Part 19

The verse of Turgot was not alone in its testimony. An incident precisely contemporaneous shows how completely France had fallen under the fascination of the American cause. Voltaire, the acknowledged chief of French literature in the brilliant eighteenth century, after many years of busy exile at Ferney, in the neighborhood of Geneva, where he had wielded his far-reaching sceptre, was induced in old age to visit Paris once again before he died. He left his Swiss retreat on the 6th of February, 1778, the very day on which Franklin signed the alliance with France, and, after a journey which resembled the progress of a sovereign, reached Paris on the 10th of February. He was at once surrounded by the homage of all most illustrious in literature and science, while the Theatre, grateful for his contributions, vied with the Academy. There were two characters on whom the patriarch, as he was fondly called, lavished a homage of his own. He had already addressed to Turgot a most remarkable epistle in verse, the mood of which may be seen in its title, “Épître à un Homme”; but on seeing the discarded statesman, who had been so true to benevolent ideas, he came forward to meet him, saying, with his whole soul, “Let me kiss the hand which signed the salvation of the people.” The scene with Franklin was more touching still. Voltaire began in English, which he had spoken early in life, but, having lost the habit, soon changed to French, saying that he “could not resist the desire of speaking for one moment the language of Franklin.” The latter had brought with him his grandson, for whom he asked a benediction. “God and Liberty,” said Voltaire, putting his hands upon the head of the child; “this is the only benediction proper for the grandson of Franklin.” A few weeks afterward, at a public session of the Academy, they were placed side by side, when, amidst the applause of the enlightened company, the two old men rose and embraced. The political triumphs of Franklin and the dramatic triumphs of Voltaire caused the exclamation, “Solon and Sophocles embrace!” It was more than this. It was France and America embracing beneath the benediction of “God and Liberty.” Only a month later Voltaire died. But the alliance with France had received new assurance, and the cause of American independence an immutable impulse.

Turgot did not live to enjoy the final triumph to which he had given such remarkable expression. He died March 20, 1781, several months before that “crowning mercy,” the capture of Cornwallis, and nearly two years before the Provisional Articles of Peace, by which the Colonies were recognized as free and independent States. But his attachment to Franklin was one of the enjoyments of his latter years.[255] Besides the verse to which so much reference has been made, there is an interesting incident attesting the communion of ideas between them, if not the direct influence of Turgot. Captain Cook, the eminent navigator, who “steered Britain’s oak into a world unknown,” was in distant seas on a voyage of discovery. Such an enterprise naturally interested Franklin, and, in the spirit of a refined humanity, he sought to save it from the chances of war. Accordingly, he issued a passport, addressed “To all captains and commanders of armed ships acting by commission from the Congress of the United States of America, now in war with Great Britain,” where, after setting forth the nature of the voyage of the English navigator, he proceeded to say: “This is most earnestly to recommend to every one of you, that, in case the said ship, which is now expected to be soon in the European seas on her return, should happen to fall into your hands, you would not consider her as an enemy, nor suffer any plunder to be made of the effects contained in her, nor obstruct her immediate return to England by detaining her or sending her into any other part of Europe or to America, but that you would treat the said Captain Cook and his people with all civility and kindness, affording them, as common friends to mankind, all the assistance in your power which they may happen to stand in need of.”[256] This document bears date March 10, 1779. But Turgot had anticipated Franklin. At the first menace of war he had submitted a memoir to the French Government, on which it was ordered that Captain Cook should not be treated as an enemy, but as a benefactor of all European nations.[257] Here was a triumph of Civilization by which we, too, have been gainers; for such an example is universal and immortal in influence.

There is yet another circumstance which should be mentioned as revealing an identity of sympathies in these two eminent persons. Each sought to marry Madame Helvétius: Turgot early in life, while she was still Mademoiselle Ligniville, belonging to a family of twenty-one children, from a château in Lorraine, and a niece of Madame de Graffigny, author of the “Peruvian Letters”; Franklin in his old age, while a welcome guest in the intellectual company which this widowed lady continued to gather about her at Auteuil, in the neighborhood of Paris, and not far from his own house at Passy. Throughout his stay in France he continued in unbroken relations with this circle, dining with it very often, and adding much to its gayety, while Madame Helvétius, with her friends, dined with him once a week. It was with tears in his eyes that he parted from her, whom he never expected to see again in this life; and on reaching his American home he addressed her in words of touching tenderness: “I stretch out my arms towards you, notwithstanding the immensity of the seas which separate us, while I wait the heavenly kiss which I firmly trust one day to give you.”[258]

In the permanent group about Madame Helvétius were Cabanis and Morellet, both living for many years under her hospitable roof. To the former we are indebted for the interesting extract last quoted. The intimacy with Franklin is attested in other ways. Nobody who has visited the Imperial[259] Library at Paris can forget his very pleasant autograph note in French concerning Madame Helvétius, exhibited in the same case with an autograph note of Henry the Fourth to Gabrielle d’Estrées.

Another glimpse is furnished by Mrs. Adams, who, in her family correspondence, reports a scene at the house of Franklin. “The Doctor entered at one door, she [Madame Helvétius] 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.… She carried on the chief of the conversation at dinner, frequently locking her hand into the Doctor’s.” Franklin spoke of her as “a genuine Frenchwoman, wholly free from affectation or stiffness of behavior, and one of the best women in the world.”[260] Madame Helvétius died at Auteuil, August 12, 1800, aged eighty-one, and, according to her desire, was buried in her garden. A few years later the same house became the home of Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford, who died there, and was buried in the neighboring cemetery.

But the story of the verse is not yet finished. And here it mingles with the history of Franklin in Paris, constituting an episode of the American Revolution. The verse was written for a portrait. And now that the costly first step had been taken, the portrait of Franklin was seen everywhere,--in painting, in sculpture, and in engraving. I have counted in the superb collection of the Bibliothèque Impériale, at Paris, forty-seven engraved heads of him. At the royal exhibition of pictures the republican portrait found place, and the name of Franklin was printed at length in the catalogue,--a circumstance which did not pass unobserved at the time; for the “Espion Anglais,” in recording it, treats it as “announcing that he began to come out of his obscurity.”[261] The same curious authority, describing a festival at Marseilles, says, under date of March 20, 1779, “I was struck, on entering the hall, to observe a crowd of portraits representing the insurgents; but that of M. Franklin especially drew my attention, on account of the device, ‘_Eripuit cœlo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis_.’ This was inscribed recently, and _every one admired the sublime truth_.”[262] Thus completely was France, not merely in its social centre, where fashion gives the law, but in its distant borders, pledged to the cause of which Franklin was the representative.

As in halls of science and popular resorts, so was our Plenipotentiary even in the palace of princes. The biographer of the Prince de Condé dwells with admiration upon the illustrious character, who, during the great debate and the negotiations that ensued, had fixed the regards of Paris, of Versailles, of the whole kingdom indeed,--although in simple and farmer-like exterior, so unlike those gilded plenipotentiaries to whom France was accustomed,--and he recounts, most sympathetically, that the Prince, after an interview of two hours, declared that “Franklin appeared to him above even his reputation.”[263] And here we encounter again the unwilling testimony of Capefigue, who says that he was followed everywhere, taking possession of “hearts and minds,” and that “his picture, in his simple Quaker dress, was suspended at the hearth of the poor and in the boudoir of the fashionable,”[264]--all of which is in harmony with the more sympathetic record of Lacretelle, who says that “portraits of Franklin were to be seen everywhere, with this inscription, _which the Court itself found just and sublime_, ‘_Eripuit cœlo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis_.’”[265]

Fragonard, the King’s painter, united in this adulation. A French paper describes the artist as displaying his utmost efforts “in an elegant picture dedicated to the genius of Franklin, who is represented with one hand opposing the ægis of Minerva to the thunderbolt, which he first knew how to fix by his conductors, and with the other commanding the God of War to fight against Avarice and Tyranny, whilst America, nobly reclining upon him, and holding in her hand the fasces, true emblem of the union of the American States, looks down with tranquillity on her defeated enemies.” It is then said, that “the painter, in this picture, most beautifully expressed the idea of the Latin verse which has been so justly applied to M. Franklin.” The enthusiastic journalist, not content with the picture and the verse, proceeded to claim him as of French ancestry. “Franklin appears rather to be of French than of English origin. It is certain that the name of Franklin, or Franquelin, is very common in Picardy, especially in the districts of Vimeux and Ponthieu. It is very probable that one of the Doctor’s ancestors was an inhabitant of this country, and went over to England with the fleet of Jean de Biencourt, or that which was fitted out by the nobility of this province.”[266] The story of Homer seems revived.

The tribute of Madame d’Houdetot was most peculiar. This lady, one of the riddles of French society in the eighteenth century, whom Rousseau depicted in a passage of surpassing fervor and made the inspiration of his “Nouvelle Éloïse,” received Franklin at her château, near Paris, in a brilliant circle, with banquet and verses in his honor. The famous guest, at his arrival, and then at dinner, with every glass of wine was saluted by a new verse, the whole ending with the ascription of Turgot.[267] Whether to admire or pity the philosopher on this occasion is the question.

In the minds of Frenchmen Franklin was associated always with this verse; but such association was no common fame. The Marquis de Chastellux, while on board the French frigate in the Chesapeake Bay, on which he was about to leave, after those travels which did so much to make our country known in Europe, addressed a communication to Professor Madison, of Virginia, on the fine arts in America, where he recommends for all the great towns a portrait of Franklin, “with the Latin verse inscribed in France below his portrait.”[268] Thus, while teaching our fathers the homage due to the great citizen, the generous Frenchman did not forget the testimony of his countryman.

French invention stopped not with Turgot. Other verses were pitched on the same key. An engraving of Franklin by Chevillet, after a portrait by Duplessis, has this tribute:--

“Honneur du Nouveau Monde et de l’Humanité, Ce Sage aimable et vrai les guide et les éclaire; Comme un autre Mentor, il cache à l’œil vulgaire, Sous les traits d’un mortel, une Divinité.”

Under another engraving, by F. N. Martinet, where Franklin is seated in a chair, are these lines:--

“Il a ravi le feu des cieux, Il fait fleurir les arts en des climats sauvages; L’Amérique le place à la tête des sages, La Grèce l’auroit mis au nombre de ses Dieux.”

It was at Court, even in the palatial precincts of Versailles, that the portrait and its famous inscription had their most remarkable experience. Of this there is authentic account in the Memoirs of Marie Antoinette by her attendant, Madame Campan. This feminine chronicler relates that Franklin appeared at court in the dress of an American farmer. His flat hair without powder, his round hat, his coat of brown cloth contrasted with the bespangled and embroidered dresses, the powdered and perfumed coiffures of the courtiers. The novelty charmed the lively imagination of the French ladies. Elegant _fêtes_ were given to the man who was said to unite in himself the renown of one of the greatest of natural philosophers with “those patriotic virtues which had made him embrace the noble part of Apostle of Liberty.” Madame Campan records that she assisted at one of these _fêtes_, where the most beautiful among three hundred ladies was designated to place a crown of laurel upon the white head of the American philosopher, and two kisses upon the cheeks of the old man. Even in the palace, at the exposition of the Sèvres porcelain, the medallion of Franklin, with the legend, “_Eripuit cœlo_,” etc., was sold directly under the eyes of the King. Madame Campan adds, however, that the King avoided expressing himself on this enthusiasm, which, “without doubt, his sound sense led him to blame.” But an incident, called “a pleasantry,” which has remained quite unknown, goes beyond speech in explaining the secret sentiments of Louis the Sixteenth. The Comtesse Diane de Polignac, devoted to Marie Antoinette, shared warmly the “infatuation” with regard to Franklin. The King observed it. But here the story shall be told in the language of the eminent lady who records it: “Il fit faire à la manufacture de Sèvres un vase de nuit, au fond duquel était placé le médaillon avec la légende _si fort en vogue_, et l’envoya en présent d’étrennes à la Comtesse Diane.”[269] Such was the exceptional treatment of Franklin, and of the inscription in his honor which was “so much in vogue.” Giving to this incident its natural interpretation, it is impossible to resist the conclusion, that the French people, and not the King, sanctioned American independence.

The conduct of the Queen on this occasion is not recorded, although we are told by the same communicative chronicler, who had been her Majesty’s companion, that she did not hesitate to express herself more openly than the King on the part taken by France in favor of American independence, to which she was constantly opposed. A letter from Marie Antoinette, addressed to Madame de Polignac, under date of April 9, 1787, declares unavailing regret in memorable words: “The time of illusions is past, and to-day we pay dear on account of our infatuation and enthusiasm for the American War.”[270] Evidently, Marie Antoinette, like her brother Joseph, thought that her “business was to be a royalist.”

But the name of Franklin triumphed in France. So long as his residence continued there he was received with honor; and when, after the achievement of independence, and the final fulfilment of all that was declared in the verse of Turgot, he undertook to return home, the Queen--who had looked with so little favor upon the cause he so grandly represented--sent a litter to receive his sick body and carry him gently to the sea. As the great Revolution began to show itself, his name was hailed with new honor; and this was natural; for the French Revolution was an outbreak of the spirit that had risen to welcome him. In snatching the sceptre from a tyrant he had given a lesson to France. His death, when at last it occurred, was the occasion of a magnificent eulogy from Mirabeau, who, borrowing the idea of Turgot, exclaimed from the tribune of the National Assembly, “Antiquity would have raised altars to the powerful genius, who, to the benefit of mankind, embracing in his thought both heaven and earth, _could subdue lightning and tyrants_.” On his motion, France went into mourning for Franklin.[271] His bust became a favorite ornament, and, during the festival of Liberty, it was carried, with the busts of Sidney, Rousseau, and Voltaire, before the people to receive their veneration.[272] A little later, the eminent medical character, Cabanis, who had lived in intimate association with Franklin, added his testimony, saying, that the enfranchisement of the United States was in many respects his work, and that the Revolution, the most important to the happiness of men which had then been accomplished on earth, united with one of the most brilliant discoveries of physical science to consecrate his memory; and he concludes by quoting the verse of Turgot.[273] Long afterwards, his last surviving companion in the cheerful circle of Madame Helvétius, still loyal to the idea of Turgot, hailed him as “that great man who placed his country in the number of independent states, and made one of the most important discoveries of the age.”[274]

* * * * *

It is time to look at this verse in its literary relations, from which I have been diverted by its commanding import as a political event; but this naturally enhances the interest in its origin.

The poem which furnished the prototype of the famous verse was “Anti-Lucretius, sive de Deo et Natura,” by the Cardinal Melchior de Polignac. Its author was of that patrician house associated so closely with Marie Antoinette in the earlier Revolution, and with Charles the Tenth in the later Revolution, having its cradle in the mountains of Auvergne, near the cradle of Lafayette, and its present tomb in the historic cemetery of Picpus, near the tomb of Lafayette, so that these two great names, representing opposite ideas, begin and end side by side. He was not merely author, but statesman and diplomatist also, under Louis the Fourteenth and Fifteenth. Through his diplomacy a French prince was elected King of Poland. He represented France at the Peace of Utrecht, where he bore himself very proudly towards the Dutch. By the nomination of the Pretender, at that time in France, he obtained the hat of a cardinal. At Rome he was a favorite, and also at Versailles, with some interruptions. His personal appearance, his distinguished manners, his genius, and his accomplishments, all commended him. Literary honors were superadded to political and ecclesiastical. He succeeded to the chair of Bossuet at the Academy. But he was not without the vicissitudes of political life. Falling into disgrace at court, he was banished to the abbacy of Bonport. There the lettered Prince of the Church occupied himself with a refutation of Lucretius, in Latin verse.

The origin of the poem is not without interest. Meeting Bayle in Holland, the Frenchman found the indefatigable skeptic most persistently citing Lucretius, in whose elaborate verse the atheistic materialism of Epicurus is developed and exalted. Others had answered the philosopher directly; but the indignant Christian was moved to answer the poet through whom the dangerous system was proclaimed. His poem was, therefore, a vindication of God and religion, in direct response to a master-poem of antiquity in which these are assailed. The attempt was lofty, especially when the champion adopted the language of Lucretius. Perhaps no writer of Latin verse since the admired Sannazaro, found equal success. Even before its publication, in 1747, it was read at court, and was admired in the princely circle of Sceaux. It appeared in elegant editions, was translated into French prose by Bougainville, and into French verse by Jeanty-Laurans, also most successfully into Italian verse by Ricci. At the latter part of the last century, when Franklin reached Paris, it was hardly less known in literary circles than a volume of Grote’s History in our own day. Voltaire, the contemporary arbiter of literary fame, regarding the author only on the side of literature, said of him, in his “Temple du Goût”:--

“Le Cardinal, oracle de la France, … Réunissant Virgile avec Platon, _Vengeur du Ciel et vainqueur de Lucrèce_.”[275]

The last line of this remarkable eulogy has a movement and balance not unlike the Latin verse of Turgot, or that which suggested it in the poem of Polignac; but the praise it so pointedly offers attests the fame of the author. Nor was this praise limited to the “fine frenzy” of verse. The “Anti-Lucretius” was gravely pronounced the “rival of one of the greatest poems of ancient Rome,”--“with verses as flowing as Ovid, sometimes approaching the elegant simplicity of Horace and sometimes the nobleness of Virgil,”--and then again, with a philosophy and a poetry combined which “would not be disavowed either by Descartes or by Virgil.”[276]

Turning now to the poem itself, we see how completely the verse of Turgot finds its prototype. Epicurus is indignantly described as denying to the gods all power, and declaring man independent, so as to act for himself; and here the poet says: “Assailing the thundering temples of heaven, _he snatched the lightning from Jove and the arrows from Apollo_, and, liberating the human race, bade it dare all things”:--

“Cœli et tonitralia templa lacessens, _Eripuit fulmenque Jovi, Phœboque sagittas_; Et mortale manumittens genus, omnia jussit Audere.”[277]

To deny the power of God, and to declare independence of His commands, which the poet here holds up to judgment, is very unlike the life of Franklin, all whose service was in obedience to God’s laws, whether in snatching the lightning from the skies or the sceptre from tyrants; and yet it is evident that the verse picturing Epicurus in his impiety suggested the image of the American plenipotentiary in his double labors of science and statesmanship.

The present story will not be complete without further reference to the poem of Antiquity supposed to have suggested the verse of Turgot, and which doubtless did suggest the verse of the “Anti-Lucretius.” Manilius is a poet little known. It is difficult to say when he lived or what he was. He is sometimes imagined to have lived under Augustus, and sometimes under Theodosius. He is sometimes imagined to have been a Roman slave, and sometimes a Roman senator. His poem, under the name of “Astronomicon,” is a treatise on astronomy in verse, recounting the origin of the material universe, exhibiting the relations of the heavenly bodies, and vindicating this ancient science. While describing the growth of knowledge, gradually mastering Nature, the poet says,--

“Eripuitque Jovi fulmen, viresque tonandi.”[278]

The meaning of this line is seen in the context, which, for plainness as well as curiosity, I quote from a metrical version of the first book, entitled “The Sphere of Marcus Manilius made an English Poem, by Edward Sherburne, Esquire,” and dedicated to Charles the Second:--