This article appeared originally under the title, “Monograph
from an Old Note-Book.” Beyond the curiosity of the discussion
was the object, at a critical moment, of contrasting the
diplomatic representative of our fathers at Paris and that of
Rebel Slavery, with a new appeal to France. It was in the same
vein with the recent speech on Our Foreign Relations.[216]
In a famous speech, made in the House of Lords, March 6, 1838, against
the Eastern slave-trade, Lord Brougham arrests the current of his
eloquence by the following illustrative diversion.
“I have often heard it disputed among critics, which of
all quotations was the most appropriate, the most closely
applicable to the subject-matter illustrated; _and the palm is
generally awarded to that which applied to Dr. Franklin the
line in Claudian_,--
‘Eripuit fulmen cœlo, mox sceptra tyrannis’;
yet still there is a difference of opinion, and even that
citation, admirably close as it is, has rivals.”[217]
The British orator errs in attributing this remarkable verse to
Claudian, misled, perhaps, by reminiscence of like-sounding words by
that poet,--
“Rapiat fulmen sceptrumque Typhœus.”[218]
And he errs also in the quotation of the verse itself, which he fails
to give with entire accuracy. And this double mistake becomes more
noticeable, when it appears in the carefully prepared collection of
speeches, revised at leisure, and preserved in permanent volumes.
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.’