A Benjamin Franklin Reader (38 page)

At times, Franklin worried that his enemies back home were hurting his reputation. In a ruminative mood, he wrote George Washington in 1780 a letter that ostensibly offered reassurance about the general’s reputation but clearly reflected his worries about his own. “I must soon quit the scene,” Franklin wrote, in an unusually introspective way, referring not to his post in France but his life in this world. Washington’s own great reputation in France, he said, was “free from those little shades that the jealousy and envy of a man’s countrymen and contemporaries are ever endeavoring to cast over living merit.” It was clear that he was trying to reassure not only Washington but also himself that history would treat them more kindly.

T
O
G
EORGE
W
ASHINGTON
, M
ARCH
5, 1780

Sir,

I received but lately the letter your excellency did me the honor of writing to me in recommendation of the Marquis de Lafayette. His modesty detained it long in his own hands. We became acquainted however, from the time of his arrival at Paris, and his zeal for the honor of our country, his activity in our affairs here, and his firm attachment to our cause, and to you, impressed me with the same regard & esteem for him that your excellency’s letter would have done, had it been immediately delivered to me.

Should peace arrive after another campaign or two, and afford us a little leisure, I should be happy to see your excellency in Europe, and to accompany you, if my age & strength would permit, in visiting some of its ancient and most famous kingdoms. You would on this side of the sea, enjoy the great reputation you have acquired, pure and free from those little shades that the jealousy and envy of a man’s countrymen & contemporaries are ever endeavoring to cast over living merit. Here you would know, and enjoy, what posterity will say of Washington. For a 1000 leagues have nearly the same effect with 1000 years. The feeble voice of those groveling passions cannot extend so far either in time or distance. At present I enjoy that pleasure for you: as I frequently hear the old generals of this martial country, (who study the maps of America, and mark upon them all your operations) speak with sincere approbation & great applause of your conduct, and join in giving you the character of one of the greatest captains of the age.

I must soon quit the scene, but you may live to see our country flourish, as it will amazingly and rapidly after the war is over. Like a field of young Indian corn, which long fair weather & sunshine had enfeebled and discolored, and which in that weak state, by a thunder gust of violent wind, hail & rain seemed to be threatened with absolute destruction; yet the storm being past, it recovers fresh verdure, shoots up with double vigor, and delights the eye not of its owner only, but of every observing traveler.

The best wishes that can be formed for your health honor and happiness, ever attend you, from your excellency’s most obedient and most humble servant,

B. Franklin

During his tenure in Paris, Franklin was joined by John Adams as a co-commissioner. When they had served together in Congress, Adams had initially distrusted Franklin, then gone through a blender of emotions: bemusement, resentment, admiration, and jealousy. So when he arrived in Paris, it was rather inevitable that he and Franklin would, as they did, enjoy and suffer a complex mix of disdain and grudging admiration for one another.

Some have found the relationship baffling: Did Adams resent or respect Franklin? Did Franklin find Adams maddening or solid? Did they like or dislike each other? The answer, which is not all that baffling because it is often true of the relationship between two great and strong people, is that they felt all of these conflicting emotions about each other, and more.

Adams, who was 42 when he arrived, was thirty years younger than Franklin. They were both very smart, but they had quite different personalities. Adams was unbending and outspoken and argumentative, Franklin charming and tacitum and flirtatious. Adams was rigid in his personal morality and lifestyle, Franklin famously playful. Adams learned French by pouring over grammar books and memorizing a collection of funeral orations, Franklin (who cared little about the grammar) learned the language by lounging on the pillows of his female friends and writing them amusing little tales. Adams felt comfortable confronting people, while Franklin preferred to seduce them, and the same was true of the way they dealt with nations.

Their most significant rift occurred in 1780. Previously the tension had been based more on their differences in personality and style, but this one was caused by a fundamental disagreement over policy: whether or not America should show gratitude, allegiance and fealty to France. Franklin felt it should; Adams disagreed.

Foreign Minister Vergennes, not surprisingly, was eager to deal only with Franklin, and by the end of July 1780 he had exchanged enough strained correspondence with Adams that he felt justified in sending him a stinging letter that managed to be both formally diplomatic and undiplomatic at the same time. On behalf of the court of Louis XVI, he declared: “The King did not stand in need of your solicitations to direct his attentions to the interests of the United States.” In other words, France would not deal with Adams any more.

Vergennes informed Franklin of this decision and sent him copies of all his testy correspondence with Adams, with the request that Franklin “lay the whole before Congress.” Although Franklin could have, and perhaps should have, dispatched the letters without comment, he took the opportunity to write (“with reluctance”) a letter of his own to Congress that detailed his disagreement with Adams.

T
O
S
AMUEL
H
UNTINGTON
, A
UGUST
9, 1780

Sir,

…Mr. Adams has given offence to the court here by some sentiments and expressions contained in several of his letters written to the Comte de Vergennes. I mention this with reluctance, though perhaps it would have been my duty to acquaint you with such a circumstance, even were it not required of me by the minister himself. He has sent me copies of the correspondence, desiring I would communicate them to Congress; and I send them herewith. Mr. Adams did not show me his letters before he sent them.

I have in a former letter to Mr. Lovell, mentioned some of the inconveniences that attend the having more than one minister at the same court, one of which inconveniencies is, that they do not always hold the same language, and that the impressions made by one and intended for the service of his constituents, may be effaced by the discourse of the other. It is true that Mr. Adams’s proper business is elsewhere, but the time not being come for that business, and having nothing else here wherewith to employ himself, he seems to have endeavored supplying what he may suppose my negotiations defective in.

He thinks, as he tells me himself, that America has been too free in expressions of gratitude to France; for that she is more obliged to us than we to her, and that we should show spirit in our applications. I apprehend that he mistakes his ground, and that this court is to be treated with decency and delicacy. The king, a young and virtuous prince, has, I am persuaded, a pleasure in reflecting on the generous benevolence of the action, in assisting an oppressed people, and proposes it as a part of the glory of his reign: I think it right to increase this pleasure by our thankful acknowledgements; and that such an expression of gratitude is not only our duty but our interest. A different conduct seems to me what is not only improper and unbecoming, but what may be hurtful to us.

Mr. Adams, on the other hand, who at the same time means our welfare and interest as much as I, or any man can do, seems to think a little apparent stoutness and greater air of independence and boldness in our demands, will procure us more ample assistance. It is for the Congress to judge and regulate their affairs accordingly.

M. De Vergennes, who appears much offended, told me yesterday, that he would enter into no further discussions with Mr. Adams, nor answer any more of his letters. He is gone to Holland to try, as he told me, whether something might not be done to render us a little less dependent on France. He says the ideas of this court and those of the people in America are so totally different, as that it is impossible for any minister to please both.

He ought to know America better than I do, having been there lately; and he may choose to do what he thinks will best please the people of America: but when I consider the expressions of Congress in many of their public acts, and particularly in their letter to the Chevalier de la Luzerne of the 24th of May last, I cannot but imagine that he mistakes the sentiments of a few for a general opinion. It is my intention while I stay here, to procure what advantages I can for our country, by endeavoring to please this court; and I wish I could prevent anything being said by any of our countrymen here that may have a contrary effect, and increase an opinion lately showing itself in Paris that we seek a difference, and with a view of reconciling ourselves to England: some of them have of late been very indiscreet in their conversations…

Despite their dispute, Franklin remained cordial, or retained the pretense of cordiality, in letters he wrote to Adams, who had gone to Holland to try to elicit a loan for America.

T
O
J
OHN
A
DAMS
, F
EBRUARY
22, 1781

Sir,

I have lately made a fresh and strong application for more money. I have not yet received a positive answer. I have, however, two of the Christian Graces, Faith and Hope: But my Faith is only that of which the Apostle speaks, the Evidence of Things not seen. For in truth I do not see at present how so many bills drawn at random on our ministers in France, Spain and Holland, are to be paid; nor that any thing but omnipotent necessity can excuse the imprudence of it. Yet I think the bills drawn upon us by the Congress ought at all risks to be accepted. I shall accordingly use my best endeavors to procure money for their honorable discharge against they become due, if you should nor in the mean time be provided. And if those endeavors fail, I shall be ready to break, run away, or go to prison with you, as it shall please God…

With great Respect, I have the honor to be, Sir, Your most obedient and most humble Servant,

B. Franklin

One product of Franklin’s flirtations at Passy and Auteuil was the collection of fables and bagatelles—such as “The Ephemera” and “The Elysian Fields” mentioned above—that he wrote to amuse his friends. He published many of the bagatelles on the private press he installed at Passy. They were similar to little stories he had written in the past, such as “The Trial of Polly Baker,” but the dozen or so written in Passy have a slight French accent to them.

They have been the subject of much critical fawning. “Franklin’s bagatelles combine delight with moral truth,” declares Alfred Owen Aldridge. “They are among the world’s masterpieces of light literature.” Not exactly. Their value lies more in the glimpse they give into Franklin’s personality than in their literary merit, which is somewhat slight. They are
jeux d’esprit,
lively little five-finger exercises. Most display Franklin’s typical wry self-awareness, though some are a bit heavy-handed in their attempt to teach a moral lesson.

One of the most amusing is a dialogue he pretended to have with the gout. When he was bedridden by the malady in October 1780, Madame Brillon wrote him a poem, “Le Sage et la Goutte,” that implied that his malady was caused by his love for “one pretty mistress, sometimes two three, four.” Among the lines:

“Moderation, dear Doctor,” said the Gout,/ “Is no virtue for which you stand out./ You like food, you like ladies’ sweet talk,/ You play chess when you should walk…”

Franklin replied one midnight with a long and rollicking dialogue in which the gout chided him for his indulgences and also, since Franklin liked to be instructive, prescribed a course of exercise and fresh air. He sent it to Madame Brillon along with a letter that, in a cheeky way, rebutted her poem’s contention “that mistresses have had a share in producing this painful malady.” As he pointed out: “When I was a young man and enjoyed more of the favors of the fair sex than I do at present, I had no gout. Hence, if the ladies of Passy had shown more of that Christian charity that I have so often recommended to you in vain, I should not be suffering from the gout right now.” Sex had become, by then, a topic of banter rather than of tension for them. “I will do my best for you, in a spirit of Christian charity,” she wrote back, “but to the exclusion of
your
brand of Christian charity.”

D
IALOGUE
B
ETWEEN THE
G
OUT AND
M
R
. F
RANKLIN
, O
CTOBER
22, 1780

MIDNIGHT, OCTOBER 22, 1780

Mr. F.:
Eh! oh! eh! What have I done to merit these cruel sufferings?

The Gout:
Many things; you have ate and drank too freely, and too much indulged those legs of yours in their indolence.

Mr. F.:
Who is it that accuses me?

The Gout:
It is I, even I, The Gout.

Mr. F.:
What! my enemy in person?

The Gout:
No, not your enemy.

Mr. F.:
I repeat it, my enemy; for you would not only torment my body to death, but ruin my good name; you reproach me as a glutton and a tippler; now all the world, that knows me, will allow that I am neither the one nor the other.

The Gout:
The world may think as it pleases; it is always very complaisant to itself, and sometimes to its friends; but I very well know that the quantity of meat and drink proper for a man who takes a reasonable degree of exercise, would be too much for another who never takes any.

Mr. F.:
I take—eh! oh!—as much exercise—eh!—as I can, Madam Gout. You know my sedentary state, and on that account, it would seem, Madam Gout, as if you might spare me a little, seeing it is not altogether my own fault.

The Gout:
Not a jot; your rhetoric and your politeness are thrown away; your apology avails nothing. If your situation in life is a sedentary one, your amusements, your recreation, at least, should be active. You ought to walk or ride; or, if the weather prevents that, play at billiards. But let us examine your course of life. While the mornings are long, and you have leisure to go abroad, what do you do? Why, instead of gaining an appetite for breakfast by salutary exercise, you amuse yourself with books, pamphlets, or newspapers, which commonly are not worth the reading. Yet you eat an inordinate breakfast, four dishes of tea with cream, and one or two buttered toasts, with slices of hung beef, which I fancy are not things the most easily digested. Immediately afterwards you sit down to write at your desk, or converse with persons who apply to you on business. Thus the time passes till one, without any kind of bodily exercise. But all this I could pardon, in regard, as you say, to your sedentary condition. But what is your practice after dinner? Walking in the beautiful gardens of those friends with whom you have dined would be the choice of men of sense; yours is to be fixed down to chess, where you are found engaged for two or three hours! This is your perpetual recreation, which is the least eligible of any for a sedentary man, because, instead of accelerating the motion of the fluids, the rigid attention it requires helps to retard the circulation and obstruct internal secretions. Wrapt in the speculations of this wretched game, you destroy your constitution. What can be expected from such a course of living but a body replete with stagnant humors, ready to fall a prey to all kinds of dangerous maladies, if I, The Gout, did not occasionally bring you relief by agitating those humors, and so purifying or dissipating them? If it was in some nook or alley in Paris, deprived of walks, that you played a while at chess after dinner, this might be excusable; but the same taste prevails with you in Passy, Auteuil, Montmartre, or Sanoy, places where there are the finest gardens and walks, a pure air, beautiful women, and most agreeable and instructive conversation: all which you might enjoy by frequenting the walks. But these are rejected for this abominable game of chess. Fie, then, Mr. Franklin! But amidst my instructions, I had almost forgot to administer my wholesome corrections; so take that twinge—and that.

Mr. F.:
Oh! eh! oh! ohhh! As much instruction as you please, Madam Gout, and as many reproaches; but pray, Madam, a truce with your corrections!

The Gout:
No, Sir, no, I will not abate a particle of what is so much for your good.

Mr. F.:
Oh! ehhh!—It is not fair to say I take no exercise, when I do very often, going out to dine and returning in my carriage.

The Gout:
That, of all imaginable exercises, is the most slight and insignificant, if you allude to the motion of a carriage suspended on springs. By observing the degree of heat obtained by different kinds of motion, we may form an estimate of the quantity of exercise given by each. Thus, for example, if you turn out to walk in winter with cold feet, in an hour’s time you will be in a glow all over; ride on horseback, the same effect will scarcely be perceived by four hours’ round trotting; but if you loll in a carriage, such as you have mentioned, you may travel all day and gladly enter the last inn to warm your feet by a fire. Flatter yourself then no longer that half an hour’s airing in your carriage deserves the name of exercise. Providence has appointed few to roll in carriages, while he has given to all a pair of legs, which are machines infinitely more commodious and serviceable. Be grateful, then, and make a proper use of yours. Would you know how they forward the circulation of your fluids in the very action of transporting you from place to place, observe when you walk that all your weight is alternately thrown from one leg to the other; this occasions a great pressure on the vessels of the foot, and repels their contents; when relieved, by the weight being thrown on the other foot, the vessels of the first are allowed to replenish, and by a return of this weight, this repulsion again succeeds; thus accelerating the circulation of the blood. The heat produced in any given time depends on the degree of this acceleration; the fluids are shaken, the humors attenuated, the secretions facilitated, and all goes well; the cheeks are ruddy, and health is established. Behold your fair friend at Auteuil; a lady who received from bounteous nature more really useful science than half a dozen such pretenders to philosophy as you have been able to extract from all your books. When she honors you with a visit, it is on foot. She walks all hours of the day, and leaves indolence, and its concomitant maladies, to be endured by her horses. In this, see at once the preservative of her health and personal charms. But when you go to Auteuil, you must have your carriage, though it is no farther from Passy to Auteuil than from Auteuil to Passy.

Mr. F.:
Your reasonings grow very tiresome.

The Gout:
I stand corrected. I will be silent and continue my office; take that, and that.

Mr. F.:
Oh! Ohh! Talk on, I pray you.

The Gout:
No, no; I have a good number of twinges for you tonight, and you may be sure of some more tomorrow.

Mr. F.:
What, with such a fever! I shall go distracted. Oh! eh! Can no one bear it for me?

The Gout:
Ask that of your horses; they have served you faithfully.

Mr. F.:
How can you so cruelly sport with my torments?

The Gout:
Sport! I am very serious. I have here a list of offences against your own health distinctly written, and can justify every stroke inflicted on you.

Mr. F.:
Read it then.

The Gout:
It is too long a detail; but I will briefly mention some particulars.

Mr. F.:
Proceed. I am all attention.

The Gout:
Do you remember how often you have promised yourself, the following morning, a walk in the grove of Boulogne, in the garden de La Muette, or in your own garden, and have violated your promise, alleging, at one time, it was too cold, at another too warm, too windy, too moist, or what else you pleased; when in truth it was too nothing but your insuperable love of ease?

Mr. F.:
That I confess may have happened occasionally, probably ten times in a year.

The Gout:
Your confession is very far short of the truth; the gross amount is one hundred and ninety-nine times.

Mr. F.:
Is it possible?

The Gout:
So possible that it is fact; you may rely on the accuracy of my statement. You know M. Brillon’s gardens, and what fine walks they contain; you know the handsome flight of an hundred steps which lead from the terrace above to the lawn below. You have been in the practice of visiting this amiable family twice a week, after dinner, and it is a maxim of your own, that “a man may take as much exercise in walking a mile up and down stairs, as in ten on level ground.” What an opportunity was here for you to have had exercise in both these ways! Did you embrace it, and how often?

Mr. F.:
I cannot immediately answer that question.

The Gout:
I will do it for you; not once.

Mr. F.:
Not once?

The Gout:
Even so. During the summer you went there at six o’clock. You found the charming lady, with her lovely children and friends, eager to walk with you, and entertain you with their agreeable conversation; and what has been your choice? Why, to sit on the terrace, satisfying yourself with the fine prospect, and passing your eye over the beauties of the garden below, without taking one step to descend and walk about in them. On the contrary, you call for tea and the chessboard; and lo! you are occupied in your seat till nine o’clock, and that besides two hours’ play after dinner; and then, instead of walking home, which would have bestirred you a little, you step into your carriage. How absurd to suppose that all this carelessness can be reconcilable with health, without my interposition!

Mr. F.:
I am convinced now of the justness of Poor Richard’s remark, that “Our debts and our sins are always greater than we think for.”

The Gout:
So it is. You philosophers are sages in your maxims, and fools in your conduct.

Mr. F.:
But do you charge among my crimes that I return in a carriage from M. Brillon’s?

The Gout:
Certainly; for having been seated all the while, you cannot object the fatigue of the day, and cannot want therefore the relief of a carriage.

Mr. F.:
What then would you have me do with my carriage?

The Gout:
Burn it if you choose; you would at least get heat out of it once in this way; or if you dislike that proposal, here’s another for you; observe the poor peasants who work in the vineyards and grounds about the villages of Passy, Auteuil, Chaillot, etc.; you may find every day among these deserving creatures four or five old men and women, bent and perhaps crippled by weight of years, and too long and too great labor. After a most fatiguing day these people have to trudge a mile or two to their smoky huts. Order your coachman to set them down. This is an act that will be good for your soul; and, at the same time, after your visit to the Brillons, if you return on foot, that will be good for your body.