The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 73, November, 1863

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 confrère" 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 Gaëtan de La Rochefoucauld,³¹ entitled, "Mémoires de Condorcet sur la Révolution Française, 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 fêted 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 cœlo 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 mâle génie
Arracha le tonnerre aux dieux
Et le sceptre à 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, "Épitre 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, 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 Helvétius: 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 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."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 Bibliothèque Impériale 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 cœlo,' 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 Condé 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 cœlo, 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 fêtes 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 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, 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 à la manufacture de Sèvres un vase de nuit, an fond duquel était placé le médaillon avec la légende si fort en vogue, et l'envoya en présent d'étrennes à 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 Helvétius, 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 Goût,"—

 
"Le Cardinal, oracle de la France,
Réunissaut Virgile avec Platon,
Vengeur du ciel et vainqueur de Lucrèce."
 

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 which it so pointedly offers attests the fame of the author; nor was this praise confined to the "fine frenzy" of verse. The "Anti-Lucretius" was gravely pronounced the "rival of the poem which it answered,"—"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."⁴⁸

Turning now to the poem itself, we shall see how completely the verse of Turgot finds its prototype there. 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, "Braving the thunderous recesses of heaven, he snatched the lightning from Jove and the arrows from Apollo, and, liberating the mortal race, ordered it to dare all things,"—

 
"Cœli et tonitralia templa lacessens,
Eripuit fulmenque Jovi, Phœboque sagittas;
Et mortale manumittens genus, omnia jussit
Audere."⁴⁹
 

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 which pictured Epicurus in his impiety suggested the picture of the American plenipotentiary in his double labors of science and statesmanship.

But the present story will not be complete without an allusion to that poem of antiquity which was 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 supposed to have lived under Augustus, and sometimes under Theodosius. He is sometimes supposed 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, which recounts the origin of the material universe, exhibits the relations of the heavenly bodies, and vindicates this ancient science. It is while describing the growth of knowledge, which gradually mastered Nature, that the poet says,—

 
"Eriputque Jovi fulmen, viresque tonandi."⁵⁰
 

The meaning of this line will be seen in the context, which, for plainness as well as curiosity, I quote from a metrical version of the first book of the poem,⁵¹ entitled, "The Sphere of Marcus Manilius made an English Poem, by Edward Sherburne," which was dedicated to Charles II.:—

 
"Nor put they to their curious search an end
Till reason had scaled heaven, thence viewed this round
And Nature latent in its causes found:
Why thunder does the suffering clouds assail;
Why winter's snow more soft than summer's hail;
Whence earthquakes come and subterranean fires;
Why showers descend, what force the wind inspires:
From error thus the wondering minds uncharmed,
Unsceptred Jove, the Thunderer disarmed."
 

Enough has been said on the question of origin; but there is yet one other aspect of the story.

The verse was hardly divulged when it became the occasion of various efforts in the way of translation. Turgot had already done it into French; so had D'Alembert. M. Nogaret wrote to Franklin, inclosing an attempted translation, and says in his letter,—"The French have done their best to translate the Latin verse, where justice is done you in so few words. They have appeared as jealous of transporting this eulogy into their language as they are of possessing you. But nobody has succeeded, and I think nobody will succeed."⁵² He then quotes a translation which he thinks defective, although it appeared in the "Almanach des Muses" as the best:—

 
"Cet homme que tu vois, sublime en tous les tems,
Dérobe aux dieux la foudre et le sceptre aux tyrans."
 

To this letter Dr. Franklin made the following reply:⁵³—

"Passy, 8 March, 1781.

"SIR,—I received the letter you have done me the honor of writing to me the 2d instant, wherein, after overwhelming me with a flood of compliments, which I can never hope to merit, you request my opinion of your translation of a Latin verse that has been applied to me. If I were, which I really am not, sufficiently skilled in your excellent language to be a proper judge of its poesy, the supposition of my being the subject must restrain me from giving any opinion on that line, except that it ascribes too much to me, especially in what relates to the tyrant, the Revolution having been the work of many able and brave men, wherein it is sufficient honor for me, if I am allowed a small share. I am much obliged by the favorable sentiments you are pleased to entertain of me.

"With regard, I have the honor to be, Sir, etc.,

"B. FRANKLIN."

In his acknowledgment of this letter M. Nogaret says,—"Paris is pleased with the translation of your 'Eripuit,' and your portrait, as I had foreseen, makes the fortune of the engraver."⁵⁴ But it does not appear to which translation he refers.

Here is another attempt:—

 
"Il a par ses travaux, toujours plus étonnans,
Ravi la foudre aux Dieux et le sceptre aux tyrans."
 

There are other verses which adopt the idea of Turgot. Here, for instance, is a part of a song by the Abbé Morellet, written for one of the dinners of Madame Helvétius:⁵⁵—

 
"Comme un aigle audacieux,
Il a volé jusqu'aux cieux,
Et dérobé le tonnerre
Dont ils effrayaient la terre,
Heureux larcin
De l'habile Benjamin.
"L'Américain indompté
Recouvre sa liberté;
Et ce généreux ouvrage,
Autre exploit de notre sage,
Est mis à fin
Par Louis et Benjamin."
 

Mr. Sparks found among Franklin's papers the following paraphrastic version:⁵⁶—

 
"Franklin sut arrêter la foudre dans les airs,
Et c'est le moindre bien qu'il fit à sa patrie;
Au milieu de climats divers,
Où dominait la tyrannie,
Il fit régner les arts, les mœurs, et le génie;
Et voilà le héros que j'offre à l'univers."
 

Nor should I omit a translation into English by Mr. Elphinstone:—

 
"He snatched the bolt from Heaven's avenging hand,
Disarmed and drove the tyrant from the land."
 

In concluding this sketch, I wish to say that the literary associations of the subject did not tempt me; but I could not resist the inducement to present in its proper character an interesting incident which can be truly comprehended only when it is recognized in its political relations. To this end it was important to exhibit its history, even in details, so that the verse which has occupied so much attention should be seen not only in its scholarly fascination, but in its wide-spread influence in the circles of the learned and the circles even of the fashionable in Paris and throughout France, binding this great nation by an unchangeable vow to the support of American liberty. Words are sometimes things; but never were words so completely things as those with which Turgot welcomed Franklin. The memory of that welcome cannot be forgotten in America. Can it ever be forgotten in France?

POSTSCRIPT.

And now the country is amazed by the report that the original welcome of France to America and the inspired welcome of Turgot to Franklin are forgotten by the France of this day, or, rather let me say, forgotten by the Emperor, whose memory for the time is the memory of France. It is said that Louis Napoleon is concerting an alliance with the Rebel slavemongers of our country, founded on the recognition of their independence, so that they may take their place as a new power in the family of nations. Indeed, we have been told, through the columns of the official organ, the "Moniteur," that he wishes to do this thing. Perhaps he imagines that he follows the great example of the last century.

What madness!

The two cases are in perfect contrast,—as opposite as the poles, as unlike as Liberty and Slavery.

The struggle for American Independence was a struggle for Liberty, and was elevated throughout by this holy cause. But the struggle for Slavemonger Independence is necessarily and plainly a struggle for Slavery, and is degraded throughout by the unutterable vileness of all its barefaced pretensions.

The earlier struggle, adopted by the enlightened genius of France, was solemnly placed under the benediction of "God and Liberty." The present struggle, happily thus far discarded by that same enlightened genius, can have no other benediction than "Satan and Slavery."

The earlier struggle was to snatch the sceptre from a kingly tyrant. The present struggle is to put whips into the hands of Rebel slavemongers with which to compel work without wages, and thus give wicked power to vulgar tyrants without number.

The earlier struggle was fitly pictured by the welcome of Turgot to Franklin. But another spirit must be found, and other words must be invented, to picture the struggle which it is now proposed to place under the protection of France.

The earlier struggle was grandly represented by Benjamin Franklin, who was already known by a sublime discovery in science. The present struggle is characteristically represented by John Slidell, whose great fame is from the electioneering frauds by which he sought to control a Presidential election; so that his whole life is fitly pictured, when it is said, that he thrust fraudulent votes into the ballot-box, and whips into the hands of task-masters.

The earlier struggle was predicted by Turgot, who said, that, in the course of Nature, colonies must drop from the parent stem, like ripe fruit. But where is the Turgot who has predicted, that, in the course of Nature, the great Republic must be broken, in order to found a new power on the corner-stone of Slavery?

The earlier struggle gathered about it the sympathy of the learned, the good, and the wise, while the people of France rose up to call it blessed. The present struggle can expect nothing but detestation from all who are not lost to duty and honor, while the people of France must cover it with curses.

The earlier struggle enjoyed the favor of France, whether in assemblies of learning or of fashion, in spite of its King. It remains to be seen if the present struggle must not ignobly fail in France, still mindful of its early vows, in spite of its Emperor.

Where duty and honor are so plain, it is painful to think that even for a moment there can be any hesitation.

Alas for France!