Instantly the Democratic masses saw in the coming of Genêt the opportunity for the manifestation of their feelings. There was much in the personality, appearance, and background of this ardent diplomat of the Gironde to explain the fervent enthusiasm with which he was received. Washington had been warned in advance by Morris, the Minister to France, that he was an ‘upstart’—not a bad estimate, as it turned out, but the President had abundant proof that all the French republicans were upstarts.[781] He was not an upstart, however, in that he did not belong in the great world of high politics and society. For almost half a century his father had been in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and his celebrated sister, Madame Campan, had been one of the ladies of Marie Antoinette, of whom he had been a prime favorite. A familiar figure among the fashionable young dandies of Versailles, he had served for a while as the secretary of one of the brothers of the monarch. An extraordinarily brilliant youth, he had translated the ‘History of Eric XIV’ at the age of twelve, with historical notes of his own. Entering the diplomatic service, with the blessings of the Queen, he had served as attaché at the courts of Berlin, Vienna, London, and St. Petersburg. He spoke several languages with the fluency of a native. A romantic figure, this young man, handsome, elegant in manner, eloquent and entertaining in conversation, gracious, friendly, impulsive, with the virtues to neutralize the vices of his years.
If the reception he received in the aristocratic city of Charleston was enough to turn his head, it was nothing to the continuous ovation accorded him as he proceeded slowly on his month’s journey to Philadelphia. Farmers flocked to the rough roads to cheer him and offer him produce at a loss. In every town he was a conquering hero, and everywhere he was greeted with the strains of ‘Ça Ira’ and orators paid tribute to France and the principles of its Revolution. The ringing of bells, the shouting of the multitude wearing liberty caps and waving French flags—such the sights and sounds that greeted him everywhere. Nor was this charming young diplomat pleasing to the Democratic rabble alone. At Baltimore, Justice Iredell of the Supreme Court was impressed with his ‘fine open countenance, and pleasing unaffected manner.’[782] Federalist Iredell failed to find the ‘upstart’ who was so conspicuous to Federalist Morris.
As the reports of the continuous ovation dribbled into Philadelphia, Hamilton and the Federalists were alarmed and disgusted, Jefferson delighted. Here was proof that the people were sound in their republicanism. Better still, here were the masses making themselves felt in public affairs for the first time. Even better, they were casting aside the spirit of humility, and standing erect with their sovereignty under their hats. While Genêt was proceeding to the capital, Jefferson was writing joyously to Monroe of the ‘old spirit of ‘76 rekindling the newspapers from Boston to Charleston’ and forcing ‘the monocrat papers ... to publish the most furious philippics against England.’[783] And Madison was quite as pleased. He had hoped for a reception that would make ‘the cant of the cities’ and the ‘cold caution of the Government’ less offensive.[784]
Meanwhile, as Genêt approached, the Democrats in Philadelphia, suspecting that the Government hoped ‘to prevent a joyful reception,’ were determined to disappoint that hope. ‘An Old Soldier,’ in a stirring reminder of French services in the American Revolution, declared that ‘if after such recollections you will hesitate to welcome their ambassador, I will mourn over the departed virtue of my country.’[785]
The appeal was not made in vain. Freneau and Bache in their papers were arousing the emotions of the people. The former was publishing Grey’s speech in Parliament against going to war with France. ‘A shining character,’ thought the editor.[786] He was also informing his readers that the news of our neutrality ‘gave much satisfaction to the English nation.’[787] Meanwhile, the ‘rabble,’ embracing such characters as Rittenhouse, Dr. Hutchinson, and A. J. Dallas, was making preparations. The Minister would be met at Gray’s Ferry, and every one who possibly could should go. The cannon on L’Ambascade would roar the announcements of the hero’s approach early enough to permit all who wished to reach the Ferry in time.[788]
It was at this time that a strange rumor was floating about the streets, taverns, and beer-houses of the city. Count de Noailles had arrived in Philadelphia at nine o’clock on the night of May 3d, commissioned as Minister by the former Princes at Coblentz, and at a very late hour at night had been received by Washington at the Morris house where the two ‘were in private conversation until near morning.’ The Count had arrived—every one knew it. What sort of treachery was this? So this was the reason the Government was trying to discourage the reception to Genêt.[789] The people would see to that.
Thus, Genêt was met at Gray’s Ferry by an immense throng with thunderous cheers—cheers that accompanied him all the way to the City Tavern. The streets packed, throbbing with joy. Looking out over the excited multitude, Genêt ‘was quite overcome with the affectionate joy that appeared on every face,’ according to a lady of Philadelphia who shared it. ‘It is true,’ she said, ‘that a few disaffected persons did try to check the ardor of the people, but they had the mortification to find all their efforts blasted and were obliged themselves to join the general torrent and affect a cordiality ... contrary to the feelings of their hearts.’ A truly inspiring spectacle. ‘It would be impossible, my dear, to give you any idea of the scene.’[790] Then followed the formal welcome. Resolutions were prepared at the home of Charles Biddle, were adopted enthusiastically at an immense meeting in the State House yard—then on in a body to the City Tavern, Biddle leading the way and setting a merry pace. Ever and anon he received a frantic plea from Dr. Hutchinson, ‘fat enough to act the character of Falstaff without stuffing,’ to slow up, and with sardonic humor Biddle hurried on. The corpulent doctor reached the hotel in a state of complete exhaustion. But it was worth it. ‘Ça Ira!’ Long live the French Republic and damnation to its foes![791] Then the dinner at O’Eller’s, the finest the city had ever seen, at four dollars a plate, with Genêt thrilling the diners by singing the French fighting song, the audience roaring ‘Ça Ira,’ liberty caps passing around, toasts fervent and fiery. ‘What hugging and rugging!’ grumbled a Philadelphian a quarter of a century later. ‘What addressing and caressing! What mountebanking and chanting with liberty caps and the other wretched trumpery of sans-culotte foolery!’[792] When Genêt called on Jefferson, he was cordially received, but there was a drop in temperature when he presented his credentials to Washington, whose sober and restrained manner seemed cold to the Frenchman after the reception from the people. Worse still, he found portraits of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette in the room. Enough, quite enough, had been done to turn the head of a stronger character than he. But the Philadelphia lady was right—many who hated the Revolution simulated enthusiasm, and one day Knox, Bingham, and other leading Federalists might have been seen going aboard L’Ambascade with Genêt to partake of a fraternal dinner.[793]
VII
Thus the popular protest against neutrality between England and France rose in a crescendo to a scream. Be patient with England? scoffed a Boston writer. What, with the western posts still held, the Indian wars, the impressment of American sailors on the sea?[794] The country’s grievances against the English were mobilized and marched to the accompaniment of hisses. A resident of Pittsburgh wrote an open letter to Washington against neutrality. ‘I doubt much whether it is the disposition of the United States to preserve the condition you enjoin. It may be the disposition of those who draw from funds but from no one else.’[795] Thus encouraged, ‘Veritas’ grasped his pen. ‘I am aware, sir, that some court satellites may have deceived you’—not difficult to impose on a ruler ‘particularly if so much buoyed up by official importance as to think it beneath his dignity to mix occasionally with the people.’[796] Freneau, who began to print a series of satirical poems attacking Washington, sardonically sent two copies of each issue to his desk. The great man fumed, fretted, occasionally burst into rage. ‘Civic’ launched his thunderbolts against ‘incendiaries ... who have lately outraged decency ... by insulting Washington,’[797] and Fenno rushed to the defense with stupid denunciations of all critics as anarchists and traitors. The men in the streets jeered their disapproval.
Thus, the summer of 1793 was one of utter madness. Mechanics were reading the speeches of Mirabeau; clerks were poring over the reports of revolutionary chiefs; college students were finding Paine preferable to Virgil; and even the women were reading, with flushed cheeks, Barlow’s ‘Conspiracy of Kings.’ Others too illiterate to read were stalking the narrow streets like conquerors, jostling the important men of the community with intent, and sneering at the great. Men were equal. The people’s day had dawned. Down the streets swaggered the mob looking for lingering relics of royalty to tear or order down. A medallion enclosing a bas-relief of George III with his crown, on the eastern front of Christ’s Church, caught its eye. Down with it! The church officials did not hesitate, but tore it down. On swept the mob in search of other worlds to conquer. Occasionally the lower element, drinking itself drunk, staggered out of the beer-houses to shout imprecations on a government that would not war on England.