Part 18

The beauty of this verse, even in its least accurate form, will not be questioned, especially as applied to Franklin, who, before the American Revolution, in which he performed so illustrious a part, had already awakened the world’s admiration by drawing the lightning from the skies. But, beyond its acknowledged beauty, this verse has an historic interest which has never been adequately appreciated. Appearing at the moment it did, it is closely associated with the acknowledgment of American Independence. Plainly interpreted, it calls George the Third “tyrant,” and announces that the sceptre has been snatched from his hands. It was a happy ally to Franklin in France, and has ever since been an inspiring voice. Latterly it has been adopted by the city of Boston, and engraved on granite in letters of gold, in honor of its greatest son and citizen. It may not be entirely superfluous to recount the history of a verse which has justly attracted so much attention, and in the history of Civilization has been of more value than the whole State of South Carolina.

From its first application to Franklin, this verse has excited something more than curiosity. Lord Brougham tells us that it is often discussed in private circles. There is other evidence of the interest it has created. For instance, in an early number of “Notes and Queries,” is the following inquiry:--

“Can you inform me who wrote the line on Franklin,

‘Eripuit cœlo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis’?

“HENRY H. BREEN.

“ST. LUCIA.”[219]

A subsequent writer in this same work, after calling the verse “a parody” of a certain line of Antiquity, says: “I am unable, however, to say who adapted these words to Franklin’s career. Was it Condorcet?”[220] Another writer in the same work says: “The inscription was written by Mirabeau.”[221]

I remember well a social entertainment in Boston, where a distinguished scholar of our country,[222] in reply to an inquiry at the table, said that the verse was founded on a line from the “Astronomicon” of Manilius, which he repeated:--

“Eripuitque Jovi fulmen, viresque tonandi.”[223]

John Quincy Adams, who was present, seemed to concur. Mr. Sparks, in his notes to the correspondence of Franklin, attributes to it the same origin.[224] But there are other places where its origin is traced with more precision. One of the correspondents of “Notes and Queries” says that he has read, but does not remember where, “that this line was _immediately_ taken from one in the ‘Anti-Lucretius’ of Cardinal Polignac.”[225] Another correspondent shows the intermediate authority.[226] My own notes were made without any knowledge of these studies, which, while fixing its literary origin, fail to exhibit its important character, especially as illustrating an historical epoch.

* * * * *

The verse cannot be found in any ancient writer,--not Claudian or anybody else. It is clear that it does not come from Antiquity, unless indirectly; nor does it appear that at the time of its first production it was referred to any ancient writer. Manilius was not mentioned. It is of modern invention, and was composed after the arrival of Franklin in Paris on his eventful mission. At first it was anonymous, but was attributed sometimes to D’Alembert and sometimes to Turgot. Beyond question, it was not the production of D’Alembert, while it is found in the Works of Turgot, published after his death, in the following form:--

“Eripuit cœlo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis.”[227]

There is no explanation by the editor of the circumstances under which the verse was written; but it is given among poetical miscellanies of the author, immediately after a translation into French of Pope’s “Essay on Man,” in connection with the following French composition, entitled “Verses beneath the Portrait of Benjamin Franklin”:--

“Le voilà ce mortel dont l’heureuse industrie Sut enchaîner la Foudre et lui donner des loix, Dont la sagesse active et l’éloquente voix D’un pouvoir oppresseur affranchit sa Patrie, Qui désarma les Dieux, qui réprime les Rois.”

The single Latin verse is a marvellous substitute for these diffuse and feeble lines.

If there were any doubt upon its authorship, it would be removed by the positive statement of Condorcet, who, in his Life of Turgot, written shortly after the death of this great man, says: “There is known from Turgot but one Latin verse, designed for the portrait of Franklin”; and he gives the verse in this form:--

“Eripuit cœlo fulmen, mox sceptra tyrannis.”[228]

But Sparks and Mignet,[229] and so also both the biographical dictionaries of France,--that of Michaud and that of Didot,--while ascribing it to Turgot, concur in the form already quoted from Turgot’s Works, which was likewise adopted by Ginguené, the scholar who has done so much to illustrate Italian literature, on the title-page of his “Science du Bon-Homme Richard,” with an abridged Life of Franklin, in 1794, and by Cabanis, who lived in such intimacy with Franklin.[230] It cannot be doubted that this was the final form the verse assumed,--as it is unquestionably the best.

* * * * *

This verse was no common event. It was a new expression of the French alliance, and an assurance of independence. After its appearance and general adoption, there was no retreat for France.

To appreciate its importance in marking and helping a great epoch, certain dates must be borne in mind. Franklin reached Paris on his mission towards the close of 1776. He had already signed the Declaration of Independence, and his present duty was to obtain the recognition of France for the new power. The very clever Madame du Deffand, in her amusing correspondence with Horace Walpole, describes him in a visit to her “with a fur cap on his head and spectacles on his nose,” in the same small circle with Madame de Luxembourg, a great lady of the time, the Abbé Barthélemy, and the Duc de Choiseul, late Prime-Minister. This was on the 31st of December, 1776.[231] A pretty good beginning. More than a year of effort and anxiety ensued, brightened at last by the Burgoyne surrender at Saratoga. On the 6th of February, 1778, the work of the American Plenipotentiary was crowned by the signature of the two Treaties of Alliance and Commerce, by which France acknowledged our independence and pledged her belligerent support. On the 13th of March, one of these treaties, with a diplomatic note announcing that the Colonies were free and independent States, was communicated to the British Government, at London, which promptly encountered it by a declaration of war. On the 20th of March, Franklin was received by the King at Versailles, and this remarkable scene is described by the same feminine pen to which we are indebted for the early glimpse of him on his arrival in Paris.[232] But throughout this intervening period he had not lived unknown. Indeed, he had become at once a celebrity. Lacretelle, the eminent French historian, says: “By the effect which Franklin produced in France he might have been said to have fulfilled his mission, not to a court, but to a free people.… His virtues and renown negotiated for him.”[233]

Condorcet, who was part of that intellectual society which welcomed the new Plenipotentiary, has left a record of his reception. “The celebrity of Franklin in the sciences,” he says, “gave him the friendship of all who love or cultivate them, that is, of all who exert a real and durable influence upon public opinion. At his arrival he became an object of veneration to all enlightened men, and of curiosity to others. He submitted to this curiosity with the natural facility of his character, and with the conviction that he thereby served the cause of his country. It was an honor to have seen him. People repeated what they had heard him say. Every _fête_ which he was willing to receive, every house where he consented to go, spread in society new admirers, _who became so many partisans of the American Revolution_.… Men whom the reading of philosophical books had secretly disposed to the love of Liberty became enthusiastic for that of a strange people.… A general cry was soon raised in favor of the American War, and the friends of peace dared not even complain that peace was sacrificed to the cause of Liberty.”[234] This is an animated picture by an eye-witness. But all authorities concur in its truthfulness. Even Capefigue, whose business is to belittle all that is truly great, and especially to efface the names associated with human liberty, while, like another Old Mortality, he furbishes the tombstones of royal mistresses, is yet constrained to attest the popularity and influence which Franklin achieved. The critic dwells on what he styles his “Quaker garb,” his “linen so white under his brown clothes,” and also the elaborate art of the philosopher, who understood France and knew well “that a popular man became soon more powerful than power itself”; but he cannot deny that the philosopher “fulfilled his duties with great superiority,” or that he became at once famous.[235] The rosewater biographer of Diane de Poitiers, Madame de Pompadour, and Madame du Barry would naturally disparage the representative of Science and Revolution.

From other quarters proceeds concurring testimony. A correspondent at Paris wrote: “He now engrosses the whole attention of the public. People of all ranks pay their court to him. His affability and complaisant behavior have gained him the esteem of the greatest people in this kingdom.”[236] Another wrote a little later: “When Dr. Franklin appears abroad, it is more like a public than a private gentleman, and the curiosity of the people to see him is so great that he may be said to be followed by a genteel mob.”[237] His mysterious power was asserted by an American newspaper, in announcing his intention “shortly to produce an electrical machine of such wonderful force, that, instead of giving a slight stroke to the elbows of fifty or a hundred thousand men who are joined hand in hand, it will give a violent shock even to Nature herself, so as to disunite kingdoms, join islands to continents, and render men of the same nation strangers and enemies to each other.”[238] The London paper which spoke of him as “the old fox” acknowledged his power.[239]

The influence of Franklin was great beyond that of any American in Europe since. His presence gave character to the cause he represented, and was a standing recommendation of our country. Jefferson, who served two years with him at Paris, describes his influence there, and, in reply to the charge of subservience, says, in pregnant words: “He possessed the confidence of that Government in the highest degree, insomuch that it may truly be said that they were more under his influence than he under theirs. The fact is, that his temper was so amiable and conciliatory, his conduct so rational, never urging impossibilities, or even things unreasonably inconvenient to them, in short, so moderate and attentive to their difficulties, as well as our own, that what his enemies called subserviency I saw was only that reasonable disposition which, sensible that advantages are not all to be on one side, yielding what is just and liberal, is the more certain of obtaining liberality and justice.”[240] It is easy to see how such a character obtained from the French people the fame of snatching the sceptre from the tyrant.

The arrival of Franklin was followed very soon by the departure of the youthful Lafayette, who crossed the sea to offer his inspired sword to the service of American Liberty. Our cause was now widely known. In the thronged _cafés_ and the places of public resort it was discussed with sympathy and admiration.[241] And so completely was Franklin recognized as the representative of new ideas, that the Emperor Joseph the Second of Austria, professed reformer as he was, visiting France under the travelling name of Count Falkenstein, is reported to have remarked, when asked to see him, “My business is to be a royalist,”--thus doing homage to the real character of him in whom the Republic was personified.

Franklin became at once, by natural attraction, the welcome guest of that brilliant company of philosophers who exercised such influence over the eighteenth century. The “Encyclopédie” was their work, and they were masters at the Academy. He was received into their guild. At the famous table of the Baron D’Holbach, where twice a week, Sunday and Thursday, at dinner, lasting from two till seven o’clock, were gathered the wits of the time, he found a hospitable chair. But he was most at home with Madame Helvétius, the widow of the rich and handsome philosopher, whose name, derived from Switzerland, is now almost unknown. At her house he met in social familiarity D’Alembert, Diderot, D’Holbach, Morellet, Cabanis, and Condorcet, with their compeers. There, also, was Turgot, greatest of all. There was another, famous in some respects as any of these, but leading a different life, whom Franklin saw often,--Caron Beaumarchais, author already of the “Barbier de Séville,” as he was afterwards of the “Mariage de Figaro,” who, turning aside from an unsurpassed success at the theatre, exerted his peculiar genius to enlist the French Government on the side of the struggling Colonies, predicted their triumph, and at last, under the assumed name of a mercantile house, became the agent of the Comte de Vergennes in furnishing clandestine supplies of arms before the recognition of independence. It is supposed that through this popular dramatist Franklin maintained communications with the French Government until the mask was thrown aside.[242]

* * * * *

Beyond all doubt, Turgot is one of the most remarkable intelligences that France has produced. He was by nature a philosopher and a reformer; but he was also a statesman, with a seat in the Cabinet of Louis the Sixteenth, first as Minister of the Marine, and then as Comptroller-General of the Finances. Perhaps no minister ever studied more completely the good of the people. His administration was one constant benefaction. But he was too good for the age,--or, rather, the age was not good enough for him. The King was induced to part with him, forgetting his earlier words, “You and I are the only two persons who really love the people.” This was some time in May, 1776; so that Franklin, on his arrival, found this eminent Frenchman free from all constraints of ministerial position. The character of Turgot shows how naturally he sympathized with the Colonies struggling for independence, especially when represented by a person like Franklin. In a prize essay of his youth, written in 1750, when he was only twenty-three years of age, he foretold the American Revolution. These are his remarkable words:--

“Colonies are like fruits, which hold to the tree only till their maturity. Having become sufficient to themselves, they do that which Carthage did, _that which America will one day do_.”[243]

One of his last acts before leaving the Ministry was to prepare a memoir on the American War, for the information and at the request of the King, where he says, that “the idea of the absolute separation of the Colonies and the mother country seems infinitely probable,--that, when the independence of the Colonies shall be entire and acknowledged by the English themselves, there will be a total revolution in the political and commercial relations of Europe and America,--and that all the parent states will be forced to abandon all empire over their colonies, to leave them entire liberty of commerce with all nations, and to be content in sharing with others this liberty, and in preserving with their colonies the bonds of amity and fraternity.”[244] This memoir of the French statesman bears date the 6th of April, 1776, nearly three months before the Declaration of Independence.

Leaving the Ministry, Turgot devoted himself to literature, science, and charity, translating Odes of Horace and portions of Virgil, studying geometry with Bossut, chemistry with Lavoisier, astronomy with Rochon, and interesting himself in everything by which human welfare is advanced. Such a character, with such experience of government, and the prophet of American independence, was naturally prepared to welcome Franklin, not only as philosopher, but also as statesman.

The classical welcome was partially anticipated,--at least in an unsuccessful attempt. Baron Grimm, in that interesting and instructive “Correspondance,” prepared originally for the advantage of distant courts, but now constituting a literary and social monument of the period, mentions, under date of October, 1777, that the following French verses were made for the portrait of Franklin by Cochin, engraved by St. Aubin:--

“C’est l’honneur et l’appui du nouvel hémisphère; Les flots de l’Océan s’abaissent à sa voix; Il réprime ou dirige à son gré le tonnerre: Qui désarme les dieux, peut-il craindre les rois?”[245]

These lines seem to contain the very idea in the verse of Turgot. But they were suppressed at the time by the censor, on the ground that they were “blasphemous,” although it is added in a note that “they concerned only the King of England.” Was it that the negotiations with Franklin were not yet sufficiently advanced? And here mark the dates.

It was only after the communication to Great Britain of the Treaty of Alliance and the reception of Franklin at Versailles, that the seal seems to have been broken. Baron Grimm, in his “Correspondance,” under date of April, 1778, makes the following entry.

“A very beautiful Latin verse has been made for the portrait of Dr. Franklin,--

‘Eripuit cœlo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis.’

It is a happy imitation of a verse of the ‘Anti-Lucretius,’--

‘Eripuitque Jovi fulmen, Phœboque sagittas.’”[246]

Here is the earliest notice of this verse, authenticating its origin. Nothing further is said of the “Anti-Lucretius”; for in that day it was familiar to every lettered person. But I shall speak of it before I close.

Only a few days later the verse appears in the correspondence of Madame D’Épinay, whose intimate relations with Baron Grimm--the subject of curiosity and scandal--will explain her early knowledge of it. She records it in a letter to the very remarkable Italian Abbé Galiani, under date of May 3, 1778. And she proceeds to give a translation in French verse, which she says “D’Alembert made the other morning on waking.”[247] Galiani, who was himself a master of Latin versification, and followed closely the fortunes of America, must have enjoyed the tribute. In a letter written shortly afterwards, he enters into all the grandeur of the occasion. “You have,” says he, “at this hour decided the greatest revolution of the globe,--the question whether America shall rule Europe, or Europe shall continue to rule America. I would wager in favor of America.”[248] In these words the Neapolitan said as much as Turgot.

I cannot quote Galiani without adding that nobody saw America with more prophetic eye than this inspired Pulcinello of Naples. As far back as May 18, 1776, several weeks even before the Declaration of Independence, and much longer before it was known in Europe, he wrote: “The epoch is come for the total fall of Europe and for transmigration to America.… Do not, then, buy your house in the Chaussée d’Antin, but at Philadelphia. The misfortune for me is that there are no abbeys in America.”[249] Once a favorite in the very circle where Franklin was welcomed, he left Paris for Italy before the arrival of the negotiator, so that he knew the tribute only through a faithful correspondence.

Shortly afterwards the verse appears in a different scene. It had reached the _salons_ of Madame Doublet, whence it was transferred to the “Mémoires Secrets” of Bachaumont, under date of June 8, 1778, as “a very beautiful verse, quite proper to characterize M. Franklin and to serve as an inscription for his portrait.”[250] These Memoirs, as is well known, are the record of news and town-talk gathered in the circle of that venerable Egeria of gossip;[251] and here is evidence of the publicity this welcome had promptly obtained.

The verse was now fairly launched. War was flagrant between France and Great Britain. No longer was there any reason why the new alliance between France and the United States should not be placed under the auspices of genius, and why the same hand that had snatched the lightning from the skies should not have the fame of snatching the sceptre from King George the Third. The time for free speech had come. It was no longer “blasphemous.”

It will be observed that these records of this verse fail to mention the immediate author. Was he unknown at the time? or did the fact that he was recently a Cabinet Minister induce him to hide behind a mask? Turgot was a master of epigram,--as witness the terrible lines on Frederick of Prussia;[252] but he was very prudent in conduct. “Nobody,” said Voltaire, “so skilful to launch the shaft without showing the hand.” There is a letter from no less a person than D’Alembert, which reveals something of the “filing” which the verse underwent, and something of the persons consulted. Unhappily, the letter is without date; nor does it appear to whom it was addressed, except that the “_cher confrère_” seems to imply that it was to a brother of the Academy. This letter is found in a work now known to have been the compilation of the Marquis Gaëtan de la Rochefoucauld,[253] entitled “Mémoires de Condorcet sur la Révolution Française, extraits de sa Correspondance et de celles de ses Amis,” and is introduced by the following words from the Marquis:--

“It is known how Franklin was fêted when he came to Paris, because he was the representative of a republic. The philosophers, especially, received him with enthusiasm. It may be said, among other things, that D’Alembert lost his sleep; and we are going to prove it by a letter which he wrote, while racking his brain to versify in honor of Franklin.”

The letter is then given as follows:--

“FRIDAY MORNING.

“MY DEAR COLLEAGUE,-- … You are acquainted with the Franklin verse,--

‘Eripuit cœlo fulmen, _mox sceptra_ tyrannis.’

You should surely cause it to be put in the Paris paper, if it is not there already.

“I am inclined to agree with La Harpe that _sceptrumque_ is better: first, because _mox sceptra_ is a little hard, and then because _mox_, according to the dictionary of Gesner, who adduces examples, signifies equally _statim_ or _deinde_, which makes an ambiguity, _mox eripuit_ or _mox eripiet_.

“Be that as it may, here is how I have attempted to translate this verse for the portrait of Franklin:--

‘Tu vois le sage courageux Dont l’heureux et mâle génie Arracha le tonnerre aux dieux Et le sceptre à la tyrannie.’

If you find these verses sufficiently tolerable, so that people will not laugh at me, you can have them put into the Paris paper, even with my name. I shall honor myself in rendering this homage to Franklin, but on condition once more that you find the verses _printable_. As I make little pretension on account of them, I shall be perfectly content, if you reject them as bad.

“The third verse might be put, _A ravi le tonnerre aux cieux_ or _aux dieux_. I should prefer the other; but you shall choose.”[254]

From this letter it appears that the critical judgment of La Harpe, confirmed by D’Alembert, sided for _sceptrumque_ as better than _mox sceptra_.