Chapter 6

After a brief interval M. de Chaumont, one of the wealthy Frenchmen of the day, offered Franklin rooms at Passy in his Hôtel de Valentinois, and there our philosopher fixed his abode, living in some style, and spending perhaps about thirteen thousand dollars a year. His popularity was immediate and almost unexampled. The great people of France--philosophers, statesmen, titled noblemen, and fine ladies--thought it an honor to receive the famous American; and it is said that so great was his fame among the common people that the shopkeepers would run to their doors to see him pass down the street. Innumerable pictures were drawn and medallions cut of his figure, until, as he wrote, his countenance was made "as well known as that of the moon, so that he durst not do anything that would oblige him to run away, as his phiz would discover him wherever he should venture to show it." Parton quotes this interesting account of the commissioners from the Memoirs of Count Sigur: "Nothing could be more striking than ... the almost rustic apparel, the plain but firm demeanor, the free and direct language, of the envoys, whose antique simplicity of dress and appearance seemed to have introduced within our walls, in the midst of the effeminate and servile refinement of the eighteenth century, some sages contemporary with Plato, or republicans of the age of Cato and of Fabius. This unexpected apparition produced upon us a greater effect in consequence of its novelty, and of its occurring precisely at the period when literature and philosophy had circulated amongst us an unusual desire for reforms, a disposition to encourage innovations, and the seeds of an ardent attachment to liberty."

But life was not all roseate for Franklin; he and the other envoys had plenty of work to do. Among other things an endless number of foreign officers applied to Franklin for commissions in the American army. Some of these applicants--such as Lafayette and Steuben--were heartily welcome, and really aided the cause; but he was beset by innumerable others who would have been merely a burden on the army. For men of this stamp he drew up and actually used more than once a blank recommendation beginning with these ominous words: "The bearer of this, who is going to America, presses me to give him a letter of recommendation, though I know nothing of him, not even his name. This may seem extraordinary, but I assure you it is not uncommon here," etc. He was also kept busy managing the affairs of the small but active navy, which was largely fitted out in France, and which brought most of its prizes into French ports. But of all his labors the most difficult and the most important was the raising of money for Congress. Into the details of this exasperating task we cannot here enter. Congress was not wise, and its necessities were desperate, and, despite the generosity of the French court, he had often to employ extreme measures to borrow money on doubtful security or none at all.

To excite interest in favor of the colonies Franklin wrote several papers, whose practical ideas of political liberty were not without effect in guiding the French people on to their own revolution. Even the wit of "the old fox," as he was called in England, appealed strongly to that nation of esprit. So, for instance, when asked if a certain story of American defeat told by Lord Stormont, the British ambassador, was a truth, he answered: "No, monsieur, it is not a truth; it is only a Stormont." And straightway "a stormont" became the polite word for a lie. Again, when told that Howe had taken Philadelphia he retorted: "I beg your pardon, sir, Philadelphia has taken Howe."

But though Franklin could maintain his philosophic calm, and could even joke in the presence of disaster, yet the strain on his nerves was tremendous. I believe that only once in his life was he betrayed into manifesting a strong emotion. Mr. Austin, a messenger from Boston, is coming with important news. All the American commissioners, together with Beaumarchais, are at Passy waiting his arrival. His chaise is heard in the court, and they go out to meet him. But before he even alights Franklin cries out, "Sir, _is_ Philadelphia taken?" "Yes, sir," says Austin. It seemed then that all was over. Without a word Franklin clasped his hands and turned toward the house. "But, sir," said Austin, "I have greater news than that GENERAL BURGOYNE AND HIS WHOLE ARMY ARE PRISONERS OF WAR!" "The news," as one of the party afterwards declared, "was like a sovereign cordial to the dying." How deep the impression upon Franklin was we may judge from his gratitude to the messenger. Mr. Austin relates that often he "would break from one of those musings in which it was his habit to indulge, and clasping his hands together, exclaim, 'Oh, Mr. Austin, you brought us glorious news!'"

It was indeed glorious news. The result in France was instantaneous and immense. Franklin and his companions had long wished the court to acknowledge publicly the independence of the United States and to make a treaty of commerce with them. The news of Burgoyne's surrender reached Paris on the 4th of December, 1777; the desired treaty was actually signed on the 6th of February following. Dr. Bancroft, who was present when both parties signed the document, tells us that Franklin on that occasion wore the old suit of Manchester velvet which he had worn on the day of his outrage in the Privy Council, and which had been long laid aside. It was apparently a bit of quaint and secret revenge in which the philosopher indulged himself. But when Dr. Bancroft intimated to Franklin his suspicions in the matter, the philosopher only smiled, and said nothing.

Several weeks later the new treaty was to receive formal recognition, and the American commissioners were to be presented to Louis XVI in their public capacity. Franklin intended to wear the regular court costume at the presentation, but was balked of his desire. The costume did not come in time; and when the perruquier brought his wig it refused to sit on the Doctor's head. Franklin suggested that the wig might be too small. "Monsieur, it is impossible," cried the perruquier, and then, dashing the wig to the floor, exclaimed, "No, Monsieur!--it is not the wig which is too small; it is your head which is too large." At any rate the wig could not be worn, and Franklin appeared in his own gray hair, dressed in black velvet, with white silk stockings, spectacles on nose, and no sword at his side. The king received the envoys courteously, saying: "Gentlemen, I wish the Congress to be assured of my friendship. I beg leave also to observe that I am exceedingly satisfied in particular with your own conduct during your residence in my kingdom;" and with these words walked out of the apartment. Immediately Lord Stormont, the British ambassador, left Paris; and a few days later M. Gérard, the first minister of France to this country, sailed for America.

Franklin had met the king; he had now to meet a greater and more famous man than Louis,--the only man living whose fame was equal to his own. Voltaire, eighty-four years old, feeble in body but with intellect unconquered, had just come to Paris after his long exile to hear the plaudits of his countrymen, and to die. The American envoys asked permission to wait upon the great man, and were received by Voltaire lying on his couch. He quoted a few lines from Thomson's "Ode to Liberty," and then began to talk with Franklin in English; but his niece, not understanding that language, begged them to speak in French. Whereupon Voltaire replied: "I beg your pardon. I have for a moment yielded to the vanity of showing that I can speak in the language of a Franklin." When Dr. Franklin presented his grandson, the old philosopher pronounced over his head only these words: "_God and Liberty!_" All who were present shed tears.

John Adams tells the story of a more public meeting between the two men at the Academy of Sciences: "Voltaire and Franklin were both present, and there presently arose a general cry that M. Voltaire and M. Franklin should be introduced to each other. This was done, and they bowed and spoke to each other. This was no satisfaction; there must be something more. Neither of our philosophers seemed to divine what was wished or expected. They, however, took each other by the hand; but this was not enough. The clamor continued until the exclamation came out, 'Il faut s'embrasser à la Française!'[2] The two aged actors upon this great theatre of philosophy and frivolity then embraced each other by hugging one another in their arms and kissing each other's cheeks, and then the tumult subsided. And the cry immediately spread throughout the kingdom, and I suppose over all Europe, 'Qu'il était charmant de voir embrasser Solon et Sophocle!'"[3]

[2] They must embrace like Frenchmen.

[3] How charming it was to see Solon and Sophocles embrace.

The mention of John Adams recalls us to the most disagreeable part of Franklin's experience. During all his sojourn in France he was subject to continual and annoying interference from his colleagues. Before his arrival in Paris, Silas Deane had entered for Congress into semi-commercial relations with the French government through the eccentric and industrious Beaumarchais. Franklin was content to leave these affairs to him, and did not at the time even know their real nature. But with Arthur Lee it was different. Of all characters in American history Lee is almost the hardest to endure. He was patriotic, and in a way honest, but meddlesome, suspicious, vain, and quarrelsome to an incredible degree. He immediately made up his mind that Deane was peculating, and never ceased writing accusatory letters until Congress recalled the unfortunate envoy. All this time he was also acting toward Franklin in a manner which can only be described as insane. He fumed at Franklin's easy way of conducting business; his vanity suffered indescribable tortures at every mark of respect paid to his distinguished colleague; he suspected him of treason and every other crime; and with his partisans (whose names we need not here mention) he wrote voluble letters of incrimination to Congress. When Silas Deane was recalled, John Adams was sent over to take his place, and for a while Franklin received support from his new colleague,--for Adams, with all his faults, was at least single-hearted in his patriotism. But their characters were too widely different for them to work easily together in harness. Adams's vanity was almost as great as Arthur Lee's. The homage paid to Franklin drove him almost into a frenzy of rage, both because he thought himself overlooked and because such homage savored of aristocracy. In Franklin's catalogue of the virtues there were two which he could not claim to have attained,--chastity and orderliness; and these two weaknesses now rose to exact their penalty. Adams could not believe that a man who had been lax with women could be honest in anything else; Adams was the spirit of petty orderliness, and Franklin's easy ways seemed to him the destruction of all business. At last Congress came to the rescue, and for once acted sensibly: Lee and Adams were recalled, and Franklin was left as sole plenipotentiary in Paris.

With other Americans Franklin's relationship was of a pleasanter sort. To the American navy and privateers Franklin was the American government; and, though he was often annoyed by the unreasonable conduct of importunate captains, yet he also shared in the glory of their deeds. John Paul Jones was one of the many forced to endure Arthur Lee's impertinences, and had it not been for Franklin's aid and friendship our navy would have lost the honor of that name. At one time Paul Jones was in Paris with no ship to command, and though he tried every channel to obtain a vessel from the French court, was always put off. At last, as he was reading a French translation of Poor Richard's Almanac, his eye was struck by this sentence: "If you would have your business done, go; if not, send." Without delay he went himself to Versailles, and obtained an order to purchase an old ship of forty guns. This good vessel he christened Le Bon Homme Richard, which is French for Poor Richard, and the story of how she beat the Serapis need not here be retold.

Through all these difficulties in France, as before in England, Franklin found consolation and amusement in the intellectual society of a great capital. And what a society this was! The very list of names of Franklin's friends is an inspiration. With the scientists of the day he continued to discuss philosophic questions; and with the great ladies of society he could find relaxation from his graver cares. Chess still absorbed more of his time than his conscience approved, and there are several well known stories of him in connection with that game. Once when playing with the old Duchess of Bourbon, the lady happened to put her king into prize, and the Doctor took it. "Ah," says she, "we do not take kings so." "We do in America," said the Doctor; and this pleasant joke he seems to have repeated several times in different forms. To Madame Brillon, a wealthy and amiable lady of the neighborhood, he wrote a number of those clever sketches which might well find a place in the "Spectator,"--such as The Ephemera, The Petition of the Left Hand, The Whistle, The Dialogue between Franklin and the Gout, and others almost as well known.

One of his best friends was Madame Helvetius, widow of the celebrated philosopher, and it was to her he wrote his famous dream ending with the words, "Let us avenge ourselves." We must at least find space for Mrs. Adams's curious account of that lady: "She entered the room with a careless, jaunty air; upon seeing ladies who were strangers to her, she bawled out, 'Ah! mon Dieu, where is Franklin? Why did you not tell me there were ladies here?' You must suppose her speaking all this in French. 'How I look!' said she, taking hold of a chemise made of tiffany, which she had on over a blue lute-string, and which looked as much upon the decay as her beauty, for she was once a handsome woman; her hair was frizzled; over it she had a small straw hat, with a dirty gauze half-handkerchief round it, and a bit of dirtier gauze than ever my maid wore was bowed on behind. She had a black gauze scarf thrown over her shoulders. She ran out of the room; when she returned, the Doctor entered at one door, she at the other; upon which she ran forward to him, caught him by the hand, 'Hélas! Franklin;' then gave him a double kiss, one upon each cheek, and another upon his forehead. When we went into the room to dine, she was placed between the Doctor and Mr. Adams. She carried the chief of the conversation at dinner, frequently locking her hand into the Doctor's, and sometimes spreading her arms upon the backs of both the gentlemen's chairs, then throwing her arm carelessly upon the Doctor's neck."

Another house to which Franklin was welcome was that of the Countess d'Houdetot celebrated for her part in the life of Rousseau. It was at her château that Franklin had to undergo the ordeal of such a glorification as must have tried his philosophic nerves to the uttermost. The chronicler of the occasion declares that "the venerable sage, with his gray hair flowing down upon his shoulders, his staff in hand, the spectacles of wisdom on his nose, was the perfect picture of true philosophy and virtue." But the "sage" must have found his virtue a burden on that day. He was escorted through the grounds; wine was poured out freely; music was played, and the company in turn celebrated the guest in stanzas which were none the less fulsome because they were true. The ceremony closed with the planting of a Virginia locust by the Doctor.

The surrender of Burgoyne in 1777 had brought about the treaty with France; the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown, four years later, was the beginning of peace and the cause of the treaty with England. What effect the news of Cornwallis's defeat had in England; how Lord North, the Prime Minister, received the message "as he would have taken a ball in his breast," walking wildly up and down the room, tossing his arms, and crying out, "Oh God! it is all over! it is all over!"--all this is known to everybody.

The diplomacy which now passed between the belligerent parties is a most complicated chapter of history. Franklin, Jay, and Adams were appointed by Congress to treat with England concerning peace, with instructions to consult the French government in every measure. The first difficulty was one of form. England was ready to sign a treaty of peace and acknowledge the independence of the colonies; but the envoy sent to Paris for this purpose was empowered to treat only with commissioners of the "colonies or plantations," and Jay and Adams felt incensed that the United States did not receive recognition by name. Franklin regarded the matter as a mere formality and was eager to push on the proceedings; but his colleagues were obdurate, and after some delay England made the required recognition. Three important points had then to be settled: 1. Whether the Americans should be allowed to fish on the New Foundland banks; 2. Whether the western boundary should extend to the Mississippi River; 3. Whether the United States government should reimburse the losses of the Tories.

Adams, who as a Bostonian understood the importance of the first measure, insisted stubbornly that England should cede this point, and finally won the day. That the United States were not confined to a strip of land along the seacoast was chiefly due to Jay. And here a new complication came in. Jay had from the first suspected that France was playing a double game, and convincing evidence of duplicity now fell into his hands. To obtain concessions for herself, France was secretly encouraging England to refuse the American claims on the New Foundland fishing banks and on the territory lying between the Alleghanies and the Mississippi. Jay thereupon insisted that the American envoys should treat secretly with England without consulting the French court, and Adams sided with him. Franklin was at first much averse to this mode of procedure, both because Congress had distinctly commanded them to act in concert with Versailles, and because he could not believe in the treachery of his French friends. When, however, Jay laid the matter clearly before him he gave up the point, and the negotiations proceeded. England acknowledged the American right to the western territory, but was more obstinate in regard to the Tory indemnification. Franklin was willing to grant this if England in return would cede Canada to the American union, and for a time the question was debated in this form. Finally a compromise was adopted, Congress promising to recommend to the state legislatures "to restore the estates, rights, and properties of real British subjects,"--which was of course a concession in words only, as Congress had no authority to enforce such a recommendation. The preliminary treaty between England and America was signed November 30, 1782, and Franklin had at once to appease the wrath of the French government which felt it had been duped. With consummate skill he accomplished this task, and all the vexing questions at issue were settled by the signing, on September 3, 1783, of separate definitive treaties between the three hostile powers.

Franklin's great work was done. He had before this urged Congress to release him from his heavy duties, and at last--in 1785, after he had assisted in making treaties with the other powers of Europe--his resignation was accepted, and he was free to return home. Thomas Jefferson came over to Paris as plenipotentiary in his stead. When asked if he replaced Dr. Franklin, Jefferson used to reply: "I _succeed_. No one can _replace_ him."

Franklin returned to Philadelphia laden with years and honors; yet still his country could not let him repose. For three successive years he was elected President of Pennsylvania; but the labors entailed were not severe, and the old man found time for amusement and quiet study. We have a beautiful picture of his life at home with his daughter and her family in one of his letters of the time: "The companions of my youth are indeed almost all departed; but I find an agreeable society among their children and grandchildren. I have public business enough to preserve me from ennui, and private amusement besides in conversation, books, my garden, and cribbage. Considering our well-furnished, plentiful market as the best of gardens, I am turning mine, in the midst of which my house stands, into grass plots and gravel walks, with trees and flowering shrubs. Cards we sometimes play here in long winter evenings; but it is as they play at chess,--not for money, but for honor, or the pleasure of beating one another. This will not be quite a novelty to you, as you may remember we played together in that manner during the winter at Passy. I have indeed now and then a little compunction in reflecting that I spend time so idly. But another reflection comes to relieve me, whispering: '_You know that the soul is immortal. Why, then, should you be such a niggard of a little time, when you have a whole eternity before you?_' So, being easily convinced, and, like other reasonable creatures, satisfied with a small reason when it is in favor of doing what I have a mind to, I shuffle the cards again, and begin another game." Yet the old man could not but feel lonely at times in the new society growing up about him. He says pathetically in another letter: "I seem to have intruded myself into the company of posterity, when I ought to have been abed and asleep."

In 1787 the constitutional convention met in Philadelphia, and it was a fitting thing that the statesman and philosopher should live to aid in framing laws by which his country is still governed. He was now too weak to stand long, so that his speeches on various questions had to be read out by a friend. His work in the convention was altogether subordinate to that of Madison and one or two other leading spirits; but his part in reconciling various factious elements in the convention was of the greatest importance. When at last the deadlock came between the smaller and the larger States on the question of representation in the legislature, it was Franklin who saved the day by a suggestion which led to the famous compromise, making the Senate represent the individual States, while the lower house is proportioned to population. Washington presided over the assembly; and we are told that while "the last members were signing, Dr. Franklin, looking towards the president's chair, at the back of which a rising sun happened to be painted, observed to a few members near him that painters had found it difficult to distinguish in their art a rising from a setting sun. 'I have,' said he, 'often and often in the course of the session and the vicissitudes of my hopes and fears as to its issue looked at that behind the president without being able to tell whether it was rising or setting; but now at length I have the happiness to know that it is a rising, and not a setting sun.'"

It was, however, the setting sun for Franklin. The few years that remained to him were peaceful and noble; but his old maladies increased on him, until at the last he was confined to his bed. Yet through it all he showed the same untiring energy. He wrote against the study of the classics, against the abuse of the liberty of the press, and from his very deathbed sent out a stinging letter against slavery. The end was come: at eleven o'clock at night, April 17, 1790, he passed away. Philadelphia knew that she had lost her most distinguished citizen, and he was followed to the grave by a procession including all that was honorable in the city.