Sarah Knott

Sensibility and the American War for Independence

" Many things have been long operating towards a gradual change in our principles. But this American war has done more in a few years than all the other causes could have effected in a century." Thus wrote Edmund Burke, politician and philosopher, a scant two years after the first shots of the American war rang out at Lexington. In recent years, British historians have been paying close attention to such comments by Burke and his contemporaries. Where once the French Revolution, and its ricochets, was the fin-de-siècle story of transformation, now the years of the American war are the location for all manner of historical change. Approved or disapproved by the future conservative, the changes effected by this war encompassed notions of liberty and authority, patriotism and the nation, representation and the role of the "people" in politics. Most provocatively, and beyond the lofty vision even of Burke, it is argued that the war's disturbing effects extended to the very category of identity itself. ¹	1
This should be music to the ears of American historians concerned that the new paradigm of the "Atlantic world" should play out on both sides of the ocean. After all, in recent years, they too have been putting together a brilliantly expansive political history that goes beyond the "high" to print culture, to political ritual, and to the public sphere. We now know a great deal about the "parlor politics" of government-building, the dynamic tension between burgeoning democracy and elite values, and the "perpetual fetes" and festive parades of political culture.² Yet here is an odd note or perhaps rather a missing movement in the score. The American new political history has attended more to the contested rituals and practices of the young republican nation than to the experience of the war that made that nation possible. (We could almost be forgiven for supposing that armed conflict and bloody battle took place on British not American soil.) Strange omission: this was a long and blood-soaked war—the longest war in American national history until Vietnam. For its duration, it dominated and transformed public life and print culture. It saw the injury or death of many thousands of combatants and civilians, generated conflicts within families and communities, demanded often impossible decisions and loyalties, and made many refugees. As one recent commentator succinctly put it, "For all manner of late eighteenth-century Americans ... the war itself was the most traumatic and perhaps most significant event of their lives."³ So to paraphrase Georges Clemenceau, we might conclude that the war for independence is a matter too important to be left to the military historians. Taking its cue from the execution of British officer John André, and with sustained glances to Britain and to France, this essay investigates the peculiar and powerful place of transatlantic "sensibility" in the American war for independence. It is a military history that explains, in turn, some of the distinctive features of American, French, and British political cultures immediately after that revolutionary war.	2
To listen to the pomp and circumstance of the war in America, one can do no better than begin with a story that generated almost singular attention in 1780: the treason of Benedict Arnold. On the heels of British successes in the South, the disaffected American general conspired to betray and surrender West Point with Henry Clinton's closest aide, Major John André. Returning from a visit to Arnold, André was waylaid and captured by three American militiamen. The ambitious scheme to hand over the key garrison—likely ending the war and bringing glory on both conspirators—was foiled. Arnold fled the American camp and, safe behind British lines, was made brigadier-general. André was left a prisoner of his horrified American enemy. ⁴ As one young Bostonian major wrote home, the story of Arnold and André made the "ears to tingle." Perhaps the hint was broader than strictly necessary: in addition to military orders, letters, and poetry about the treason, his account was immediately given a hearing in the local newspaper. ⁵	3
André had not been traveling under a flag of truce. Given the admission that he had "quitted" his British uniform behind American lines—and was hence in disguise and a spy—he was hanged at Camp Tappan on October 2, 1780. The execution fulfilled the expectation of the American rank and file as well as the dictates of military policy. British reactions to his exploits and execution were predictable: they barely fell short of canonizing the dead officer. (Indeed, in an oddly telling slip, many newspapers and their readers continued to refer to him as "Major St. André," even as corrections abounded.)⁶ Within three days of the news arriving in London, there was a call for a House of Commons motion for a suitable monument in Westminster Abbey. London debating societies asked whether Clinton had been right not to hand over Arnold in exchange; a play performed at Westminster School celebrated their newly famous alumnus in a prologue. British commentators saw in him a "match for classical examples"; his "dauntless fortitude" made him like a "Greek." The Westminster Abbey monument appropriately showed him, following the inscription, "with that fortitude and resolution which had always marked his character ... going, with unshaken spirit, to meet his doom." André entered the history books as what he was widely and relievedly perceived to be: the first British hero of the war.⁷	4
American reactions were predictable, too. Excoriations of Arnold were quick, bitter, and intense. This was "treason of the blackest dye," "Treason! black as hell!" A militiaman noted: "in the Evening [of September 30] a very curious thing representing Arnold, Lucifer, the Spy &c was taken through the Town by a vast Number of respectable Inhabitants." The town was Philadelphia, where Arnold had once been an unpopular governor, and the "very curious thing" was an effigy contrived by local artist Charles Willson Peale. The Devil presided over the treasonous general with a bag of gold in one hand and a pitchfork prodding him into Hell in the other. A long inscription on the front of the cart detailed Arnold's wrongs, but close scrutiny was not required. Peale made large and satirical the visual point: as Quaker diarist Elizabeth Drinker reported, Arnold cut a "ridiculous" figure with "two faces." For many months, at least in the memory of the New Jersey Journal, "the streets of every city and village in the United States ... rung with the crimes of General Arnold."⁸	5
Thus far, thus predictable. André's marble monument endures in its corner of Westminster Abbey; Benedict Arnold's name is still learned with contempt by American schoolchildren. On the paraded cart observed by Philadelphian George Nelson, the "Spy" had been simply a dark and diminutive figure, hanging still, small, and unelaborated. Drinker did not even mention it. But—and here, matters become less predictable and more interesting—American accounts from Camp Tappan did elaborate the figure of André. Indeed, in celebrations of his bravery, British commentators were taking their cue not just from André's risky actions but from his American spectators. André's guard, the twenty-six-year-old New Englander Benjamin Tallmadge, reported: "He met death with a smile, chearfully marching to the place of execution ... I cannot say enough of his fortitude." So they went on: he had "the appearance of Philosophy & Heroism," no "person [met] his fate with more fortitude and equal conduct," "he received his fate with greater fortitude than others saw it"—thus from his Continental army officer witnesses—and then at second hand, he "met death with the courage of a Hero," he "died like a Roman." The admiration was emphatic and empathetic; Henry Lee, scion to a southern family with a distinguished military heritage, wrote to his uncle: "I would rather be Andre than be alike to nine-tenths of the sentimental world." Perhaps the southerner had been standing close by André's guard. For Tallmadge confessed to a Connecticut colonel that he was obliged to leave the field "in a flood of tears" before André died. A second letter added that there was "a tear from almost every spectator."⁹	6
The "compassion of every man of feeling and sentiment." This is how Richard Meade, another youthful officer of higher rank than Tallmadge, articulated the collective weeping to a Virginian congressional delegate. André's execution did not happen "without a tear" on his part, although he "would not have saved him for the world." In correspondence with Nathanael Greene, who had headed the board of officers that condemned André, New Jersey lawyer and public official Charles Pettit deliberated: "The Character, firmness and manly behaviour of [André], lead us for a moment to lose sight of the enemy and the spy, in the tender feelings of humanity and sympathy for a fellow creature."¹⁰ A French officer, the marquis de Lafayette, observed the most moving of all the campground letters on André, written by George Washington's ambitious aide Alexander Hamilton, to be "a masterpiece of literary talents and amiable sensibility." With faint disapproval, radical Thomas Paine agreed: Hamilton was "all elegance and sentiment." In her turn, an army sutler, one Sarah Warren, found his words sympathetically "pathetic."¹¹ A typical British writer—for small wonder that Hamilton's letter was reproduced in loyalist and British as well in patriot newsprint—described it as "rather the elegant eulogium of a warm friend, than the narrative of an enemy."¹²	7
Making friends of declared enemies, displaying Roman courage, stirring American tears: André was indeed a "disruptive and appealing figure."¹³ At least nine other British officers were executed for espionage by the American army during the war, and none other cut such a dash. Indeed, we can remind ourselves that to be hanged should have been ignoble and ignominious as well as final; this was a civilian punishment typically used against the poor and the marginalized, and a military punishment meted out to the rank and file (twenty-five such cases in 1780 within the ranks of the American army alone).¹⁴ In John André's disruptive appeal—in the singular and unpredictable set of reactions articulated at Camp Tappan and then widely produced and reproduced in print culture—are tantalizing clues to one powerful effect of the war in America. They lead us directly to our theme: sensibility.	8
Why was John André so undoubtedly appealing to the wrong side? He was certainly a compelling counter-image to the traitorous Arnold, who, as Linda Colley observes, seemed "repulsive and renegade, the Judas Iscariot of a great revolution." The sheer bravery he performed on the scaffold is one obvious answer. It was courage he insisted on: his officer witnesses recorded the last words, "you will all bear witness that I met my fate like a brave man," "he hoped they would all bear witness that he died a brave man." Another answer is André's conduct during the ten-day confinement between capture and that courageous death. He had disastrously failed to allay the suspicions of his three militia captors, but with his candid disclosure of identity, slight and handsome person, "elevated sentiments," and confiding elocution in confined adversity—"he has unbosomed his heart to me" wrote Tallmadge—he seems thoroughly to have charmed their Continental army superiors. ¹⁵	9
That beguiling charm could sparkle because of a transatlantic ideal of masculine politeness: propriety, elegance of manners, social easiness. In his carefully controlled conduct during imprisonment, André's American witnesses found him the irresistible epitome of polite gentility, even—recalling the well-known aristocratic advocate of polite manners—the "Chesterfield of the day." Tallmadge again: "had he been tried by a Court of ladies," those judges of male mores, "he is so genteel, handsome, polite a young gentleman, that I am confident they would have acquitted him." The night before his death, a pen-and-ink sketch doubly immortalized André's politeness: its subject (a self-portrait) with careful yet easy posture, upright back and half-bent elbow, casually elegant clothes and tied hair, the drawing proof of his mastery of a notably polite accomplishment.¹⁶	10
André's polite charms and insistently heroic end go a long way toward explaining his appeal to enemy officers. But the cool imperatives of politeness and heroism in no way illuminate the particular and peculiar way in which American admiration gave vent: half-hidden, half-declared tears (Tallmadge), "amiable sensibility" (Lafayette on Hamilton), the "compassion of every man of feeling and sentiment" (Meade on the throng). As the military surgeon James Thacher later recalled, "The heart of sensibility mourns when a life of so much worth is sacrificed on a gibbet."¹⁷	11
"The heart of sensibility": given that Philip Carter has told us that by the 1770s the "man of sensibility" embodied the latest modes of gentlemanly refinement in Britain, we might well ask if André himself modeled this "sensibility" to his American audience. Hamilton for one had seen in him something beyond politeness: a "becoming sensibility" manifest in his behavior toward the officers of the military trial and, surely, in the touching tears for his commanding officer, Henry Clinton. What a contrast with Arnold, who, as George Washington observed, "wants feeling." Contemporary British commentators, at least, read André's communications with the American leader—letters that stood out among the published trial proceedings' otherwise terse details of the crossing of lines and the donning of clothes—as "pathetic," "affecting," and "fraught with all the feelings of a man of sentiment."¹⁸ All this suggests that André may indeed have served as a kind of wartime pedagogy of male sensibility to his American audience, that he bewitchingly exemplified that sensibility they should emulate and mourn.	12
But is this explanation enough? Nearly a year after André's death, one tart American critic was suspicious of his supposed merits: a "distinguished American soldier"—undoubtedly Hamilton—had attributed to him virtues "that existed nowhere but in the sympathetic breast of the writer."¹⁹ So perhaps to hand André explanatory power for the declarations of "sensibility" of American officers is to hand him too much. Whether—as Hamilton or later antiquarian admirers fervently believed—André was the epitome of youth cut off in bloom, or—as our 1781 critic and one of his most recent and indignant commentators retort—a wily and manipulative upstart who duped unwitting Americans, to pursue the clues of the André affair we must lift our eyes from the events of Autumn 1780.²⁰ Making fuller sense of American sensibility in the revolutionary war, of Hamilton's already "sympathetic breast," requires a turn to the late colonial cultural context: if the vocabulary and ideals of sensibility had advocates and practitioners in Britain, so, too, did they in the American colonies.	13
" Hast thou no feelings for the miseries of thy fellow-creatures? And art thy incapable of the soft pangs of sympathetic sorrow?" These were the rhetorical questions of an ambitious but impoverished merchant's clerk, perhaps not yet sixteen, addressed to his father and to the readers of the Royal Danish American Gazette in the wake of a Caribbean hurricane. On August 31, 1772, the storm had killed thirty people and swept some ships a hundred yards inland onto St. Croix. The writer's "self-discourse" dwelled over the "sights of woe": "fellow-creatures pale and lifeless," "unhappy mothers," "distress unspeakable." "The scenes of horror exhibited around us, naturally awakened such ideas in every thinking breast ... It were a lamentable insensibility indeed, not to have had such feelings, and I think inconsistent with human nature." Soon after the publication of such precious precociousness, some wealthy island residents clubbed together to send the youth to be educated. Thus Alexander Hamilton found himself on the North American mainland. ²¹	14
In these early effusions of a "sympathetic breast," Hamilton caught a gentler wind blowing in transatlantic print culture. Here, as in so many examples of British sentimental writing imported or reprinted in the Colonies, "sensitive men" wept "over 'interesting' objects, ranging from blasted trees to crippled dogs." "Soft pangs," "such feelings": this seems at first a language of pure emotion. The sensibility whose absence should be lamented captures a phenomenon more complex and peculiarly late eighteenth-century, however—and truly strange to the early twenty-first-century reader. It was strange, or at least elusive, in its own time also: Hannah More's poem on the subject warned, "The subtle essence still eludes the chains/Of Definition, and defeats her pains."²²	15
Samuel Johnson's mid-century dictionary did define sensibility: it was "quickness of sensation" and "quickness of perception." Implied here was a spectrum of meaning from the simple sensations of feeling to the sensory perception from which thought derived. Despite her own warning, More found it "reason's radiant morn." Hamilton observed the "feelings" in "every thinking breast." The terminology extended to "sentiments," which were similarly associated with reasonable refinement. ("Sentimental" had none of the derogatory connotations it carries today.) Sensibility's strangeness was in breaking down—not breaking apart—reason and feeling, mind and body, by means of sensation and perception. In the slippery terminology of the moment, Hamilton was a "sensible" man: one who attended and refined the powerful sensory perceptions served him by the world. His sensibility was a mark of personal distinction.²³	16
In the American colonies, a "culture of sensibility" became the touchstone for a generation of readers before the war for independence, just as it had in Britain. An intellectual genealogy of sensibility finds an older history tied in with theological debates, moral philosophy, scientific and medical discourses, the novel, and even the captivity narrative, but it was this generation that saw sensibility put on the cultural map.²⁴ By the late 1760s, the colonial "Reader of Sensibility" and "the sentimental reader" were addressed in American newspapers and magazines as well as by libraries that circulated European books. A Scottish immigrant bookseller, Robert Bell, boldly called on "sentimentalists" to purchase the books he peddled up and down the urban seaboard. His target? Members of the "middle walk" of life as well as those who occupied "a higher sphere." The culture of "sentimental-mongers" (the apposite term of a poetic tribute to Bell and his clients) reached its edge with the lower-sort: sensibility was absent in the almanacs sold at the bottom of the social scale.²⁵	17
"Sensibility is the cause either of the greatest happiness or misery attending the female sex," wrote "Adelaide" in the London-based Lady's Magazine of 1773. In this literary culture, sensibility could be a particularly female trait. Scholars have associated it especially with women readers and writers, and in the American colonies David Shields has shown it expressed at the tea tables of poets Elizabeth Graeme and Annis Boudinot. The female readers of the Pennsylvania Magazine were offered a homily to sensibility—"one of the most shining virtues," it "expands the mind," it "arouses every tender and humane feeling." Lacking it, "Maria" told them, one "scarcely deserves the name of Woman."²⁶ But as Hamilton knew, it was a quality of "human nature" more than gender, and hence also available to men. Robert Bell knew so, too: the bookplate to his circulating library advertised it to be "where sentimentalists, whether ladies or gentlemen, may become readers."²⁷ For sensibility had a shared physiological basis: novelists like physicians explored how it "connoted the operation of the nervous system, the material basis of consciousness." It was perceptual. When the anatomist at the colonies' first medical school lectured on how sensibility animated man's nervous system, one student was reminded of the descriptions in a best-selling novel, scrawling at the foot of his notes: "Vide Tristram Shandy."²⁸	18
Tristram Shandy's author, Laurence Sterne, was celebrated for having "nerves too fine, that wound e'en while they bless." The literary man of genius was one prototype of the man of sensibility in late eighteenth-century transatlantic culture. A less pathologized prototype was the romantic partner. For if sensibility was a quality of human nature, located in the nervous system that conjoined body and mind, it was—and should be—articulated and refined in marriage. Conjugal intimacy honed sensibility through what James Fordyce, another British writer popular in the Colonies, called the workings of "honorable love." When Hamilton was courting the daughter of the New Jersey governor some five years after arriving in the Middle Colonies, he drew on the popular prescriptions of such sentimental writers with characteristic assurance. Matrimony, he told Catherine Livingston, was "a state, which, with a kind of magnetic force, attracts every breast to it, in which sensibility has a place."²⁹	19
Yet surely sensibility had its limits? In the details of clothing and camps, arms and attacks, discipline and defense, sensibility was conspicuously absent in the military guides for officers briskly churned out by American presses. Nor, for that matter, were the niceties of nervous theory prevalent in medical tracts, concerned rather with gunshot wounds and drunkenness, gangrene and frostbite, typhus and dysentery, and the building of field hospitals and latrines. ³⁰ Given its literary and heterosocial milieu, sensibility seems out of place in the more urgent and ugly homosocial world of a fighting army. As André's execution made only too clear, its refinements did not square easily with the violences of war. Army chaplain Abraham Baldwin spelled this out. The night before André died, the Yale graduate penned an execution sermon that was never read—why, we do not know—which insisted that the "tenderest feelings of the most lively sensibility" must be subservient to the needs of military principle in the defense of the "inalienable rights of man." ³¹ But as they confronted harsh new dilemmas and exigencies, Continental officers embraced rather than eschewed their generational culture. Before and quite apart from the strained peculiarities of André's prompting, they took up the vocabulary of sensibility and the ideal of the man of feeling and pressed them into military service. Sensibility was made part of the experience of war.	20
"This was a Thunder Bolt ... an Electricity that vibrated through every nerve." Thus remarked John Lacey, a Pennsylvanian captain, on receiving a letter from his commanding officer. The news of June 1776? Not a distant victory or defeat, or indeed a treason, but the loss of his company to another officer. "His sensibility was ... deeply wounded by reflecting on the person preferred to him," said the secretary to Congress of the captured and paroled general William Thompson, who had exchanged high words with a delegate in a Philadelphian coffeehouse and insulted Congress, all in fury at the exchange of Governor Franklin for himself. "Though I approve of the Manly Sensibility which governed you on the late Occasion, yet I am sorry that any Accident should have given you this particular Occasion of shewing yourself a man of Spirited Honor." Thus wrote a congressman to John Trumball, a northern deputy adjutant-general who had refused a newly offered commission he believed had been properly made two years before. In all these exchanges, "manly" sensibility was bound to personal rank and honor.³²	21
The cases of Trumball, Thompson, and Lacey all exemplify moments when rank and honor were under threat. (Thompson's obituary later read: "His sensibility, generous and keen, was chiefly wounded by the reflection, that he was precluded from signalizing himself in the defence of his country."³³) The recourse to sensibility was made precisely because of its immediate recognition and resonance; it might be a means of negotiation. Early modern armies, including those that had fought the imperial wars of mid-century, had of course long depended on cultures of male honor and hierarchies of merit, and military rank was a subject especially touchy in the Continental army, where it often bestowed social status (unlike in the British army, where status, rather, bestowed rank). Anthony Wayne understood how new ideals were reworking old ends. The general lent support to the field officers of the Pennsylvania Line who were furious at the conferring of equal rank on men with unequal military experience. "It is not the pay ... attending their Commissions that can Induce Gen'ls of Sentiment and nice feelings of Honor" to serve, Wayne explained to the new president of the Pennsylvania House of Assembly, but "the Letter & Rank alone that can retain them." With an eye to the British and to civilian patriots, he added: "whenever Injured in these tender points we must expect to lose Gen'ls of Spirit & Sensibility—who are the very men we want to render our arms formidable to our Enemy & Respectable to our friends."³⁴	22
Given the late colonial validation of sensibility, male rank and reputation—the bedrock of an army—might now be naturalized and defended in its terms. As Anthony Wayne sought to spell out, the man of merit was the man of sensibility. In response to his careful diplomacy, the Pennsylvania Line field officers unhesitatingly thanked him for the "manly and pathetic address" and "delicate mode of proceeding." That not only generals could make such arguments was shown that same year, when, weighed down with accolades after the storming of Stony Point, Wayne himself became an object of criticism. His recommendation of a number of men to Congress for distinction smacked of "State partiality"—the preferment of Pennsylvanians—to some Connecticut Line officers. Return Meigs wrote: "Our feelings in these matters are exquisite, & are absolutely necessary to us as soldiers." His fellow officer Isaac Sherman rhetorically asked if it was to be "supposed that the officers of the New England line are totally void of sentiment, that those fine and delicate feelings which ever distinguish the generous and manly soul are incapable of making any impression on them"? Perhaps as much as bravery itself, these men made sensibility proof of merit and military distinction.³⁵	23
Such fierce claims to sensibility were not shared by rank-and-file soldiers. They were markedly absent in the petitions of the Pennsylvania Line mutiny of January 1781, for example. They were absent, too, in soldiers' few terse reports of André's execution. (Here, he was the spy "flouncing on a rope.")³⁶ We might have expected this: sensibility would enter almanacs only in the 1790s, well after the war was over. Though sharing with officers a rhetoric of bravery, privates had their own vocabularies for contesting reputation and right action among themselves and toward their officers. Nor was sensibility part of officers' assertion of authority over these soldiers. As a generation of social historians have shown, violent discipline fulfilled that role. That soldiers were, indeed, ideally "insensible" was made unusually explicit by Alexander Hamilton: "Let the officers be men of sense and sentiment, and the nearer the soldiers approach to machines perhaps the better." Rather than an imperious show to social inferiors, sensibility was an elitist tool of competition and peer display.³⁷ And if the primary audience for this vocabulary was each other, officers were concerned as well with "the enemy" and "friends" invoked by Wayne, and with the judge of posterity in the public sphere. What, New England officer Isaac Sherman asked rhetorically, could be a greater inducement to military glory for a "man of feeling" than "the happiness of his country, a desire for the grateful applause of his fellow citizens, and of transmitting his name in an amiable point of view to the world"? We might add, did these not seem the motivations of the tragic André?³⁸	24
Far from being in tension with militarism, then, it seems sensibility could facilitate it. Before and after 1780, American officers used sensibility as a means of proving personal distinction in social competition. But what of cohesion? This was, of course, a social group only called into existence by the beginnings of the war effort. This novelty lent a rawness to officers' need for fraternalism that was perhaps unfelt in the traditional professional ranks of British officers. It was a need unfulfilled by existing forms of clubbability such as the polite rituals of Freemasonry or the wine and company of the tavern, and uncatered for by army chaplains, who focused mainly on the soldiery.³⁹	25
Even as officers articulated sensibility in the defense of personal honor, rank, and reputation, the same vocabulary proved a—not always easy—means of expressing brotherly friendship. Where men had been encouraged to articulate sensibility in marriage, here they articulated it in homosocial relations. Nathanael Greene, for one, wrote to his wife of the "secret relief" and "mutual sympathy" he enjoyed with a fellow officer from Connecticut on sharing some bad family news. The younger officer Ephraim Douglas opened a letter to the general James Irvine: "To assert that I feel as sensibly whatever affects your health as you do were too extravagant to gain belief." But he continued: "that I feel whatever the sympathetic heart of a sincere friend can suffer from the distresses of one to whom it is powerfully attached I will not hesitate to assert, and much blush to own." In intimate male relations, the expression of sensibility and a distancing discomfort—Greene's gesture to secrecy and Douglas's blush—required revelation together. Their hesitancy and ambivalence underscore the novelty of making sensibility, rather than the play of wit or wine bottle, a form of homosocial bond. Missing his good friend John Laurens (the archetypal man of feeling, according to his latest biographer Gregory Massey), Hamilton was half-teasing when he upbraided: "You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent." André had done so, too.⁴⁰	26
As Gregory Massey aptly notes, such fraternal sentimental attachments tended to marginalize women, restricting them to a spectatorial role of urging men on to greater public accomplishment. A young Quaker woman, Elizabeth Coleman, was left reassuring her less than pacifist lover that military service "shewd the higth of sensibility," for who could sit by and "veiw their country invad'd every thing near & dear to them, claimed"? To rework Hamilton's courting words, we might say that fraternal military service was now the state that attracted "every breast to it, in which sensibility had a place"; Catherine Livingston's role was to be an audience to male virtue exercised elsewhere.⁴¹	27
Most powerful of all the wartime uses of sensibility was in envisaging the officer corps, and by abstracted extension the army, as a fraternal social body. The Continentals' most senior officers drew on sensibility to imagine the army's unity, effacing and replacing some of its competitive elitism with a more cohesive rhetoric. Robert Howe's final address to his troops pictured an army bound together by sensibility. The North Carolinian general discoursed that, while the moment of separation was welcome to him as a patriot, "yet to his feelings as a man, it is an awful point of time." In the army, he elaborated, "sympathies have been excited, affections impressed, and friendships established in his mind which time, absence, or accident shall never wipe away." The closing sentence of the speech called on "those of similar feelings to imagine" his anxiety, his "sensibility upon this occasion" being "too big for utterance." Such "sensible" fraternalism was the pattern for Washington's widely reprinted leave-taking of the principal officers of the army at the very end of the war. Washington's words "produced extreme sensibility on both sides," held one typical newspaper report; "they were answered by warm expressions, and fervent wishes, from the gentlemen of the army." With literary convention but perhaps some disingenuousness, the writer added that the officers' "truly pathetic feelings [are] not in our power to convey to the reader." By the time these men were dispersing to their home states after a long war, readers as much as officers were surely well versed in such declarations of military sensibility.⁴²	28
In the 1760s and early 1770s, Britons and British Americans of a certain social status had shared a literary and heterosocial culture of sensibility. We have seen that, when non-importation temporarily stilled the transatlantic conduits of sensibility, and just as Americans were making the transition from a British to an American, from a colonial to a national context, the military experience of the war for independence generated highly visible uses of sensibility that were militarized and profoundly homosocial. With almost singular and painful paradox, these were uses that, for American officers assembled together on an early October day, might make John André exquisitely like themselves.	29
The war effected changes in the American culture of sensibility; it also bifurcated British and American trajectories. Returning, for the final time, to André reveals a suggestive contrast. For on the British side, the figure of André the man of feeling was strikingly demilitarized; commentators were most interested in the literary André revealed by his "inimitable" but much reprinted letters. Such was the fulsome response of "Philanthropist" to their publication in one London daily: "With a sympathetic Pang we behold in these Letters a truly sentimental and honorable Soul, that will live in the Hearts of Men of Feeling and Spirit as long as Time exists." The Monody on Major André by Anna Seward, whiggish poet and his one-time friend, shrewdly appended a series of his pre-war letters. (One reviewer dedicated as much column space to them as to the poetic work itself.) André's status as a sentimental man of letters quickly became such that the reviewer of his poem "The Cow-Chace," which had passed muster in the Gentleman's Magazine a few years earlier as a satire, was dismissed as lacking his "elegance of mind" and "liberality of sentiment." It was unattributable to him.⁴³	30
If restrained to the literary, so, too, the British representation of André situated his sensibility in distinctly heterosocial company. When Seward made André—to use the words of her most recent critic—"the perfect sentimental hero," she drew him fleeing to war from a cruelly thwarted romantic engagement with Honora Sneyd, a member of her Lichfield literary circle. Upon capture, André hid the miniature of this beloved in his mouth. (The biographical detail that the putative romance had in fact been long over, and Sneyd married elsewhere, seemingly mattered little.) A London newspaper printed an alternative story of romance between André and a newly widowed New York loyalist who "had too much affection for the deceased to encourage his attachment, and yet too much sensibility to disdain or disregard [André's] perfections."⁴⁴	31
What are we make to make of this? A few years earlier, General John Burgoyne had returned to London in disgrace after surrendering at Saratoga, and was hauled before Parliament. In speeches and in his desperate publication of the parliamentary committee's work, he seized not on traditional modes of representing military calamity but on the language of sensibility. He dwelled, for example, on the funeral of Simon Fraser, brigadier-general and his close friend, whose battlefield burial was held under American artillery fire, with "mute but expressive mixture of sensibility and indignation upon every countenance." This attempt to restore a much-pilloried reputation was helped by a generous and convenient letter from George Washington, which he was also careful to publish: "abstracted from considerations of national advantage," the American leader sympathized with his "painful sensibility for a reputation exposed where he most values it to the assaults of malice and detraction." But Burgoyne's efforts fell on noticeably deaf ears. Calumnied and despondent, he felt forced to resign all his appointments, an utter humiliation.⁴⁵ We know that there was some precedent for such British militarization of sensibility: for many conduct writers, James Wolfe, martyred hero of the successful Seven Years' War, exemplified courage together with sentimental refinement.⁴⁶ But in the context of impending, then realized, imperial defeat at least, it seems from the failed attempts of Burgoyne to be exonerated as a man of feeling and from the demilitarization of the man of feeling John André that the link of fraternity, militarism, and sensibility so forcefully forged on the American side could not be countenanced in Britain.	32
These bifurcations did not end with the close of hostilities. Though positing no relationship to the war, critics agree that in Britain the culture of sensibility was facing unprecedented criticism, even entering crisis later that same decade. Sentimental fiction, we are told, was "bombarded with criticism and ridicule," a spate of criticism that "crested in the late 1780s." Henry Mackenzie's 1785 essay on the novel was singularly censorious of "that species called the Sentimental." Symptoms of the conflict and controversy can be traced in new fiction titles that minced no words: The Curse of Sentiment (1787), Excessive Sensibility (1787), The Illusions of Sentiment (1788). From all sides, sensibility was shadowed with delusion and degeneracy, effeminacy and excess.⁴⁷ By the 1790s, John Brewer summarizes, the criticism of sensibility had "become a vociferous challenge to the very idea itself ... as effeminate, vicious and foreign." Edmund Burke was perhaps not as attuned to all the changes following the war as he believed: allies' criticism of the chivalric male "sensibility" of his paean to Marie-Antoinette, queen of France, as "pure foppery" left him stunned and stung.⁴⁸	33
What a contrast to the uses of sensibility on the other side of the Atlantic. For as elite colonial Britons became American nationals, they deployed sensibility with confidence and national purpose. A poetic contribution to one of the first nationalist magazines, the Columbian Magazine, lauded "sweet sensibility" as the "moral polish of the feeling heart." "The best dispositions usually have the most sensibility," affirmed an article in the American Museum. In the making of their new imagined community, as David Waldstreicher has deftly shown, "members of the upper classes staged impressive displays of patriotic sensibility" on the street and in taverns and salons, banquet halls and pleasure gardens. In the 1780s, respectable Americans drew on sensibility as the basis for "a new style of virtue" and "the cult of the nation." Thus it forms part of the new political history of the early republic.⁴⁹ That American moral and national imaginings took this particular form among the elite, and that they did so despite the British heritage of sensibility, and in striking contrast to its discrediting in Britain—effeminate, excessive, vicious—is best explained in terms of the recent war: the importance of military history. Elite militarism had facilitated notions of sensibility so powerful and culturally successful, and so widely visible in wartime print culture, that they became part of the very core of American nation-building. Sensibility had created the Continental band of brothers, its means of cohesion, its modes of distinction, and now it was used in the elite attempt to make a new nation of republican citizens: harmonious but far from democratic. The process was only aided by the centrality of the war in American self-fashioning and public memory of the revolution. (For the first generation at least, it was officers—not the soldiery, not even John Paulding, Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams, distinguished for capturing André—who represented that memory.) By 1787, when the confederation debates began, the social and political merits of the "man of sensibility" could serve as argument for the "sentimental political union" of United States federalism.⁵⁰ No slur of effeminacy or the foreign here.	34
The cultural and political uses of sensibility in the early republic warrant fuller study. It bears observing here, however, that the use of sensibility by elite cultural nationalists fell especially on men. In the new magazines that are one of our best guides to their nationalist agenda, marriage certainly remained the heterosocial site for sensibility's cultivation; the "insensible" bachelor (if less his counterpart, the spinster) became a figure of intentional, and politicized, fun. But the prescription fell as squarely on respectable men acting in homosocial institutions: to take a singular example, Benjamin Rush, physician and one-time surgeon in the Continental army, told members of the American Philosophical Society that they should "keep sensibility alive, by a familiarity with scenes of distress from poverty and disease" in benevolent organizations; sensibility was "the avenue to the moral faculty." To the Society for Promoting Political Enquiries and the readers of the American Museum, he repeated that sensibility was the "centinel to the moral faculty."⁵¹	35
If, in the wake of the war, men like Rush and the editors and contributors of nationalist magazines sought to make manly sensibility a basis for citizenship, moral virtue, and the American nation, it is no surprise that very quickly in turn sensibility would become one of the main terrains on which the dispossessed and excluded—especially women but also the enslaved—made their claims for better status and fuller participation in society and nation. It was contestable terrain: sensibility was, as the youthful Hamilton had written, a sign of human nature. (Rush's response, as he developed a medical theory tailored to "the present state of society and manners," would be to essentialize female sensibility as originally distinct and inferior and necessarily limited in reach.)⁵² The elitist and homosocial legacy of sensibility in a war both traumatic and life-defining for its participants would be powerful. As sensibility transmuted into sentimentalism—the term was coined only in the nineteenth century—the struggle would play out in feminism, abolition, and elsewhere.⁵³	36
William Hill Brown's book The Power of Sympathy, judged the first American sentimental novel, was published in 1789 to coincide with the inauguration of Washington as president. This is the late moment at which literary scholarship of American sensibility has traditionally begun, hence June Howard's call for critics to take the "long, broad view of American sentimentality."⁵⁴ The disruptive appeal of John André; the uses to which American officers, inheritors of a transatlantic British culture of sensibility, pressed it under military exigency; the taking of the army as a model for the nation; and the deployment of sensibility to distinctively American nation-building ends; these histories make the new political history more consequent on the war, and they suggest a length and breadth that makes sensibility part of military history as much as and inseparable from that of the new domestic literature.	37
In the late summer and autumn of 1782, another young British officer sat in an American jail awaiting execution. He had been chosen by lot to stand in for the murderer of a Continental officer, hidden behind British lines. This was Charles Asgill, again well-born, again "quite a Youth," with his fate in Washington's hands. The parallels to André were only too apparent; according to one indignant British officer, he might even be executed "on the same Spot where Major Andre suffered." ⁵⁵ Alexander Hamilton knew his own mind: the "death of André could not be dispensed with," but this late sacrifice to retaliation would be "derogatory to the national character." Where, in 1780, Washington had handed a board of officers the decision to execute the British officer, in 1782 he handed the decision to the Continental Congress. The telling moment for our purposes and for resolution of the case came with letters from the comte de Vergennes (the French foreign affairs minister), the French crown, and Asgill's mother. Read aloud before the assembled delegates in Philadelphia, Vergennes' letter appealed for Asgill's release: "as a man of sensibility," he offered his "earnest sollicitations in favor of a mother and a family in Tears" and on behalf of the French monarchy. ⁵⁶	38
How was such a call to sensibility heard? Given their administration of the army, these wartime delegates were more than accustomed to claims of sensibility. In public office, they rarely claimed it for themselves. Typically working via consensus, members of Congress had far less fraught or frequent competition over honor than army officers. Distanced from the physical demands of war, subject to high turnover and irregular attendance, moreover, members of Congress similarly showed little impulse to "sensible" fraternalism. But Vergennes had chosen his words with all the canny art of a diplomat. With nerve-laden vocabulary, the New Jersey delegate recalled their effect as instant. The letters "operated like an electrical Shock." The request of the French court combined with two powerful factors: caution at memory of the disruptive appeal of André and a beckoning imperative to national sensibility. On the cusp of the ending of the war and the securing of American nationhood, Congress's decision was almost inexorable and certainly convenient: Asgill was freed.⁵⁷	39
The echoes of the Asgill case, and of the wartime story told here, were also heard in France. Baron de Grimm wrote to Denis Diderot that Asgill had become of "general interest." In Paris, John Adams caught the prevailing mood well: his release was "an exquisite relief to my feelings." The British officer became the subject of a sentimental novel, poems, and at least two plays. The drama Asgill had Washington thanking the comte de Rochambeau for his country's aid toward British defeat; in their newfound "unclouded felicity," American inhabitants would not think of it "without shedding tears of sensibility." Edme Billardon de Sauvigny's dramatization of the Asgill affair, thinly reset as Abdir, was of similar tone. The radical philosophe Condorcet wryly wondered why the right to the city of New Haven, given to several French friends of the United States in the same year as its publication, had not also been extended to this cavalry officer turned playwright.⁵⁸	40
The vocabulary of Vergennes and the Asgill dramas would have been familiar to French audiences. France, too, had its late eighteenth-century culture of sensibility. It was somewhat distinctive from the Anglo version: longer rooted in literature but perhaps more shallowly rooted in society, more secular and materialist, associated with the philosophes and salonnières and especially with Jean-Jacques Rousseau and his cult at Ermenonville.⁵⁹ (Of course, Rousseau was known in Britain and its colonies, too; James Rivington's advertisement for The New Eloisa promised readers in late colonial New York and Philadelphia that the expressions of Julie and St. Preux were such as only "men of no sensibility" could despise, while leisured British literary types flocked to Ermenonville in droves.) It might even be found in the barracks: after a second lieutenant named Napoleon Bonaparte received his commission from the French army in 1785, he used his free time to sketch out a sentimental novel.⁶⁰	41
Scholars are now exploring what in 1930 André Monglond identified as a "universelle explosion de sensibilité" in the early years of the French Revolution. Sensibility was "an available language [that] became part of the play of the revolutionaries," at least, commentators agree, to 1794 and the Terror. As Suzanne Desan most recently argues, sensibility "tied the individual citizen to the social and the bien public," distancing him from the artifice and corruption of the Old Regime. This claim, part of an argument about the revolution's reconstitution of the family and politics, bases male sensibility in intimate relations with women. One clerical proponent of marriage appealed: "The hardening of the heart is an almost inevitable effect of celibacy, and the supernatural graces of religion ... cannot replace this active and profound sensibilité, that is poured in our hearts by natural means." Desan suggestively adds that fraternity, the least studied of the French tripartite slogan of revolution, found roots, too, in this sensibility.⁶¹	42
"I date the French Revolution from the moment when M. de la Fayette in heroic flight rushed forth from our ports," declared the French publicist Cerutti in an open letter of 1789. A similar opinion was voiced in the United States: "foremost" in French opposition to despotism and in defense of rights was "a Fayette." The latest analyst of the "sister revolutions" of America and France writes into a long tradition in opening her narrative with Lafayette and his French Continental army confreres returning across the Atlantic.⁶² These liberal noblemen had witnessed and participated in the uses of sensibility in the American war (Lafayette's celebration of Hamilton's "amiable sensibility" being the obvious example. He, too, had found André a "charming" and disruptive figure: "I had the foolishness to let myself acquire a true affection for him.") They made, as Simon Schama has identified, a "sentimental personality cult" around George Washington, wrote celebratory and widely popular accounts of the American war and the new nation, and were celebrated in turn. In the extraordinary contestation of the French Revolution—a revolution that was also a war—they had a heady early influence.⁶³	43
The transnational history of sensibility and the American war for independence can, then, be triangulated. The Rousseauist idea that moral sensibility made man into a political citizen capable of reading the general will seems distinctive to the French case. So, too, does the extraordinary extent to which sensibility permeated formal political discourse: in the National Assembly, in the Convention debates during the trial of the king, in the speeches of Maximilien Robespierre. The joining of sensibility and fraternalism and their use in nation-building is less distinctive; the French revolutionaries were responding to similar dilemmas with similar ends. The fascination with figures such as Asgill and Washington, the American example, and the brief influence of Lafayette and his military brothers in the early years of the revolution, suggest that the American war may have spun trajectories of sensibility in French revolutionary political culture just as new modes of fraternity, citizenship, and nation were in formation.	44
I am grateful to David A. Bell, John Bodnar, Philip Carter, Andrew Cayton, Norma Clarke, Kate Davies, Suzanne Desan, Konstantin Dierks, John Murrin, Alexandra Shepard, Fredrika Teute, Peter Thompson, Dror Wahrman, and the anonymous readers for comments on earlier versions. Sarah Knott is an assistant professor of history at Indiana University. Her interests are in the eighteenth-century Atlantic world, especially the British mainland colonies and young United States. She is currently writing a book on the history of sensibility in revolutionary America. Women, Gender and Enlightenment, the fruit of the international collaborative project "Feminism and Enlightenment, 1650–1850: A Comparative History," is co-edited with Barbara Taylor and is forthcoming from Palgrave. Notes ¹� Edmund Burke, quoted in Dror Wahrman, "The English Problem of Identity in the American Revolution,"AHR 106 (October 2001): 1257; Stephen Conway, The British Isles and the American War for Independence (Oxford, 2000); Elijah H. Gould, The Persistence of Empire: British Political Culture in the Age of the American Revolution (Chapel Hill, N.C., 2000); Kathleen Wilson, The Sense of the People: Politics, Culture and Imperialism in England, 1715–1785 (Cambridge, 1995); Linda Colley, Britons: Forging the Nation, 1707–1837 (New Haven, Conn., 1992). ²� See especially Joanne B. Freeman, Affairs of Honor: National Politics in the New Republic (New Haven, Conn., 2002); Susan Branson, These Fiery Frenchified Dames: Women and Political Culture in Early National Philadelphia (Philadelphia, 2001); Catherine Allgor, Parlor Politics: In Which the Ladies of Washington Help Build a City and a Government (Charlottesville, Va., 2000); David Waldstreicher, In the Midst of Perpetual Fetes: The Making of American Nationalism, 1776–1820 (Chapel Hill, N.C., 1997); Simon P. Newman, Parades and the Politics of the Street: Festive Culture in the Early American Republic (Philadelphia, 1997); Len Travers, Celebrating the Fourth: Independence Day and the Rites of Nationalism in the Early Republic (Amherst, Mass., 1997). ³� Simon P. Newman, "Writing the History of the American Revolution," in Melvyn Stokes, ed., The State of U.S. History (London, 2002), 30–31; and see E. Wayne Carp, To Starve the Army at Pleasure: Continental Army Administration and American Political Culture, 1775–1783 (Chapel Hill, N.C., 1984), xi. The still outstanding historian of the war, on whose work this article builds, is Charles Royster, A Revolutionary People at War: The Continental Army and the American Character, 1775–1783 (Chapel Hill, 1979). ⁴� Accounts of events and their interpretation include Michael Meranze, "Major André's Exhumation," in Nancy Isenberg and Andrew Burstein, eds., Mortal Remains: Death in Early America (Philadelphia, 2003), 123–35; Linda Colley, Captives (London, 2002), 203–08; Judith Van Buskirk, Generous Enemies: Patriots and Loyalists in Revolutionary New York (Philadelphia, 2002), 90–105; Caleb Crain, American Sympathy: Men, Friendship, and Literature in the New Nation (New Haven, Conn., 2001), 1–15; Andy Trees, "Benedict Arnold, John André, and His Three Yeoman Captors: A Sentimental Journey of American Virtue Defined," Early American Literature 35 (2000): 246–73; Robert E. Cray, Jr., "Major John André and the Three Captors: Class Dynamics and Revolutionary Memory Wars in the Early Republic, 1780–1831," Journal of the Early Republic 17 (1997): 371–97; Clare Brandt, The Man in the Mirror: A Life of Benedict Arnold (New York, 1994); Larry J. Reynolds, "Patriots and Criminals, Criminals and Patriots: Representations of the Case of Major André," South Central Review 9 (1992): 57–84; Robert McConnell Hatch, Major John André: A Gallant in Spy's Clothing (Boston, 1986); Charles Royster, "'The Nature of Treason': Revolutionary Virtue and American Reactions to Benedict Arnold,"William and Mary Quarterly 36 (1979): 163–93; Kenneth Silverman, A Cultural History of the American Revolution (New York, 1976), 377–82; Robert D. Arner, "The Death of Major André: Some Eighteenth Century Views," Early American Literature 11 (1976): 52–67; J. E. Morpurgo, Treason at West Point: The Arnold-André Conspiracy (New York, 1975); James Thomas Flexner, The Traitor and the Spy: Benedict Arnold and John André (New York, 1953). ⁵� Samuel Shaw to John Eliot, September 27, 1780, in Josiah Quincy, ed., The Journals of Major Samuel Shaw, the First American Consul at Canton, with a Life of the Author (Boston, 1847), 77; Continental Journal, October 12, 1780. See also October 5, October 19, October 26, November 30, and December 8, 1780. ⁶� Emphasis added. See, for example, Thomas Digges to Benjamin Franklin, November 13, 1780, in Leonard W. Labaree, et al., eds., The Papers of Benjamin Franklin (New Haven, Conn., 1959– ), 33: 528; London Chronicle, November 11–14, 1780; Morning Herald and Daily Advertiser, November 14, 1780, and November 18, 1780; British Mercury and Evening Advertiser, November 17, 1780, and November 23, 1780; journal entry, November 13, 1780, A. Francis Stuart, ed., The Last Journals of Horace Walpole during the Reign of George III, 2 vols. (London, 1910), 2: 334–35. ⁷�British Mercury and Evening Advertiser, November 17, 1780; Donna T. Andrew, comp., London Debating Societies, 1776–1799 (London, 1994), 116; Public Advertiser, December 15, 1780; Morning Herald, December 15, 1780; Public Advertiser, December 25, 1780; Scots Magazine 42 (1780): 608; Morning Herald, November 18, 1780; Gentleman's Magazine 52 (1782): 514; Charles Henry Arnold, The New and Impartial Universal History of North and South America (London, [1782]), 248–53; Edward Barnard, The New, Comprehensive and Complete History of England (London, [1783]), 694. ⁸� "General Greene's Orders," September 26, 1780, in R. K. Showman, ed., The Papers of General Nathanael Greene, 10 vols. (Chapel Hill, N.C., 1976– ), 6: 314; Alexander Scammell to Nathaniel Peabody, October 3, 1780, in Henry B. Dawson, ed., Papers Concerning the Capture and Detention of Major John André (Yonkers, N.Y., 1866), 66. Historical Society of Pennsylvania, Diary of George Nelson, September 30, 1780; diary entry, October 4, 1780, in Elaine Forman Crane, ed., The Diary of Elizabeth Drinker, 3 vols. (Boston, 1991), 1: 376. On the Philadelphian parades, also see Pennsylvania Packet, October 3, 1780; Pennsylvania Journal, October 4, 1780; Samuel Adams to Elizabeth Adams, October 10, 1780, in Harry Alonzo Cushing, ed., The Writings of Samuel Adams, 4 vols. (New York, 1904–08), 4: 209; A Representation of the Figures Exhibited and Paraded through the Streets of Philadelphia, on Saturday, the 30th September 1780 (Philadelphia, 1780); Americanischer Haus- und Wirthschafts-Calendar Auf das 1781ste Jahr Christi (Philadelphia, 1780), woodcut rpt. in Lillian B. Miller, ed., The Selected Papers of Charles Willson Peale and His Family, 5 vols. (New Haven, Conn., 1983– ) 1: 354; Continental Almanac ... for 1781 (Philadelphia, 1780). New Jersey Journal, November 21, 1781, quoted in Royster, Revolutionary People at War, 292. ⁹� Benjamin Tallmadge to Colonel Wadsworth, October 4, 1780, in Worthington C. Ford, ed., Correspondence and Journals of Samuel Blachley Webb, 2 vols. (New York, 1969), 2: 293; Joel Barlow to Ruth Baldwin, October 2, 1780, quoted in Silverman, Cultural History of the American Revolution, 380; anonymous account, October 2, 1780, in Pennsylvania Packet, October 10, 1780, also printed in Pennsylvania Gazette, October 11, 1780, New Jersey Gazette, October 18, 1780, and Continental Journal, October 26, 1780; William B. Weeden, ed., "Diary of Enos Hitchcock, D.D., a Chaplain in the Revolutionary Army [1777–1780]," Rhode Island Historical Society Publications 7 (1899): 227–28; "Extracts from the Letter-Books of Lieutenant Enos Reeves," Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography 29 (1896): 314; Thomas Paine to Nathanael Greene, October 17, 1780, in Showman, Papers of General Nathanael Greene, 6: 404; Henry Lee, Jr., to Thomas Sim Lee, October 4, 1780, in Major Henry Lee, "Capture of Major Andre," Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography 4 (1880): 65; Tallmadge to Wadsworth, October 4, 1780, in Ford, Correspondence and Journals of Samuel Blachley Webb, 2: 294; Tallmadge to William Heath, October 10, 1780, in Dawson, Papers Concerning André, 195. ¹⁰� Richard K. Meade to Theodorick Bland, Jr., October 3, 1780, in Dawson, Papers Concerning André, 108; Charles Pettit to Nathanael Greene, October 10, 1780, in Showman, Papers of General Nathanael Greene, 6: 366. ¹¹� Lafayette, quoted in Winthrop Sargent, The Life and Career of Major John André (Boston, 1861), 348; Thomas Paine to Nathanael Greene, October 17, 1780, in Showman, Papers of General Nathanael Greene, 6: 404; Providence Gazette, November 29, 1780 (extracting New Jersey Journal). For the letter itelf, see Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, October 11, 1780, in Harold C. Syrett, et al., eds., The Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 27 vols. (New York, 1961–87), 2: 460–70. Syrett suggests that the numbers on the manuscript copy were for publication in 1802, but they in fact refer to how the letter was reordered in preparation for immediate newspaper printing. Patriot papers printed the letter anonymously: Pennsylvania Packet, October 14, 1780; Pennsylvania Post, October 14, 1780, and October 20, 1780; Pennsylvania Journal, October 18, 1780; Pennsylvania Gazette, October 25, 1780; Providence Gazette and Monthly Journal, November 29, 1780, and December 6, 1780. See also the response of Philadelphian loyalist Anna Rawle: Historical Society of Pennsylvania, Shoemaker Papers, Rawle to Rebecca Shoemaker, October 28, 1780. ¹²� In loyalist New York, Rivington's Royal Gazette, November 8, 1780, extracted the published letter and attributed it to Hamilton. In British print culture, see Annual Register 24 (1781): 37–50, quotation on 40; Political Magazine and Parliamentary Naval, Military, and Literary Journal 2 (1782): 172–73. ¹³� Crain, American Sympathy, 5. ¹⁴� Holly A. Mayer, Belonging to the Army: Camp Followers and Community during the American Revolution (Columbia, S.C., 1996), 38–39; Sargent, Life and Career of John André, 355; Louis P. Masur, Rites of Execution: Capital Punishment and the Transformation of American Culture, 1776–1865 (New York, 1989); V. A. C. Gatrell, The Hanging Tree: Execution and the English People 1770–1868 (Oxford, 1994), esp. 6–8; Charles Patrick Neimeyer, America Goes to War: A Social History of the Continental Army (New York, 1996), esp. 144. ¹⁵� Colley, Captives, 205; and see Trees, "Benedict Arnold, John André and the Three Captors." Diary entry, October 2, 1780, in Weeden, "Diary of Enos Hitchcock," 227–28; Enos Reeves to anonymous, October 20, 1780, in "Extracts from the Letter-Books of Lieutenant Enos Reeves," 314. Similar statements about André's last words are echoed in almost all reports. Benjamin Tallmadge to Samuel Blachley Webb, September 30, 1780, in Ford, Correspondence and Journals of Samuel Blachley Webb, 2: 293. ¹⁶� Anonymous account published in 1780, in Charles J. Biddle, "The Case of Major André: With a Review of the Statement of It in Lord Mahon's History of England," Memoirs of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania 6 (1858): 372; Tallmadge to Webb, September 30, 1780, in Ford, Correspondence and Journals of Samuel Blachley Webb, 2: 293–94. British accounts concurred, adding good birth to these polite merits: British Mercury, December 2, 1780; Political Magazine 1 (1780): 688; Public Advertiser, January 9, 1781; Political Magazine 2 (1781): 171. André's sketch is reproduced in Stanley J. Idzerda, ed., Lafayette in the Age of the American Revolution: Selected Letters and Papers, 1776–1790, 5 vols. (Ithaca, N.Y., 1977–83), 3: 183. On politeness as a masculine ideal in Britain, see Philip Carter, Men and the Emergence of Polite Society, Britain 1660–1800 (London, 2001). In America, see David S. Shields, Civil Tongues and Polite Letters in British America (Chapel Hill, N.C., 1997); Steven C. Bullock, Revolutionary Brotherhood: Freemasonry and the Transformation of the American Social Order, 1730–1840 (Chapel Hill, 1996), esp. 34–35, 66; Richard Bushman, Refinement in America: Persons, Houses, Cities (New York, 1993), esp. chaps. 2–3. ¹⁷� Diary entry, October 2, 1780 (published much later), James Thacher, A Military Journal during the American Revolutionary War, from 1775 to 1783, Describing Interesting Events and Transactions of This Period, with Numerous Historical Facts and Anecdotes, from the Original Manuscript (Boston, 1823), 275. ¹⁸� Carter, Men and the Emergence of Polite Society, 89; Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, October 11, 1780, in Syrett, Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 2: 466–67. Also see diary entry, October 2, 1780, in Thacher, Military Journal, 272. George Washington to John Laurens, October 13, 1780, in John C. Fitzpatrick, ed., The Writings of George Washington, 39 vols. (Washington, D.C., 1931–44), 20: 173. For the trial proceedings, see Proceedings of a Board of General Officers, Held by Order of His Excellency Gen. Washington ... Respecting Major John André, Adjutant General of the British Army, September 29, 1780 (Philadelphia, 1780), which was cheaply reprinted in New York, Fish-Kill, Hartford, Norwich, and Providence. The letters were extracted also in the Pennsylvania Evening Post, October 24, 1780, and October 28, 1780; the loyalist New York Gazette, November 6, 1780; and the English Gentleman's Magazine 50 (1780): 610–16. For explicit British reaction, see Reading Mercury, November 20, 1780; Annual Register 24 (1781): 45. ¹⁹�Pennsylvania Packet, September 6, 1781. ²⁰� For antiquarian admiration, see Sargent, Life and Career of Major John André; William Abbatt, The Crisis of the Revolution, Being the Story of Arnold and André (New York, 1899). For recent skepticism, see John Evangelist Walsh, The Execution of Major André (New York, 2001). ²¹�Royal Danish American Gazette, October 3, 1772, in Syrett, Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 1: 35–37; Mary-Jo Kline, ed., Alexander Hamilton: A Biography in His Own Words (New York, 1973), 23. ²²� Claudia Johnson, Equivocal Beings: Politics, Gender and Sentimentality in the 1790s (Chicago, 1995), 5; Hannah More, "Sensibility," in Caroline Franklin, ed., Hannah More: Poems (London, 1996), 179. ²³� "Sensibility," "sensible," Samuel Johnson, A Dictionary of the English Language, 2 vols. (London, 1755); More, "Sensibility," 180. For a more detailed word history of these complex terms, see especially Eric Erametsa, A Study of the Word "Sentimental" and of Other Linguistic Characteristics of the Eighteenth-Century Sentimentalism in English Literature (Helsinki, 1951). The analysis of sensibility here is thus more historically specific than the historiographical association with emotion heralded by Lucien Febvre, "Sensibility and History: How to Reconstitute the Emotional Life of the Past," in Peter Burke, ed., A New Kind of History: From the Writings of Febvre, K. Folca, trans. (London, 1973), 12–26. ²⁴� The term "culture of sensibility" is from G. J. Baker-Benfield, The Culture of Sensibility: Sex and Society in Eighteenth-Century Britain (Chicago, 1992). Other important accounts of sensibility in Britain include Paul Langford, A Polite and Commercial People: England 1727–1783 (Oxford, 1989), chap. 10; John Mullan, Sentiment and Sociability: The Language of Feeling in the Eighteenth Century (Oxford, 1988); John Dwyer, Virtuous Discourse: Sensibility and Community in Late Eighteenth-Century Scotland (Edinburgh, 1987); Janet Todd, Sensibility: An Introduction (New York, 1986). An elegant synopsis of the multifold histories in which sensibility plays a part is Markman Ellis, The Politics of Sensibility: Race, Gender and Commerce in the Sentimental Novel (Cambridge, 1996), 9–48. ²⁵�Pennsylvania Gazette, June 17, 1762; Pennsylvania Packet, November 11, 1771. Also see Robert Mein's advertisement in Massachusetts Gazette, October 31, 1765. For Bell, see, for example, Pennsylvania Chronicle, April 26–May 3, 1773; Pennsylvania Gazette, May 3, 1773; Jewels and Diamonds for Sentimentalists (Philadelphia, 1778); Proposals, Addressed to Those Who Possess a Public Spirit (Philadelphia, 1771). The anonymous poetic tribute features in The Philadelphiad; or, New Pictures of the City, 2 vols. (Philadelphia, 1784), 1: 40. For further analysis of the late colonial transatlantic culture of sensibility, see Sarah Knott, "A Cultural History of Sensibility in the Era of the American Revolution" (D.Phil. thesis, Oxford University, 1999), chaps. 1–2. ²⁶�Lady's Magazine quoted in Ellis, Politics of Sensibility, 23; Shields, Civil Tongues and Polite Letters, 126–40. Also see Carla Mulford, ed., Only for the Eye of a Friend: The Poems of Annis Boudinot Stockton (Charlottesville, Va., 1995). Pennsylvania Magazine 2 (1776): 176–77. ²⁷� Library bookplate, Noel Antoine Pluche, Spectacle de nature: or, Nature Displayed, 7th edn. (London, 1750), copy held at the Library Company of Philadelphia. ²⁸� Barker-Benfield, Culture of Sensibility, xvii; James Rodgers, "Sensibility, Sympathy, Benevolence: Physiology and Moral Philosophy in Tristram Shandy," in L. J. Jordanova, ed., Languages of Nature: Critical Essays on Science and Literature (New Brunswick, N.J., 1986), 117–58; College of Physicians of Philadelphia, William McWilliam, "Anatomical Lectures of William Shippen," 1777; University of Pennsylvania Archives, Curricula Collection, anonymous, "Notes Taken from a Course of Lectures by William Shippen MD Professor of Anatomy in the University of Pennsylvania," 1786, 57. Like Laurence Sterne's Sentimental Journey, his Tristram Shandy was a colonial bestseller: James D. Hart, The Popular Book: A History of American Literary Taste (New York, 1950); Frank Luther Mott, The Golden Multitudes: The Story of Bestsellers in the United States (New York, 1947). ²⁹�The Sentimental Magazine quoted in Mullan, Sentiment and Sociability, 151; James Fordyce, Sermons to Young Women, quoted in Carter, Men and the Emergence of Polite Society, 99; Dwyer, Virtuous Discourse, chap. 4. Alexander Hamilton to Catherine Livingston, April 11, 1777, in Syrett, Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 1: 226–27. Also see, for example, "Reflections on Gallantry; and on the Education of Women," Pennsylvania Gazette, November 11, 1772; "Thoughts on Matrimony," Royal American Magazine (1774): 9. ³⁰� See, for example, Lewis Nicola, A Treatise of Military Exercise, Calculated for the Use of Americans (Philadelphia, 1776); Thomas Simes, The Military Guide for Young Officers, 2 vols. (Philadelphia, 1776); The Art of War (Philadelphia, 1776); J. Ranby, Nature and Treatment of Gunshot Wounds (Philadelphia, 1776); Baron von Swieten, Diseases of the Army (Philadelphia, 1776); Benjamin Rush, "Directions for Preserving the Health of Soldiers: Recommended to the Consideration of the Officers of the Army of the United States," Pennsylvania Packet, April 22, 1777. ³¹� Patrick J. Furlong, ed., "An Execution Sermon for Major John André," New York History 51 (1970): 68–69. ³²� John Lacey, "Memoirs of Brigadier-General John Lacey, of Pennsylvania," Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography 25 (1901): 197; Charles Thomson, "Notes on the Proceedings in Congress," November 23, 1778, in Paul H. Smith, ed., Letters of Delegates to Congress, 1774–1789, 25 vols. (Washington, D.C., 1976–98), 11: 242–50; James Lovell to John Trumball, March 16, 1777, in Smith, Letters of Delegates to Congress, 6: 540. ³³�Pennsylvania Gazette, September 12, 1781. ³⁴� Anthony Wayne to Joseph Reed, January 24, 1779, in C. J. Stillé, Major-General Wayne and the Pennsylvania Line in the Continental Army (Philadelphia, 1893), 177–79. Also see Royster, Revolutionary People at War, 88–95, 207–11. ³⁵� Field officers to Anthony Wayne, March 27, 1779, in Stillé, Major-General Wayne, 177–79; Wayne to the President of Congress, August 10, 1779, Pennsylvania Packet, August 26, 1779; Return Meigs to Wayne, August 22, 1779, and Isaac Sherman to Wayne, August 22, 1779, in Stillé, Major-General Wayne, 407–11. ³⁶� Judith Van Buskirk, "Generous Enemies: Civility and Conflict in Revolutionary New York" (PhD dissertation, New York University, 1997), 294–95. ³⁷� Royster, Revolutionary People at War, 86; Neimeyer, America Goes to War; Alexander Hamilton to John Jay, March 14, 1779, in Syrett, Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 2: 17–18. ³⁸� Sherman to Wayne, August 22, 1779, in Stillé, Major-General Wayne, 407–11. ³⁹� Peter Thompson, Rum Punch and Revolution: Taverngoing and Public Life in Eighteenth-Century Philadelphia (Philadelphia, 1999); Shields, Civil Tongues and Polite Letters, esp. chaps. 3 and 6; Bullock, Revolutionary Brotherhood, esp. 121–32. Masonic lodges developed within the army camps during the war. Bullock describes the ritualized use of sensibility (here equated with romanticism) as occurring only after 1790. ⁴⁰� Nathanael Greene to Catherine Greene, August 16, 1779, in Showman, Papers of General Nathanael Greene, 4: 323; Ephraim Douglas to James Irvine, July 26, 1782, in "Pittsburgh and Uniontown, Pennsylvania, in 1782–83, Letters from Ephraim Douglas to Gen. James Irvine," Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography 1 (1877), 44; Gregory D. Massey, John Laurens and the American Revolution (Columbia, S.C., 2000); Hamilton quoted in Richard Brookhiser, Alexander Hamilton, American (New York, 1999), 41. ⁴¹� Massey, John Laurens, 4; American Philosophical Society, Sellers Family Papers, Peale-Sellers Papers, Elizabeth Coleman to Nathan Sellers, [late 1770s]. ⁴²� For Howe, see Pennsylvania Gazette, July 23, 1783. For Washington, see Rivington's New York Gazette, December 6, 1783; Pennsylvania Packet, December 12, 1783; Pennsylvania Gazette, December 17, 1783. ⁴³�Public Advertiser, December 6, 1780; Anna Seward, Monody on Major André, by Miss Seward (Author of the Elegy on Capt. Cook) to Which Are Added Letters Addressed to Her by Major André, in the Year 1769 (Lichfield, 1781); Gentleman's Magazine 51 (1781): 178–79; Monthly Review 64 (1781): 371–76; Monthly Review 66 (1782): 72. ⁴⁴� Harriet Guest, Small Change: Women, Learning, Patriotism, 1750–1810 (Chicago, 2000), 260; and see Reynolds, "Patriots and Criminals, Criminals and Patriots," 64; British Mercury, November 20, 1780. The widow was identified as named Livingston in Morning Herald and Daily Advertiser, December 26, 1780. ⁴⁵� John Burgoyne, A State of the Expedition from Canada (London, 1782), quoted in Robert Jones, "Masculinity and Defeat: The Case of General John Burgoyne," in Jones, The Politics of Defeat: British Culture and the Loss of America (forthcoming); Washington to Burgoyne, March 11, 1778, rpt. in Edward Barrington de Fonblanque, Political and Military Episodes in the Latter Half of the Eighteenth Century Derived from the Correspondence of the Right Hon. John Burgoyne (London, 1876), 329–30; Richard J. Hargrove, Jr., General John Burgoyne (Newark, N.J., 1983), 221–37; Solomon Lutnick, The American Revolution and the British Press 1775–1783 (Columbia, Mo., 1967), 108–13. I am grateful to Robert Jones for permission to draw on his new research. ⁴⁶� Carter, Men and the Emergence of Polite Society, 110–11. Analyses of "newer" male virtues among late eighteenth-century British military leaders have focused on humanity, not sensibility: Gerald Gordon and Nicholas Rogers, "Admirals as Heroes: Patriotism and Liberty in Hanoverian England," Journal of British Studies 28 (1989): 201–24. ⁴⁷� Todd, Sensibility, 144, quotation on 141; Barker-Benfield, Culture of Sensibility, 360; Albert J. Kuhn, "Introduction," in Kuhn, ed., Three Sentimental Novels (New York, 1970), xx. Mackenzie's "On Novel Reading" and Harriet Thompson's Excessive Sensibility are analyzed closely in Ellis, Politics of Sensibility, 204–06 (quotation on 206), 212–13. ⁴⁸� John Brewer, The Pleasures of the Imagination: English Culture in the Eighteenth Century (London, 1997), 121; Burke's Reflections (1790) and his response to criticism quoted in C. Johnson, Equivocal Beings, 4. ⁴⁹�Columbian Magazine, or Monthly Miscellany 1 (1786): 200, and later rpt. in Weekly Magazine of Original Essays, Fugitive Pieces and Interesting Intelligence 1 (1798): 126; The American Museum, or Repository of Ancient and Modern Fugitive Pieces 3 (1788): 150; Waldstreicher, In the Midst of Perpetual Fetes, 12, 73–80; and, on sentimental nationalism in literature, Elizabeth Barnes, States of Sympathy: Seduction and Democracy in the American Novel (New York, 1997), esp. chap. 2. For a general history of the "emotional sources of America's self-image," see Andrew Burstein, Sentimental Democracy: The Evolution of America's Romantic Self-Image (New York, 1999). ⁵⁰� On memory of the war, see Sarah J. Purcell, Sealed with Blood: War, Sacrifice, and Memory in Revolutionary America (Philadelphia, 2002); John Phillips Resch, Suffering Soldiers: Revolutionary War Veterans, Moral Sentiment and Political Culture in the Early Republic (Amherst, Mass., 1999); Cray, "Major John André and the Three Captors"; Charles Royster, "Founding a Nation in Blood: Military Conflict and American Nationality," in Ronald Hoffman and Peter J. Albert, eds., Arms and Independence: The Military Character of the American Revolution (Charlottesville, Va., 1984), 25–49. Pennsylvania Gazette, September 26, 1787. ⁵¹� On the sentimental novel of the early republic, see especially Bruce Burgett, Sentimental Bodies: Sex, Gender and Citizenship in the Early Republic (Princeton, N.J., 1998); Julia A. Stern, The Plight of Feeling: Sympathy and Dissent in the Early American Novel (Chicago, 1997); Barnes, States of Sympathy; Shirley Samuels, ed., The Culture of Sentiment: Race, Gender, and Sentimentality in Nineteenth-Century American Culture (New York, 1992). American Museum 1 (1787): 42–43; 5 (1790): 83–85; Columbian Magazine 4 (1790): 178, but contrast Columbian Magazine 1 (1787): 343–44. Benjamin Rush, "An Inquiry into the Influence of the Physical Causes on the Moral Faculty, Delivered before the American Philosophical Society ... on the 27th of February, 1786," in Rush, Medical Inquiries and Observations, vol. 2 (Philadelphia, 1786), 44–45; An Enquiry into the Effects of Public Punishment upon Criminals, and upon Society: Read in the Society for Promoting Political Enquiries ... March 9, 1787 (Philadelphia, 1787), rpt. in American Museum 2 (1787): 142–53, quotation on 144. ⁵²� On sensibility, sex, and dissent, see Burgett, Sentimental Bodies; Stern, Plight of Feeling; Sarah Knott, "Benjamin Rush's Ferment: Enlightenment Medicine and Female Citizenship," in Knott and Barbara Taylor, eds., Women, Gender and Enlightenment (Basingstoke, England, forthcoming). ⁵³� See, for example, Saidiya V. Hartman, Scenes of Subjection: Terror, Slavery, and Self-Making in Nineteenth-Century America (New York, 1997); Elizabeth Clark, "'The Sacred Rights of the Weak': Pain, Sympathy, and the Culture of Individual Rights in Antebellum America,"Journal of American History 82 (1995): 481–93; Karen Sanchez-Eppler, Touching Liberty: Abolition, Feminism, and the Politics of the Body (Berkeley, Calif., 1993); Ann Cvetkovich, Mixed Feelings: Feminism, Mass Culture and Sentimentalism (New Brunswick, N.J., 1992); Samuels, Culture of Sentiment. ⁵⁴� For example, see Cathy N. Davidson, Revolution and the Word: The Rise of the Novel in America (New York, 1986); Jane Tompkins, Sensational Designs: The Cultural Work of American Fiction, 1790–1860 (New York, 1985); Herbert Ross Brown, The Sentimental Novel in America 1789–1860 (Durham, N.C., 1940). June Howard, "What Is Sentimentality?" American Literary History 11 (1999): 63–81, quotation on 72. ⁵⁵� Turbutt Wright to John Hall, June 4, 1782, in Smith, Letters of Delegates to Congress, 18: 561; Diary of Samuel Richards, Captain of the Connecticut Line, War of the Revolution, 1775–1781 (Philadelphia, 1909), 81; diary entry, July 1782, Thacher, Military Journal, 377; William Feilding to Lord Amherst, June 13, 1782, in Marion Balderston and David Syrett, eds., The Lost War: Letters from British Officers during the American Revolution (New York, 1975), 216. On the Asgill affair, see Larry Bowman, "The Court-Martial of Captain Richard Lippincott," New Jersey History 89 (1971): 23–36; Arthur D. Pierce, Smuggler's Woods: Jaunts and Journeys in Colonial and Revolutionary New Jersey (New Brunswick, 1960), 252–77; Katherine Mayo, George Washington's Dilemma (New York, 1938). ⁵⁶� Alexander Hamilton to Henry Knox, June 7, 1782, in Syrett, Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 3: 92. The letter by Vergennes, with that enclosed by Asgill's mother, was widely reprinted in loyalist and patriot America: Continental Journal and Weekly Advertiser, December 26, 1782; Salem Gazette, December 26, 1782; Providence Gazette and Country Journal, December 28, 1782; New Jersey Gazette, January 1, 1783; Rivington's Royal Gazette, December 25, 1782; New York Gazette, and Weekly Mercury, December 30, 1782. It was also printed in a British press largely tired of the failed American war and preoccupied rather with events in the East: London Chronicle, February 8–11, 1783; Jackson's Oxford Journal, February 15, 1783; Reading Mercury, February 17, 1783; Gentleman's Magazine 53 (1783): 177–78; Scots Magazine 44 (1782): 695–97. I thank Troy Bickham for some of these English references. ⁵⁷� Elias Boudinot, Journal of Historical Recollections of American Events during the Revolutionary War (Philadelphia, 1894), 63. The classic account of Congress remains Jack N. Rakove, The Beginnings of National Politics: An Interpretive History of the Continental Congress (New York, 1979). ⁵⁸� Baron de Grimm to Denis Diderot, quoted in Thacher, Military Journal, 381–82; John Adams quoted in Mayo, George Washington's Dilemma, 249; Asgill (1785) attributed to J. L. Le Barbier and quoted in Lewis Rosenthal, America and France: The Influence of the United States on France in the XVIII Century (New York, 1882), 136; Gilbert Chinard, ed., Vashington; ou, La liberté du nouveau monde, by Billardon de Sauvigny (Princeton, N.J., 1941), xxii. Also see Simon Schama, Citizens: A Chronicle of the French Revolution (New York, 1989), 30–31; Bernard Fay, The Revolutionary Spirit in France and America, Ramon Guthrie, trans. (New York, 1966), 188–89. ⁵⁹� French scholarship, which has focused largely on literature and language, includes Anne C. Vila, Enlightenment and Pathology: Sensibility in the Literature and Medicine of Eighteenth-Century France (Baltimore, 1998); David Denby, Sentimental Narrative and the Social Order in France, 1760–1820 (Cambridge, 1994); Hans-Jurgen Lusebrink, "L'innocence persécutée et ses avocats: Rhétorique et impact public du discours 'sensible' dans la France du XVIII^e siècle," Revue d'histoire moderne et contemporaine 40 (1993): 86–101; Anne Vincent-Buffault, The History of Tears: Sensibility and Sentimentality in France, Teresa Bridgeman, trans. (London, 1991); Robert Darnton, "Readers Respond to Rousseau: The Fabrication of Romantic Sensitivity," in The Great Cat Massacre and Other Episodes in French Cultural History (London, 1985), 209–49; J. S. Spinks, "'Sentiment,' 'Sensible,' 'Sensibilité': Les Mots, les Idées d'après les 'Moralistes' Français et Britanniques du Debut du Dix-Huitième Siècle," Zagadnienia Rodzajow Literackich 20 (1977): 33–48; Geoffroy Atkinson, The Sentimental Revolution: French Writers of 1690–1740 (Seattle, 1965). On the difference between Anglo and French modes, see Vila, Enlightenment and Pathology, 3; R. F. Brissenden, Virtue in Distress: Studies in the Novel of Sentiment from Richardson to Sade (London, 1974), 18–20. ⁶⁰� James Rivington, A Catalogue of Books Sold by Rivington and Brown at Their Stores in New York and Philadelphia (Philadelphia, 1762), 71–82; Paul M. Spurlin, Rousseau in America, 1760–1809 (Tuscaloosa, Ala., 1940), esp. chap. 5; Claire Brock, "Rousseauvian Remains," History Workshop Journal 55 (2003): 136–53; Andy Martin, Napoleon the Novelist (Oxford, 2000), and see the review by David A. Bell: London Review of Books (September 6, 2001): 26–27. ⁶¹� André Monglond, Le préromantisme français, 2 vols. (Grenoble, 1930), 2: 342; Vincent-Buffault, History of Tears, 77–96, quotation on 91. And see William M. Reddy, The Navigation of Feeling: A Framework for the History of Emotions (Cambridge, 2001), 173–211; Denby, Sentimental Narrative and the Social Order, 139–65; Pierre Trahard, La sensibilité revolutionnaire (1789–1794) (Paris, 1936). Suzanne Desan, "The Politics of Intimacy: Marriage and Citizenship in the French Revolution," in Knott and Taylor, Women, Gender and Enlightenment; Desan, The Family on Trial in Revolutionary France (Berkeley, Calif., 2004). I am grateful to Suzanne Desan for generously sharing her book with me before publication. ⁶²� Cerutti (Paris, 1789), quoted in Rosenthal, America and France, 181; The Independent Gazetteer; or, The Chronicle of Freedom, November 8, 1788; Susan Dunn, Sister Revolutions: French Lightning, American Light (New York, 1999), 3–19. And see Louis Gottschalk, "The Place of the American Revolution in the Causal Pattern of the French Revolution," in Herman Ausubel, ed., The Making of Modern Europe (New York, 1951), 504, 507. ⁶³� Marquis de Lafayette to Adrienne de Noailles de Lafayette, October 7, 1780, in Idzerda, Lafayette in the Age of the American Revolution, 3: 195. Also see the memoirs of the chevalier de Pontgibaud: A French Volunteer of the War of Independence, Robert B. Douglas, trans. (Paris, 1898), 62. Schama, Citizens, 24–31. On the revolution as war, see Samuel F. Scott, From Yorktown to Valmy: The Transformation of the French Army in an Age of Revolution (Niwot, Colo., 1998); T. C. W. Blanning, The French Revolutionary Wars 1787–1802 (London, 1996); Jean-Paul Bertaud, The Army of the French Revolution: From Citizen-Soldiers to Instrument of Power, R. R. Palmer, trans. (Princeton, N.J., 1988).

Content in the History Cooperative database is intended for personal, noncommercial use only. You may not reproduce, publish, distribute, transmit, participate in the transfer or sale of, modify, create derivative works from, display, or in any way exploit the History Cooperative database in whole or in part without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Sensibility and the American War for Independence

SARAH KNOTT

Notes