Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 73, November, 1863 by Various

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Beyond all doubt, Turgot is one of the most remarkable intelligences
which France has produced. He was by nature a philosopher and a
reformer, but he was also a statesman, who for a time held a seat in the
cabinet of Louis XVI., first as Minister of the Marine, and then as
Comptroller 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 in which he lived,--or
rather, the age was not good enough for him. The King was induced to
part with him, saying, when he yielded,--"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 the constraints of a 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 had foretold the American Revolution.
These are his remarkable words on that occasion:--

"Colonies are like fruits, which do not hold to the tree after their
maturity. Having become sufficient in themselves, they do that which
Carthage did, _that which America will one day do_."[25]

One of his last acts before leaving the Ministry was to prepare a memoir
on the American War, for the information of the Comte de Vergennes, in
which 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, there will be a total revolution in the political and
commercial relations of Europe and America; and that all the
mother-countries 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."[26] This memoir
of the French statesman bears date the sixth of April, 1776, nearly
three months before the Declaration of Independence.

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

But the classical welcome of Turgot 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 one of the literary and social
monuments of the period, mentions, under date of October, 1777, that the
following French verses were made for a portrait of Franklin by Cochin,
engraved by St. Aubin:--

"C'est l'honneur et l'appui du nouvel hemisphere;
Les flots de l'Ocean s'abaissent a sa voix;
Il reprime ou dirige a son gre le tonnerre;
Qui desarme les dieux, peut-il craindre les rois?"

These verses 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,"[27]
under date of April, 1778, makes the following entry:--

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

'Eripuit coelo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis.'

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

'Eripuitque Jovi fulmen, Phoeboque sagittas.'"

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'Epinay, 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 Abbe Galiani,
under date of May 3d, 1778.[28] And she proceeds to give a translation
in French verse, which she says "D'Alembert made the other day between
sleeping and waking." 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 question of the globe,--that is, if it is
America which shall reign over Europe, or Europe which shall continue to
reign over America. I would wager in favor of America."[29] In these
words the Neapolitan said as much as Turgot.

A little later the verse appears in a different scene. It had reached
the _salons_ of Madame Doublet, whence it was transferred to the
"Memoires Secrets de Bachaumont," under date of June 8th, 1778, as "a
very beautiful verse, proper to characterize M. Franklin and to serve as
an inscription for his portrait." These Memoirs, as is well known, are
the record of conversations and news gathered in the circle of that
venerable Egeria of gossip;[30] and here is evidence of the publicity
which this welcome had already obtained.

The verse was now fairly launched. War was flagrant between France and
Great Britain. There was no longer 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 which had snatched the
lightning from the skies should not have the fame of snatching the
sceptre from King George III. The time for free speech had come. It was
no longer "blasphemous."

But 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; but he was very prudent in conduct. "Nobody," said
Voltaire, "so skilful to launch the shaft without showing the hand." But
there is a letter from no less a person than D'Alembert, which reveals
something of the "filing" which this 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 confrere_"
seems to imply that it was to a brother of the Academy. This letter will
be found in a work which is now known to have been the compilation of
the Marquis Gaetan de La Rochefoucauld,[31] entitled, "Memoires de
Condorcet sur la Revolution Francaise, extraits de sa Correspondance et
de celle de ses Amis."[32] It is introduced by the following words from
the Marquis:--

"It is known how Franklin had been feted 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, where he put himself to the torture in order 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 coelo fulmen, _mox sceptra_ tyrannis.'

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

"I should 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 collects examples,
signifies equally _statim_ or _deinde_, which causes a double
meaning, _mox eripuit_ or _mox eripiet_.

"However, here is how I have attempted to translate this verse for
the portrait of Franklin:--

'Tu vois le sage courageux
Dont l'heureux et male genie
Arracha le tonnerre aux dieux
Et le sceptre a la tyrannie.'

If you find these verses sufficiently supportable, so that people
will not laugh at me, you can put them into the Paris paper, even
with my name. I shall honor myself in rendering this homage to
Franklin, but on condition that you find the verses _printable_.
As I make no pretension on account of them, I shall be perfectly
content, if you reject them as bad.

"The third verse can be put,--_A ravi le tonnerre aux cieux_, or
_aux dieux_."

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

But the verse of Turgot was not alone in its testimony. There was an
incident precisely contemporaneous, which 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 his old age, to visit Paris once again before he died. He left his
Swiss retreat on the sixth 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, he reached Paris on the twelfth
of February. He was at once surrounded by the homage of all that was
most illustrious in literature and science, while the theatre, grateful
for his contributions to the drama, vied with the Academy. But 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,
"Epitre a 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, he soon charted 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 days 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, that "Solon embraced Sophocles." But it was more than this.
It was France embracing America, beneath the benediction of "God and
Liberty." Only a few days later, Voltaire died. But the alliance with
France had received a new assurance, and the cause of American
Independence an unalterable impulse.

Turgot did not live to enjoy the final triumph of the cause to which he
had given such remarkable expression. He died March 30th, 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.[33] Besides the verse to which so much reference has been made,
there is an interesting incident which attests 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; 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."[34] This document
bears date March 10th, 1779. But Turgot had anticipated Franklin. At the
first outbreak of the 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.[35]
Here was a triumph of civilization, by which we have all been gainers;
for such an example is immortal in its influence.

There is yet another circumstance which should be mentioned, in order to
exhibit the identity of sympathies in these two eminent persons. Each
sought to marry Madame Helvetius: Turgot early in life, while she was
still Mademoiselle Ligniville, belonging to a family of twenty-one
children, from a chateau in Lorraine, and the niece of Madame de
Graffigny, the author of the "Peruvian Letters"; Franklin in his old
age, while a welcome guest in the intellectual circle which this
widowed lady continued to gather about her. Throughout his stay in
France he was in unbroken relations with this circle, dining with it
very often, and adding much to its gayety, while Madame Helvetius, 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."[36]

But the story of the verse is not yet finished. And here it mingles with
the history of Franklin in Paris, constituting in itself an episode of
the American Revolution. The verse was written for a portrait. And now
that the ice was broken, the portrait of Franklin was to be seen
everywhere,--in painting, in sculpture, and in engraving. I have
counted, in the superb collection of the Bibliotheque Imperiale at
Paris, nearly a hundred engraved heads of him. At the royal exposition
of pictures the republican portrait found a 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 from
his obscurity."[37] The same curious authority, describing a festival at
Marseilles, says, under date of March 20th, 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 coelo_,' etc. This was inscribed
recently, and _every one admired the sublime truth_."[38] 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 the halls of science and in popular resorts, so was our
Plenipotentiary even in the palace of princes. The biographer of the
Prince de Conde dwells with admiration upon the illustrious character
who, during the great debate and the negotiations which ensued, had
fixed the regards of Paris, of Versailles, of the whole kingdom
indeed,--although in his 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."[39] And here again we encounter the unwilling testimony of
Capefigue, who says that he was followed everywhere, taking possession
of "hearts and minds," and that "his image, under the simple garb of a
Quaker, was to be found at the hearth of the poor and in the boudoir of
the beautiful";[40]--all of which is in harmony with the more
sympathetic record of Lacretelle, who says that "portraits of Franklin
were everywhere, with this inscription, _Eripuit coelo_, etc., _which
the Court itself found just and sublime_."[41]

But it was at court, even in the precincts of Versailles, that the
portrait and the inscription had their most remarkable experience. Of
this there is an 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
hair of the courtiers of Versailles. The novelty charmed the lively
imagination of French ladies. Elegant _fetes_ were given to the man who
was said to unite in himself the renown of a great, natural philosopher
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 _fetes_, 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 Sevres porcelain, the
medallion of Franklin, with the legend, "_Eripuit coelo_", etc., was
sold directly under the eyes of the King. Madame Campan adds, however,
that the King avoided expressing himself on this enthusiasm, which, she
says, "without doubt, his sound sense made him blame." But an incident,
called "a pleasantry," which has remained quite unknown, goes beyond
speech in the way of explaining the secret sentiments of Louis XVI. 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 a la manufacture de Sevres un vase de nuit,
an fond duquel etait place le medaillon avec la legende _si fort en
vogue_, et l'envoya en present d'etrennes a la Comtesse Diane."[42] 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 special 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 which France took in favor of the
independence of the American Colonies, to which she was constantly
opposed. A letter from Mario Antoinette, addressed to Madame de
Polignac, under the date of April 9th, 1787, declares unavailing regret,
saying,--"The time of illusions is past, and to-day we pay dear on
account of our infatuation and enthusiasm for the American War."[43] It
is evident that 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 he continued to
reside 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 which 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 great Revolution
was the outbreak of that spirit which 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, for the good of man, embracing in
his thought heaven and earth, _could subdue lightning and tyrants_."[44]
On his motion, France went into mourning for Franklin. His bust was a
favorite ornament, and, during the festival of Liberty, it was carried,
with those of Sidney, Rousseau, and Voltaire, before the people to
receive their veneration.[45] 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.[46] Long afterwards, his last surviving companion in the
cheerful circle of Madame Helvetius, still loyal to the idea of Turgot,
hailed him as "that great man who had placed his country in the number
of independent states, and made one of the most important discoveries of
the age."[47]

But it is time to look at this verse in its literary relations, from
which I have been diverted by its commanding interest as a political
event. Its importance on this account must naturally enhance 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 which is associated so
closely with Marie Antoinette in the earlier Revolution, and with
Charles X. 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 an author, but statesman and diplomatist also,
under Louis XIV. and the Regent. 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 he was also, with some
interruptions, a favorite at Versailles. 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
scholarly ecclesiastic occupied himself with a refutation of Lucretius,
in Latin verse.

The origin of the poem is not without interest. Meeting Bayle in
Holland, the ecclesiastic found the indefatigable skeptic most
persistently citing Lucretius, in whose elaborate verse the atheistic
materialism of Epicurus is developed and exalted. Others had already
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, since Sannazaro, no modern production in Latin verse
has 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 arbiter of literary fame at that time, regarding the
author only on the side of literature, said of him, in his "Temple du
Gout,"--

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