Adventures in American Diplomacy: I. The Affair of X, Y, and Z

I

ON the afternoon of October 8, 1797, three Americans sat in the office of the Minister for Foreign Affairs at Paris awaiting their reception as Envoys Extraordinary to the Republic of France. The official anteroom into which they had been ushered was a comfortable apartment, but they were obviously ill pleased with their surroundings, and there was ample justification for the silent dissatisfaction they displayed. Once before, earlier in the day, they had attended by special appointment to present their credentials, only to be told that their official host had been unfortunately called away and could not receive them until three o’clock. But now at the appointed hour they were informed that the citizen official was engaged with the Portuguese Minister, and though the request to enter the waiting room was couched in the most courtly phrases, it was in no very amiable spirit that the envoys accepted the invitation.

Minute after minute passed and the secretaries and clerks who drifted in and out of the official sanctum exchanged amused glances as they noted the rustic garb of the strangers and observed their air of stiff and solemn resentment. This was not the first embassy that had been forced to cool its heels at the door of the Foreign Minister, for that dignitary was Citizen Talleyrand, late Bishop of Autun, but now, by grace of the Directory, the dominant factor in international affairs. In the ashes of the Revolution France had tempered a sword of war that had enabled her to dictate terms to almost half the world, and her representative did not underestimate his power.

It was therefore somewhat droll to see these American parvenus in the diplomatic world waxing impatient at their delayed reception. Poor fledglings! They did not appear to be overburdened with feathers, but had they many or few, an hour with the former Bishop of Autun would leave them without a single plume. And the cream of the joke was that every one knew this except the victims who chafed, ma foi, because their plucking was postponed! It was droll; it was certainly very droll.

Meanwhile, the unconscious subjects of these diverting reflections were growing less and less pleased with their situation. To all of them it was embarassing, but to one of them it was exasperating in the extreme, for he had already experienced a grave humiliation at the hands of the French Government and every second of waiting now increased the injury to his pride. This was Charles Cotesworth Pinckney, who had been sent to succeed Monroe as Minister to France, but had departed from Paris with more speed than ceremony, on being informed that the Directory would recognize no minister from the United States until it righted certain alleged grievances, and that the law required strangers to obtain a ‘Card of Hospitality’ from the police if they wished to tarry more than thirty days upon the soil of France.

This insult was not, of course, personal to the individual American to whom it was addressed, but was aimed at the United States in general for its ingratitude, if not perfidy, in having negotiated a treaty with Great Britain, the one irreconcilable enemy of France. Nevertheless the full force of the affront fell on the rejected diplomat, and Pinckney’s florid countenance grew well-nigh purple as he nursed his wrath outside Monsieur Talleyrand’s door.

Only ten minutes elapsed before that door opened to admit the special envoys whose mission it was to restore the friendly relations between America and France, but the delay was not auspicious, and it was a very grave trio that was finally ushered into the presence of the man to whom Europe bent the knee. To Talleyrand the advent of these Americans was at once a personal triumph and an opportunity to wipe out an old and rankling score. It was not so long since he, an exile, if not a refugee, from France, had visited the United States and had sought an audience with Washington, who had declined to receive him on the ground that his official reception would give offense to France. This, in itself, might have been interpreted into something of a distinction; but Washington, disliking the reputation of the visitor, had evinced no desire to meet him unofficially, and the shrewd ex-priest had not been slow to comprehend the slight.

These and other grievances were not forgotten when the representatives of the upstart nation which had ignored him in his hour of adversity stood before him, and the faint smile which habitually hovered about his mouth boded ill for the success of their mission. His quiet blue-gray eyes, half hidden behind bushy eyebrows, sought his visitors’ faces, watching them with the keenness that had penetrated many a diplomatic mask; and, as he gazed, a suggestion of contempt was added to the insolent uptilt of his nose and the haughtiness of his protruding lower lip. From his point of view the visitors were, at best, but provincial Englishmen, two of whom represented the political faction most hostile to the interest of France in the United States, while all of them evidenced the selfimportance and crudity of the people by whom they were accredited. In the field of diplomacy they were, of course, mere innocents abroad.

There was certainly nothing in the outward appearance of the delegation to cause the wordly-wise and cynical Frenchman to distrust the success of the programme he was maturing for their initiation. Perhaps the most notable figure in the group was that of a man about forty years of age, whose great height and athletic proportions well-nigh dwarfed his associates. But though his stature and physique rendered him conspicuous, they imparted neither distinction nor grace, for his body was ill-proportioned and his huge limbs were ungainly to the point of dislocation. These defects might possibly have disappeared under the touch of a skillful tailor, but the man was clothed in rusty, ill-fitting, and not over-clean garments which would have disfigured Apollo himself, and every article of his attire accentuated his physical peculiarities. Had his head and face been as ill-formed as his body, he might have been ogreish, but he would have been interesting. As it was, he was commonplace, for his clean-shaven face was not particularly strong and his low forehead, dark complexion and thick raven-black hair, nullified the effect of his bright eyes and firm mouth.

Altogether this envoy from the New World was as unprepossessing a countryman as Talleyrand had encountered anywhere in the States, and the fact that his name was John Marshall did not convey any particular meaning to the Foreign Secretary or cause him to revise his plans. There were those in France who were competent to advise him that the outward appearance of his uncouth visitor was deceitful, and that he had best be on his guard against the leader of the American Bar whose practice and reputation were so great that Washington had successively offered him a United States districtattorneyship, the Attorney-Generalship of the United States, and even the Ministry to France — all of which he had declined. But the warning was not uttered, and had it been it would probably have fallen on dull ears, for Citizen Talleyrand had little to fear in the familiar realm of diplomacy from the intrusion of any provincial lawyer, no matter how highly he might be esteemed at home.

Possibly he regarded the man who stood at Marshall’s elbow as the more dangerous of the two, for Pinckney had conducted himself with no little skill in his last encounter with the French Republic. He was certainly much more presentable in figure, face, and dress than his confrère. Indeed, his whole appearance was agreeable, his pleasant, clean-shaven face, clear eyes and erect carriage betokening a man of intelligence in the prime of life. His great reputation as a lawyer was, of course, like Marshall’s, more local than international, but his education had been obtained at Oxford where he had studied under Blackstone himself, and in point of culture and breadth of reading he had few peers in his profession.

The third member of the group was not entirely a stranger to Talleyrand, for Elbridge Gerry was one of the ardent Republicans who had welcomed him to America with outstretched arms. Indeed, Gerry’s appointment on the embassy had been a concession to the party whose well-nigh hysterical enthusiasm for France had encouraged the French Government to believe that it could take extraordinary liberties with the United States.

There was, in truth, good ground for that belief. Not only in Massachusetts, but throughout New England and New York, adulation of everything French had become, for a time, the public rage. French cockades were mounted on every hat; French flags adorned public and private buildings; civic feasts were held with absurd imitations of Parisian mummeries; orators vied with one another in eulogizing France and damning Jay’s treaty with the mother country, while applauding thousands burned its negotiator in effigy and stoned Hamilton for daring to defend it. Even the title ‘Citizen’ was substituted for the ordinary modes of address, and all sorts of unutterable follies were tolerated, until Citizen Genet, the French Minister, demanded unheard-of privileges for his country in her pending conflict with Great Britain, and, failing to shake Washington’s policy of neutrality, threatened to appeal to the people over his head. Then a reaction set in.

Nevertheless, the United States was not yet a nation, in the highest sense of the word, when its peace envoys sought an audience with the Foreign Secretary at Paris. It was, at best, but an aggregation of colonials divided among themselves under foreign banners, and destined, in the opinion of Europe, to become a dependency of either England or France.

Talleyrand had good reason, therefore, to remember so stout a champion of the French as Citizen Elbridge Gerry. Certainly his personality was sufficiently striking to be remembered, for his thin, shrewd, solemn face, extraordinarily long nose, big mouth, and heavy white wig were all peculiar enough to attract attention and mark him as a man apart. But if Talleyrand recalled him he gave no sign of recognition as he rose to greet the visitors, his movement betraying the almost forgotten fact that he was a cripple and increasing, if that were possible, the embarrassment of the ensuing pause.

The situation was certainly awkward, for Talleyrand, though he understood English, did not trust himself to speak it, and none of the Americans commanded more than a few words of French. It was necessary to utilize the services of an interpreter, and through him the credentials of the envoys were received and instructions given that cards of hospitality be issued to them in due course. As to their reception by the Directory, however, the visiting citizens were informed that the Foreign Secretary was preparing a report on American affairs to that body, after submitting which he would do himself the honor of again conferring with the representatives of the United States. With this rather curt announcement the envoys were dismissed and withdrew to the seclusion of their hotel — a seclusion which was soon to be disturbed in most extraordinary fashion.

II

For a week the visitors were too well occupied with exploring Paris to question the fact that they were being officially ignored; but when ten days had passed without a word from the Foreign Secretary they began to wonder what his silence meant. No explanation was forthcoming, however, except some back-stairs gossip to the effect that the Directory was displeased with the President’s public criticisms of France, and intended to express its resentment by postponing the reception of the envoys. This rumor sounded highly improbable, and although it was said to have originated with one of Talleyrand’s secretaries, no attention was paid to it until it was confirmed by a strange communication which reached the ears of Pinckney one evening, during a private conversation with an acquaintance, who impressively advised him that a certain Monsieur Hottinguer, to whom he had been casually introduced on a previous occasion, was a gentleman of credit and renown on whose word it behooved the American diplomats to place the most implicit reliance.

Hardly had this Delphic utterance — half hint and half warning — been delivered when the mysterious Monsieur Hottinguer’s card was handed to Pinckney at his hotel, followed by the appearance of the gentleman himself. At the moment this seemed to be a mere coincidence, and after greeting his caller, Pinckney rejoined the group of men with whom he had been talking when the interruption occurred. The newcomer, however, soon seized an opportunity to whisper that he was a confidential messenger from Talleyrand and must see the American envoy alone. Surprised as he was at the irregularity of this performance, Pinckney immediately excused himself to his friends and led the way to a private room, where his new acquaintance proceeded to cloud the mystery still further by explaining that he did not come from Talleyrand himself but from a certain Monsieur Bellamy, an intimate friend of the Citizen Minister. This singularly indirect approach was indicative of extreme caution, but according to the speaker it had been adopted in order that the Americans might be advised, as delicately and unofficially as possible, of certain facts essential to the success of their mission.

Pinckney stared at the speaker with unfeigned astonishment. Why Talleyrand should have thought it necessary to communicate with the Embassy through a third party was puzzling enough; but why that third party should have delegated his authority to a stranger was beyond the American’s comprehension. However, the whole proceeding was inexplicable, so he merely bowed assent and begged his visitor to proceed. Thus encouraged, Monsieur Hottinguer vouchsafed the intelligence that the Directory in general, and two of its members in particular, were very much incensed by President Adams’s reference to France in his recent message to Congress, and that his objectionable reflections on the Republic would have to be retracted or explained.

The idea of suggesting that the Americans who had crossed the Atlantic for the purpose of presenting the grievances of their country against France should begin with apologizing for the utterances of their Chief Magistrate, must have appealed to Pinckney as somewhat humorous. But he made no reply to the absurd ultimatum, and his silence inviting further confidence, the speaker went on to explain that the United States, having satisfactorily disposed of the offensive criticisms, must then guarantee to make a liberal loan to France.

Again Pinckney made no reply, being well advised that this demand had been forestalled in the Government’s letter of instructions, which positively forbade the consideration of any such loan. However, he concluded that the deputed go-between was reaching the climax of his instructions by easy stages, and that it would be well to let him unbosom himself without interruption. This he proceeded to do by remarking that, the first two conditions having been complied with, there was a third preliminary to the renewal of friendly relations between the two countries and the assurance of a liberal treaty, and that was the provision of a substantial ‘gratification’¹ for the private pockets of the Directory.

Prepared as he was for some surprising disclosure, Pinckney was fairly astounded by the barefaced effrontery of this demand, but instantly realized that he must control his indignation lest Talleyrand’s confidential-agent-onceremoved should take alarm before he had thoroughly committed his principal. He accordingly managed, after a pause, to inquire in a casual manner as to the amount of the loan which France desired of the United States. Of that the agent was not advised, but he had apparently been fully instructed as to the details of the third (and more important) condition, namely, the amount of the douceur or ‘gratification’ for the Directory. That, he coolly volunteered, was twelve hundred thousand livres, or about two hundred and forty thousand dollars.

Had Pinckney been wholly ignorant of European politics he might have received this astonishing announcement with a gasp of incredulity. But since his dismissal from France he had lived for some time in Holland and had used his eyes and ears to good advantage. He was therefore acquainted with the fact that Talleyrand and certain members of the Directory were quite capable of levying blackmail on weak nations, and had in fact done so. But even so, the extortionate nature, to say nothing of the brazen impudence of this particular demand was almost too much for his composure.² Nevertheless, he succeeded in maintaining a calm exterior, merely remarking that such an important communication should be submitted, not to one but to all of the American envoys. Hottinguer was evidently unprepared for this suggestion and for a time he strenuously objected; but as no exception had been taken to the matter of his proposals, but simply to the manner of their submission, he yielded the point and consented to meet the envoys at breakfast on the morning of October 21 for the purpose of repeating his message. Indeed, he was so encouraged by Pinckney’s affable docility that he even agreed to reduce the propositions to writing for his benefit, and the enlightened diplomat lost no time in advising his colleagues of the treat which was in store for them at the proposed breakfast of the twenty-first. On the morning of the twentieth, however, the expected guest called to say that Monsieur Bellamy,Talleyrand’s confidential friend, preferred to meet the envoys himself and conduct the negotiation in person. This suited the supposedly pliable Americans still better, and an appointment was made for that evening at seven o’clock, in Marshall’s room.

Meanwhile, a memorandum of the ‘conditions precedent’ to the negotiation of a treaty, was submitted to the envoys. This remarkable document virtually recapitulated Hottinguer’s propositions, but it contained the additional information that the forced loan to France might be secret if the United States desired to conceal the fact that it was providing England’s enemy with the sinews of war, and it closed with this delightfully ingenuous statement: ‘There shall also be included in and taken from this loan certain sums for the purpose of making the customary distributions in diplomatic affairs.'

It is safe to say that bribery and corruption were never more artistically veiled than in that gossamer web of words. The euphemisms and subtleties of the English language were fairly familiar to the Americans, but ‘the customary distributions in diplomatic affairs’ was a masterpiece of elegance which revealed the greater possibilities of the Gallic tongue and intensified the interest of the prospective conference.

Promptly at the appointed hour M. de Talleyrand’s deputy appeared, supported by the presence of his former substitute, and the couple were soon ensconced in Marshall’s apartment behind closed doors. Probably the Frenchmen were not aware that they were in the presence of two of the most skillful lawyers of their day. But if they were, Marshall’s brusque manners and countrified appearance, and Pinckney’s blandly innocent air, apparently disarmed them, and they evidently counted on Gerry as a friend. They accordingly entered upon the interview without reserve, Monsieur Bellamy confirming the information of his predecessor but taking care to emphasize the point that he had no authority to bind Talleyrand, whose purpose was simply to assist the Americans in making overtures which would be agreeable to the authorities. Of course a pretense was made of rehearsing the grievances of France by producing a copy of the President’s objectionable message and pointing out the offending passages, but to all this the Americans made little or no response. Indeed, the silence of his auditors soon wearied the amateur diplomatist, for he suddenly dropped the subject and blurted out impatiently, ‘ But, gentlemen, I will not disguise from you that this satisfaction being made, the essential part of the treaty still remains to be adjusted. You must pay money. You must pay a great deal of money.'

This was the admission for which the American envoys had been patiently waiting, for as it fell from the lips of Talleyrand’s trusted agent they were one step nearer to placing the responsibility where it belonged. They accordingly promised to give the subject their careful consideration, and the conference was adjourned to the next morning, when it was agreed that Bellamy should breakfast with his hosts and further develop his instructions.

This breakfast proved a highly exciting repast, for it brought forth the amount of the required loan and the method of concealing it. The United States, it appeared, was to buy at par certain securities which France had exacted from Holland to the extent of thirty-two million florins ($12,800,000). These so-called securities were then selling at about fifty per cent of their face value, and by purchasing them at double their market value, America could provide France with the required loan without seeming to do so, and also cover the two-hundred-and-fortythousand-dollar ‘gratification’ for the Directory.

With this exposition of the gentle art of thimble-rigging on an international scale, the American envoys concluded that the affair had been carried quite far enough, and after consulting apart, they delivered a written answer to Bellamy, declining to act upon the suggestions which Citizen Talleyrand and the Directory had been good enough to make for their benefit. This significant answer instantly alarmed the emissary and he refused to receive the paper, protesting that neither the Directory nor Citizen Talleyrand had made any demands. He alone was responsible for the propositions. That, replied the envoys, was assumed as a matter of form. But of course it would be insulting to suppose that a man of Monsieur Bellamy’s high reputation and position would presume to act without authority.³ All Monsieur Bellamy’s suggestions must, therefore, out of respect for him, be considered as having been first approved by the Citizen Minister.

With this shot the envoys speeded their parting guest, who retired uttering dire prophesies of the fate which awaited the United States. Hottinguer likewise retreated with his principal, but soon reappeared, affecting to dread the necessity of war between the two republics and desiring to know positively, one way or the other, as to the envoys’ position concerning the payment of the money which was expected of them. ‘We have already spoken to that point very explicitly,’ was the impatient response. ‘No, you have not,’ protested Hottinguer. ‘What is your answer?’ ‘It is No! No!’ burst out Pinckney. ‘Not a sixpence!’

Little did the speaker dream that his indignant words would inspire the slogan, ‘Millions for defense, but not a cent for tribute!’ and that the story of that eventful interview would soon be spread broadcast across the Atlantic.

III

But the time for reporting their adventures to the home government had not yet arrived, for the envoys wore hoping to turn their circumstantial evidence into positive proof before they sealed their dispatches, and the opportunity for this came sooner than they expected. Indeed, within twentyfour hours ⁴ a new actor appeared on the scene in the person of a Monsieur Hauteval, who called on Gerry to express Talleyrand’s pain and surprise that he and his associates had not seen fit to visit him informally, as private citizens; and this being reported to Marshall and Pinckney, it was agreed that Gerry, as a former acquaintance, might, with propriety, accept the suggestion.

Gerry accordingly called with Hauteval upon the Foreign Secretary, who informed him that the Directory was about to pass a very severe arrêt, touching the mission, but if the envoys would promise the required loan to France the proposed measure could be pigeon-holed. To this Gerry replied that the Embassy had no power to give any such promise, but that one of its members might possibly be willing to return to the United States for further instructions. This would not do, according to Talleyrand. The money must be paid at once. However, he would delay the decree a week. Gerry hastened back to his lodgings and wrote a careful account of the interview which he submitted to his colleagues, who promptly advised Talleyrand not to delay the issuance of his threatened decree on their account; and then, to put a quietus on the activity of his confidential friends, they informed Messrs. Hottinguer, Bellamy, and Hauteval that no further indirect negotiations would be tolerated. If this was expected to discourage the attentions of those gentlemen, however, it was an utter failure, for they continued to buzz, whisper, and write with undiminished zeal.

Meanwhile, the envoys, with the aid of a minute diary which Marshall had kept, busied themselves with the preparation of a dispatch in cipher detailing their experiences in France. Of this, six duplicates were made, and on the eleventh of November they forwarded each copy to America by a different vessel, to avoid the ‘accidents ’ which they were informed frequently occurred in the transmission of official papers from the French capital.

Then weeks passed without any change in the existing situation, until Gerry at last proposed to invite Talleyrand to meet his colleagues at dinner, and Bellamy, who was scarcely ever out of ear-shot, endorsed this idea, volunteering his escort to tender the suggested invitation. He accordingly called at Gerry’s apartment on the morning of December 17 for that purpose, but the moment he was closeted with him he seized the opportunity for reopening the propositions concerning the loan and the ‘gratuity.’

At this juncture Marshall happened to drop in, and he and Gerry were informed that sixteen millions of the Dutch securities could then be purchased for a trifle over six million dollars and France would be satisfied with a loan of that amount. This was about half of what had been previously demanded, and Bellamy had evidently been instructed to announce the advent of Bargain Day in the International Market. However, as the envoys had no power to make any loan, this great reduction in the price of peace would not have interested them at all had it not been accompanied by a decidedly novel inducement. This was addressed directly to Marshall, and took the form of as naïve a proposition as was probably ever submitted to a member of the bar. In leading up to this, Bellamy declared that he had been charmed to learn that Marshall was counsel for the great merchant Beaumarchais in his suit against the State of Virginia. That was a most happy circumstance. Why? Why, because it removed all difficulties and embarrassment growing out of the Directorial‘gratification.' How so? Very simply, it appeared. Marshall had obtained a judgment for his client in the sum of £145,000. Well, Beaumarchais would agree that when this sum was paid he would remit £45,000 of it to the United States. This would practically cover the amount necessary to satisfy the Directory, and voilà! — there would be no loss.

It was difficult not to smile at this unique scheme for making his client pay the piper, but Marshall’s sense of humor had been somewhat damaged by his sojourn in France and his reception of the plan did not promise well for the gayety of Gerry’s little dinnerparty. Neither did Talleyrand’s acceptance of the invitation to that function encourage the belief that he was ready to change his tactics, for he took the occasion of Gerry’s proffer of hospitality to refer to the amended conditions which had been submitted by his familiar, whose responsibility he then endorsed. In fact he then and there submitted a written memorandum of his terms, omitting, however, any reference to the ‘gratification,’ which he evidently feared to put on record. But even with this omission he apparently regarded the paper as dangerous, for he took the precaution of burning it as soon as Gerry returned it, and then agreed upon a day for the diplomatic love-feast.

Under ordinary circumstances the proposed banquet might have effected its object, but far too much had been said and done to be forgotten around the social board, and a stiffer and gloomier company never sat at a table than Gerry and his guests. Indeed, by this time Marshall and Pinckney were disgusted with the entire proceedings and took but little pains to conceal their feelings, and this, added to the fact that all the conversation had to be conducted through interpreters, rendered the evening a ghastly affair.

From this moment the mission was hopeless, and every day that passed widened the breach between the countries. True to its threat, the Directory issued a decree intended to drive American trade from the seas, and the envoys uttered a vigorous protest against such unfriendly action, following this by a long document addressed to Talleyrand, presenting their whole case with an ability and force which should have brought a prompt response. But the Citizen Minister did not see fit to make any reply for some weeks, and though he had two or three informal interviews with the envoys, they led to nothing but increasing irritation.

IV

Meanwhile, the rumors of war had been playing havoc with the nerves of one of the Americans, for Elbridge Gerry believed that a rupture with the French Republic meant the utter ruin of the United States, whose commerce had already been severely damaged by the seizure and confiscation of merchant vessels at the hands of French privateers. His admiration for France and her institutions had been considerably abated by his experience during the past months, but his love was now tempered by fear, and as the tension of the situation grew he strove to avert disaster by softening the sturdy language of his colleagues in their official documents and assuming a conciliatory attitude toward the French authorities. Talleyrand was not slow to observe this sign of weakness, which promised to lend itself admirably to the accomplishment of his ends. He accordingly began to distinguish Gerry from his associates, playing upon his evident desire to avert hostilities and flattering his vanity by guardedly hinting that he had it in his power to prevent the ruin of his country. Seeing that these approaches were having the desired effect, the wily Foreign Secretary grew bolder, and openly suggesting that the American cause was in the wrong hands, invited his confidant to take the whole responsibility into his own.

All this was far from displeasing to the gentleman from Massachusetts, for Gerry had no small opinion of his own ability, and to find himself preferred to such men as Marshall and Pinckney seemed to indicate a nice discrimination on the part of the French authorities. Nevertheless, in betraying a decidedly receptive attitude toward Talleyrand’s complimentary advances, he was not actuated entirely by conceit, for he sincerely believed that the total failure of the mission would involve his land in a ruinous war and he easily persuaded himself that he was the one man who could avert that disaster. Therefore, long before a crisis was reached in the envoys’ efforts to obtain an audience from the Directory, Marshall and Pinckney were well aware that their colleague was no longer acting in concert with them. It was with no surprise then that on March 18, 1798, they received an insolent letter from Talleyrand, informing them that the Directory would ‘treat with that one of the three [envoys] whose opinions, presumed to be more impartial, promise in the course of the explanations more of that reciprocal confidence which is indispensable.’

This plainly meant Gerry, but that there might be no misconstruction of the diplomatic circumlocutions, the Foreign Secretary followed up his official document with an informal note to Gerry, stating that he supposed that Marshall and Pinckney had taken his broad hint and departed from France. He therefore suggested that his correspondent and he should at once proceed to business. As a matter of fact, neither Marshall nor Pinckney had then retired, but in the face of this letter they hastened their preparations for quitting France, warmly advising their colleague to do the same. But Gerry protested that his departure would be the signal for a declaration of war, and that the safety of his country depended upon his presence in Paris. Disgusted and indignant with this fatuous reasoning, the two lawyers immediately renewed their demands for safe-conducts. For a time, however, these papers were denied them on the ground that, not having been officially received, they were not entitled to protection as envoys, and it was not without a struggle that they at last forced the delivery of the necessary documents and retired from the capital, leaving their associate to the tender mercies of the late Bishop of Autun.

Meanwhile, the first dispatches of the envoys had arrived in the United States, and on March 5, 1798, Adams sent a message to Congress, advising that body that they had arrived. They were not yet fully deciphered, he declared, but enough of their contents was known to justify him in warning the people not to expect good news, and on March 19 he announced the failure of the mission, recommending that steps should be taken immediately to defend the sea-coast and protect the commerce of the country. War measures were accordingly voted, but not without objections from the partisans of France, and before much progress had been made they roundly denounced the President’s warning as a ruse to create prejudice against the sister republic, and called for the production of the official documents themselves. This was precisely what Adams had hoped that they would do, and concealing the names of Talleyrand’s agents under the letters X, Y, and Z, he submitted the envoys’ story of their experiences at the hands of the ancient ally of the United States.

To say that this exposure startled the French faction is far too mild a statement. It fairly obliterated them, for with a roar of indignation the whole people rallied about the government, and, in the place of a weak confederation of timid British colonials, France found herself confronted by a nation.

From that moment there was no further talk of conciliation. War was accepted as the inevitable sequence of the deliberate affront offered to the United States in the persons of her ambassadors, and measures were instantly taken to place the country in a proper condition of defense. Money and supplies were readily voted for the navy; the army was recruited to its full strength; Washington was summoned from his retirement to accept a lieutenant-generalship and supreme command of the troops; the war vessels in foreign ports were ordered home; forts and earthworks were speedily erected on the coast, and a day appointed for national fasting, humiliation and prayer. But, despiteallits zeal, the government could not keep pace with the popular enthusiasm. In almost every village and town volunteer companies were formed to swell the ranks of the army; subscription lists were started to provide the navy with additional warships, Boston quickly collecting $125,000 for that purpose and New York raising $30,000 within an hour of the first appeal, while other seaports responded in a similar spirit, until the ship-yards were fairly deluged with work and a veritable armada was in the making.

Meanwhile, innumerable addresses of loyalty and confidence poured in upon the President; mass-meetings were held to encourage the authorities in fearlessly asserting the national dignity; French flags and cockades disappeared as if by magic; the stars and stripes and the black cockade ⁵ were everywhere displayed; the press teemed with patriotic odes and sentiments, of which ‘millions for defense but not a cent for tribute’ was the theme, and even the tradesmen, in advertising their wares, paraphrased Talleyrand’s ultimatum, ‘Il faut de l’argent —il faut beaucoup d’argent,’ by advising their patrons that although it was necessary to pay cash for their wares, it was not necessary to pay ‘ a great deal of money.’

Every public meeting-place witnessed some form of the popular enthusiasm, but it was at the theatres that the patriotic fervor reached its height. There, in default of a national hymn, the orchestras played ‘Yankee Doodle’ and ‘The President’s March,’ while the audiences stood and cheered and demanded countless repetitions of the tunes, regardless of the play. These nightly demonstrations of patriotism finally resulted in the production of something that: approached the dignity of a real national anthem, for a popular actor in Philadelphia named Fox, taking advantage of the situation, sought the aid of Joseph Hopkinson, who fitted ‘The President’s March’ with words, and thus immortalized himself as the author of ‘Hail Columbia!’ The singing of this song by Fox created a public furor utterly unlike anything previously recorded in the history of the country, —for the audience, mad with delight, sprang to its feet and, calling for encore after encore, cheered each repetition to the echo. Within a fortnight, ‘Hail Columbia!’ was a part of the literature of the land.

In the midst of all this excitement Marshall returned from Paris, his arrival being the signal for another outburst of patriotism which took the form of bell-ringing and parades, public receptions, congratulatory addresses, and complimentary dinners. Indeed, he and Pinckney were the heroes of the hour until Captain Stephen Decatur eclipsed them by firing on a French privateer preying on American commerce, and brought her into port as a prize. Thus hostilities began without any declaration of war—a situation almost unparalleled in history.⁶

V

Meanwhile, the misguided but wellmeaning Gerry, in complete ignorance of the course of events in the United States, was continuing his futile negotiations with Citizen Talleyrand. Indeed, the first intimation he received of the existing condition of affairs was the receipt of dispatches virtually terminating the mission. He elected, however, to read the instructions as though they authorized him to remain if he saw fit to do so, with the result that he was still in Paris when the dispatches of the envoys concerning X, Y, and Z appeared in the public press. Astonished and dismayed by this unexpected disclosure, the luckless envoy made haste to insure the safety of his official papers, anticipating his instant expulsion from France. Before his preparations were completed, however, a note arrived from Talleyrand demanding the names of the persons designated as X, Y, and Z, and an official denial of the statements set forth in the press. To this Gerry responded with some spirit that Talleyrand knew the real names of X, Y, and Z as well as he did, but that he had no objection to furnishing the superfluous information, if desired. He accordingly supplied the names but declined to retract a word of the dispatches. Talleyrand instantly published this correspondence, accompanying it with a furious denial of the story recorded by the American envoys, who were bitterly denounced as reckless liars and ignorant dupes.

But in this wholesale repudiation of the transaction the Foreign Secreary reckoned without his confidential agents, for Bellamy, finding himself assailed as a fraud, promptly rushed into print with an indignant contradiction, stoutly maintaining that he had had Talleyrand’s direct and positive authority for everything he had said and done throughout the entire affair. In the face of this blast it was difficult for the shifty minister to keep up appearances, but he attempted to effect his retreat under cover of a sharp correspondence with Gerry, in which denials, accusations, and veiled threats flew right and left. But by this time the American had recovered his second wind, and fought back with such courage and skill that when he finally retired from the field the empty honors of the diplomatic duel were unquestionably his.

Meanwhile, the United States navy had begun to exhibit its strength,⁷ and before Gerry reached this country the government at Paris had opened negotiations with the American Minister at The Hague, through whom assurances were given that if the United States would send another minister to France he would be received ‘with all the respect due to a representative of a free and independent nation.’ These were almost the words which the President of the United States had used in prescribing the conditions necessary to any renewal of diplomatic relations with France. After considerable opposition and delay by the Senate, he accordingly appointed William Vans Murray, the Minister at the Hague, Oliver Ellsworth, Chief Justice of the United States, and William R. Davie, the Governor of North Carolina, as Envoys Extraordinary to France; and this embassy, having been received with due honors, found but little difficulty in negotiating a convention favorable to the United States.

Thus ended an episode without a parallel in the history of diplomacy, and with its close came the recognition of a new force in the councils of the family of nations.