Benjamin Franklin

by Paul Elmer More

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.'"