuous and laborious people may be cheaply governed. Determining, as
we do, to have no offices of profit, nor any sinecures or useless
appointments, so common in ancient or corrupted states, we can govern
ourselves a year, for the sum you pay in a single department, or for
what one jobbing contractor, by the favour of a minister, can cheat you
out of in a single article.
You think we flatter ourselves, and are deceived into an opinion that
England _must_ acknowledge our independency. We, on the other hand,
think you flatter yourselves in imagining such an acknowledgment a vast
boon, which we strongly desire, and which you may gain some great
advantage by granting or withholding. We have never asked it of you; we
only tell you, that you can have no treaty with us but as an independent
state; and you may please yourselves and your children with the rattle
of your right to govern us, as long as you have done with that of your
King's being King of France, without giving us the least concern, if you
do not attempt to exercise it. That this pretended right is
indisputable, as you say, we utterly deny. Your Parliament never had a
right to govern us, and your King has forfeited it by his bloody
tyranny. But I thank you for letting me know a little of your mind,
that, even if the Parliament should acknowledge our independency, the
act would not be binding to posterity, and that your nation would resume
and prosecute the claim as soon as they found it convenient from the
influence of your passions, and your present malice against us. We
suspected before, that you would not be actually bound by your
conciliatory acts, longer than till they had served their purpose of
inducing us to disband our forces; but we were not certain, that you
were knaves by principle, and that we ought not to have the least
confidence in your offers, promises, or treaties, though confirmed by
Parliament.
I now indeed recollect my being informed, long since, when in England,
that a certain very great personage, then young, studied much a certain
book, called _Arcana Imperii_.[94] I had the curiosity to procure the
book and read it. There are sensible and good things in it, but some bad
ones; for, if I remember rightly, a particular king is applauded for his
politically exciting a rebellion among his subjects, at a time when they
had not strength to support it, that he might, in subduing them, take
away their privileges, which were troublesome to him; and a question is
formally stated and discussed, _Whether a prince, who, to appease a
revolt, makes promises of indemnity to the revolters, is obliged to
fulfil those promises._ Honest and good men would say, Ay; but this
politician says, as you say, No. And he gives this pretty reason, that,
though it was right to make the promises, because otherwise the revolt
would not be suppressed, yet it would be wrong to keep them, because
revolters ought to be punished to deter from future revolts.
If these are the principles of your nation, no confidence can be placed
in you; it is in vain to treat with you; and the wars can only end in
being reduced to an utter inability of continuing them.
One main drift of your letter seems to be, to impress me with an idea of
your own impartiality, by just censures of your ministers and measures,
and to draw from me propositions of peace, or approbations of those you
have enclosed to me which you intimate may by your means be conveyed to
the King directly, without the intervention of those ministers. You
would have me give them to, or drop them for, a stranger, whom I may
find next Monday in the church of Notre Dame, to be known by a rose in
his hat. You yourself, Sir, are quite unknown to me; you have not
trusted me with your true name. Our taking the least step towards a
treaty with England through you, might, if you are an enemy, be made use
of to ruin us with our new and good friends. I may be indiscreet enough
in many things; but certainly, if I were disposed to make propositions
(which I cannot do, having none committed to me to make), I should never
think of delivering them to the Lord knows who, to be carried to the
Lord knows where, to serve no one knows what purposes. Being at this
time one of the most remarkable figures in Paris, even my appearance in
the church of Notre Dame, where I cannot have any conceivable business,
and especially being seen to leave or drop any letter to any person
there, would be a matter of some speculation, and might, from the
suspicions it must naturally give, have very mischievous consequences to
our credit here.
The very proposing of a correspondence so to be managed, in a manner not
necessary where fair dealing is intended, gives just reason to suppose
you intend the contrary. Besides, as your court has sent Commissioners
to treat with the Congress, with all the powers that could be given
them by the crown under the act of Parliament, what good purpose can be
served by privately obtaining propositions from us? Before those
Commissioners went, we might have treated in virtue of our general
powers, (with the knowledge, advice, and approbation of our friends),
upon any propositions made to us. But, under the present circumstances,
for us to make propositions, while a treaty is supposed to be actually
on foot with the Congress, would be extremely improper, highly
presumptuous with regard to our constituents, and answer no good end
whatever.
I write this letter to you, notwithstanding; (which I think I can convey
in a less mysterious manner, and guess it may come to your hands;) I
write it because I would let you know our sense of your procedure, which
appears as insidious as that of your conciliatory bills. Your true way
to obtain peace, if your ministers desire it, is, to propose openly to
the Congress fair and equal terms, and you may possibly come sooner to
such a resolution, when you find, that personal flatteries, general
cajolings, and panegyrics on our _virtue_ and _wisdom_ are not likely to
have the effect you seem to expect; the persuading us to act basely and
foolishly, in betraying our country and posterity into the hands of our
most bitter enemies, giving up or selling our arms and warlike stores,
dismissing our ships of war and troops, and putting those enemies in
possession of our forts and ports.
This proposition of delivering ourselves, bound and gagged, ready for
hanging, without even a right to complain, and without a friend to be
found afterwards among all mankind, you would have us embrace upon the
faith of an act of Parliament! Good God! an act of your Parliament! This
demonstrates that you do not yet know us, and that you fancy we do not
know you; but it is not merely this flimsy faith, that we are to act
upon; you offer us _hope_, the hope of PLACES, PENSIONS, and PEERAGES.
These, judging from yourselves, you think are motives irresistible. This
offer to corrupt us, Sir, is with me your credential, and convinces me
that you are not a private volunteer in your application. It bears the
stamp of British court character. It is even the signature of your
King. But think for a moment in what light it must be viewed in America.
By PLACES, you mean places among us, for you take care by a special
article to secure your own to yourselves. We must then pay the salaries
in order to enrich ourselves with these places. But you will give us
PENSIONS, probably to be paid too out of your expected American revenue,
and which none of us can accept without deserving, and perhaps
obtaining, a SUS-_pension_. PEERAGES! alas! Sir, our long observation of
the vast servile majority of your peers, voting constantly for every
measure proposed by a minister, however weak or wicked, leaves us small
respect for that title. We consider it as a sort of _tar-and-feather_
honour, or a mixture of foulness and folly, which every man among us,
who should accept it from your King, would be obliged to renounce, or
exchange for that conferred by the mobs of their own country, or wear it
with everlasting infamy. I am, Sir, your humble Servant,
B. FRANKLIN.
THE EPHEMERA[95]
_An Emblem of Human Life_
[1778]
You may remember, my dear friend, that when we lately spent that happy
day in the delightful garden and sweet society of the Moulin Joly, I
stopt a little in one of our walks, and staid some time behind the
company. We had been shown numberless skeletons of a kind of little fly,
called an ephemera, whose successive generations, we were told, were
bred and expired within the day. I happened to see a living company of
them on a leaf, who appeared to be engaged in conversation. You know I
understand all the inferior animal tongues: my too great application to
the study of them is the best excuse I can give for the little progress
I have made in your charming language. I listened through curiosity to
the discourse of these little creatures; but as they, in their national
vivacity, spoke three or four together, I could make but little of
their conversation. I found, however, by some broken expressions that I
heard now and then, they were disputing warmly on the merit of two
foreign musicians, one a _cousin_, the other a _moscheto_; in which
dispute they spent their time, seemingly as regardless of the shortness
of life as if they had been sure of living a month. Happy people!
thought I, you live certainly under a wise, just, and mild government,
since you have no public grievances to complain of, nor any subject of
contention but the perfections and imperfections of foreign music. I
turned my head from them to an old grey-headed one, who was single on
another leaf, and talking to himself. Being amused with his soliloquy, I
put it down in writing, in hopes it will likewise amuse her to whom I am
so much indebted for the most pleasing of all amusements, her delicious
company and heavenly harmony.
"It was," said he, "the opinion of learned philosophers of our race, who
lived and flourished long before my time, that this vast world, the
Moulin Joly, could not itself subsist more than eighteen hours; and I
think there was some foundation for that opinion, since, by the apparent
motion of the great luminary that gives life to all nature, and which in
my time has evidently declined considerably towards the ocean at the end
of our earth, it must then finish its course, be extinguished in the
waters that surround us, and leave the world in cold and darkness,
necessarily producing universal death and destruction. I have lived
seven of those hours, a great age, being no less than four hundred and
twenty minutes of time. How very few of us continue so long! I have seen
generations born, flourish, and expire. My present friends are the
children and grandchildren of the friends of my youth, who are now,
alas, no more! And I must soon follow them; for, by the course of
nature, though still in health, I cannot expect to live above seven or
eight minutes longer. What now avails all my toil and labor, in amassing
honey-dew on this leaf, which I cannot live to enjoy! What the political
struggles I have been engaged in, for the good of my compatriot
inhabitants of this bush, or my philosophical studies for the benefit of
our race in general! for, in politics, what can laws do without morals?
Our present race of ephemeræ will in a course of minutes become corrupt,
like those of other and older bushes, and consequently as wretched. And
in philosophy how small our progress! Alas! art is long, and life is
short! My friends would comfort me with the idea of a name, they say, I
shall leave behind me; and they tell me I have lived long enough to
nature and to glory. But what will fame be to an ephemera who no longer
exists? And what will become of all history in the eighteenth hour, when
the world itself, even the whole Moulin Joly, shall come to its end, and
be buried in universal ruin?"
To me, after all my eager pursuits, no solid pleasures now remain, but
the reflection of a long life spent in meaning well, the sensible
conversation of a few good lady ephemeræ, and now and then a kind smile
and a tune from the ever amiable _Brillante_.
B. FRANKLIN.
TO RICHARD BACHE
Passy, June 2, 1779.