The Glorious Cause (24 page)

18. FRANKLIN

F
EBRUARY 25, 1777

The small ship reached the docks at le Havre with a message that tore across the French countryside like a bolt of lightning. George Washington had bloodied the British at Trenton and Princeton, a pair of stunning defeats to Howe’s army that brought cheers and celebration to the halls of King Louis. Franklin received the news as he had received the gift from Vergennes, staring through damp eyes at the glorious words on a simple piece of paper. He did not yet know what this would do for his negotiations. Certainly the gloom would be lifted, and no matter what news might follow, for a while at least, the French would know that the Americans could do more than make broad and grandiose pronouncements about independence. They could fight for it as well.

Vergennes had summoned Franklin as soon as the news had reached the French court, and within minutes of the invitation, Franklin was dressed and had summoned his carriage. As he stepped out of the hotel, a small crowd was waiting, and he heard his name, surprising calls of congratulation, as though this one old man had accomplished such a feat three thousand miles away. He was accustomed to being recognized, but this was different, and he was amazed that word of Washington’s victories had spread so quickly beyond the official halls of government. The carriage was not yet there, and he stood alone, while the crowd grew, more of the passersby clamoring for a look at this celebrated American. As their joy flooded over him, he began to relax, would board the carriage in due time, would enjoy the moment, the extraordinary show of affection from a people he was still trying to know.

He had begun a healthy routine again, would brave the chilly days for long walks through the wide streets. There was always attention, the old round man moving slowly past the shops and small cafés dressed still in the style that seemed to amuse the socialites. He would always wear his trademark plain fur hat and dull brown coat, and always the tiny glasses perched on his nose. By appearance alone his fame had spread, far beyond the drawing rooms of the elite. As he made his daily walks, people stopped him on the street, if only to speak to him, and his responses were polite, if somewhat inaccurate. He had tried to master the French language, had become fluent enough to understand most of what was spoken to him, but his failing was in the details, and his poor grammar and clumsy pronunciation only added to his charm. To the poor and working classes, his lack of concern for pomp and grandeur was making him a hero, and within a few weeks, his image had begun to appear in stone and wax and paper, adorning the modest walls and hearths of simple homes all over Paris. In clothing shops, merchants began to stock more goods of the color brown, described now as the Franklin Hue. Hat shops began to sell the Franklin Hat, his simple fur now reproduced as an object of popular fashion.

His image was not all accident. His purpose from the beginning was to show that America was not so obsessed with finery as with the substance of its own crisis. He had hoped that his appearance would at the very least draw attention to his purpose for being there, a humble man from a humble nation. It could only help his cause, and it had seemed to work. To those in and around the royal court, he continued to be a charming and curious oddity, sought after for his graciousness and his vast collection of stories. But the sudden outpouring of affection from the people was a surprise, both to Franklin and to the elite. There had been some of this in London, but the response there had not been so positive, his image more a symbol of the annoying rebellion. But the French workers had made him an icon, the consummate American, a symbol of a dynamic people who would throw off their chains. There was something in their response that reached him beyond his grateful vanity, a gnawing sense that beneath their affection was another voice, aimed perhaps at their own government, a growl of discontentment that his appearance had brought to the surface. But he could not focus on that, the old man’s limited strength keeping his mind on the job he still had to do. The celebration of Franklin by the French people had naturally added to the jealousy and resentment of Arthur Lee.

The three commissioners had agreed that an effort should be made to seek aid from King Charles of Spain, and Lee had leapt at the opportunity to leave Paris. Spain and France were allied in a somewhat weak coalition against England, the rivalry for control of the oceans that had produced centuries of warfare. Spain did not possess France’s wealth, but there was motivation in Madrid for Charles to join with Louis should war actually erupt on this side of the Atlantic. England controlled Gibraltar, the impregnable fortress that guarded the entrance to the Mediterranean Sea. That the English should occupy what was in effect part of the Spanish mainland was an embarrassment to Spanish pride. If any war was to be fought against England, King Charles had one eye firmly focused on claiming Gibraltar.

While Lee was making the journey to Madrid, Deane had once again resumed his complicated negotiations for the discreet shipments of supplies. He was frequently away from Paris, though neither Deane nor Franklin considered his absence a problem. Today, it just meant that Franklin would respond to Vergennes’ invitation by himself.

The reception from Vergennes was as enthusiastic as the man’s official position would allow, and Franklin could sense the joyous mood in every one of the French servants and secretaries. The scene had begun as before, Franklin escorted to the powder blue room, but there was no waiting now, Vergennes arriving seconds after Franklin was left alone. Franklin still didn’t know why Vergennes had called him, would not allow his optimism to run wild, knew that all of the old issues were still in place. Washington’s victories had certainly eased some of the pessimism of the French court, but the war in America had not yet ended. Louis would understand that with the coming of spring, the British would resolve to reverse their embarrassments in New Jersey. Even if the French were now to offer direct military assistance to the Continental Congress, it would not make a direct impact in America for many months. Washington’s army and the American cause might yet be swept away.

They sat again at the grand table, Franklin adjusting himself to the comfort of the soft chair. Behind Vergennes, the two familiar secretaries flanked the small table, inkstands full, preparing to record what was said.

“Doctor, I have received confirmation from the navy that four American ships, bearing military supplies, have been at anchor in Le Havre. As a result of the most stern protests from the English, I have not allowed these ships to sail. If I did, it would be a clear violation of our treaty with England and could lead to a declaration of war. However, only this morning I received the dreadful news that the carelessness of the port guards has allowed these ships to escape to the open sea. Where they will reappear is a source of extreme speculation. However, I leave such speculation to the English.”

Franklin could not hide his smile, examined Vergennes’ expression for any break in the man’s formal seriousness.

“Thank you, Your Excellency. For, um, not speculating.”

“There is no reason to thank me, Doctor. Those ships will be the objects of a widespread search by British warships. There is no guarantee any of them will reach their intended port. Wherever that might be.”

Franklin tried to mimic Vergennes’ seriousness.

“Your Excellency is quite correct. I wish only for the safety of their crews . . . and cargo.”

He was adapting easily to the rules of the game. The English had grudgingly accepted the French gifts of money to America, King George no more eager than the French to declare another war. But openly supplying the Americans with French weaponry was an escalation the British could not ignore. American ships that docked in French ports were free to take on whatever cargo their captains could arrange. But the only way they could carry that cargo anywhere beyond French waters was by eluding the official orders to stay put. This meant nothing more than setting sail after dark, when the French harbormasters, under discreet instruction from Vergennes, simply turned the other way.

“Doctor, are you familiar with Viscount David Stormont?”

Franklin knew the name, the British ambassador to France.

“I have not made his acquaintance, Your Excellency.”

“It’s not likely you will. He was here this morning, as expected, with his shrill protest of the escape of your supply ships. He made a rather hasty exit, not wishing to inflict upon himself the poison of actually meeting the
rebel
Dr. Franklin.”

Franklin smiled, but Vergennes was not amused by his own humor.

“Lord Stormont is a man filled with regrettable excitement. His job is to issue protest, and he is a man quite expert of performing his job. It has become a tedious routine, which even Mr. Stormont knows will bear no good results.”

Franklin sensed a gravity to Vergennes’ voice, a deeper meaning beyond his words. Franklin did not understand, tried to lighten the moment.

“I regret I should be such a fly in Lord Stormont’s ointment, Your Excellency.”

Vergennes seemed not to hear him.

“I must reveal something to you, Doctor, for which I hope you will not take offense. By my instruction, the police have been watching over you. I thought it a prudent precaution. Paris is not a dangerous city, Doctor, but you are a famous man, and vulnerable to a variety of evils. Should any harm come to you, it would be a severe embarrassment to King Louis. I am not ashamed to admit that it would cause me considerable distress as well.”

The news itself did not surprise him. That Vergennes would reveal it with such a somber tone did.

“I am not offended, Your Excellency. I admit to being somewhat cavalier in my habits. It is of comfort that your security officers have one eye on my well-being.”

Vergennes was still somber, said, “Doctor, we are not the only ones watching you. My invitation to you today was not public information, and yet Lord Stormont knew you were coming. This morning, by his careless complaint, he has revealed what we have long suspected to be true.”

Franklin was puzzled by Vergennes’ dark mood, said, “Your Excellency, I have long believed that the best remedy when surrounded by spies is to behave in a manner which, if made public, will cause no one to blush. If I believed that the valet in my hotel was a spy, which he probably is, I would be more concerned with the quality of his service than anything he could learn from me.”

Vergennes did not react as Franklin expected, folded his hands together on the table, stared down for a moment, said, “I am not so concerned that the English should have spies in Paris. It is a fact of life in Paris, as it is in London. My concern, Doctor, is that Lord Stormont is a man of ruthless purpose, and I believe he is a danger to you. Officially he is here to protest anything that might be offensive to his king. Unofficially he is the primary employer of English agents in Paris. What he revealed today is that they know as much about your whereabouts and your activities as I do. If the relationship between France and America should continue to improve, Lord Stormont might consider that an extreme offense he cannot ignore. Today, he made a dramatic show, spitting venom in my office. Tomorrow, that venom might take a different, more silent form. Doctor, I do not wish to frighten you. But I earnestly suggest you take care to avoid dark streets.”

M
ARCH 1777

Outside the Hotel d’Hambourg, the crowds had continued to gather, hoping to catch some glimpse of the famous American. The scheduled visitors came as well, men with their own nefarious proposals for assisting the American cause. Some wore uniforms, offered their service to the American army with extravagant claims of heroism, a pedigree of leadership that the great General Washington would surely find useful. Franklin had exhausted himself with politeness, receiving anyone who claimed to need his attention, but the demands became insufferable, his peaceful routine obliterated. But worse, through all the inconvenience to his time and energy he was tormented by Vergennes’ warnings. Franklin was not so concerned about the danger to himself. The congress would certainly find among its number many men who would be capable of playing the diplomatic game. But each day, he would watch his grandsons depart the safety of the hotel to go about their routines, Temple running Franklin’s essential errands, Benny attending school. Such worries began to assault his sleep, any noise from the street jolting him awake. Within a few days, the dilemma turned to decision. They could not stay in Paris. To the dismay of his admirers in the street, and the neighbors who called him their friend, Franklin and his grandsons boarded a carriage, trailed by another that held the effects of his growing office. The journey was not far, down winding roads, up a wide pleasant hill a short way beyond the city, a small village called Passy.

The owner of the Hotel Valentinois had made himself known as an admirer of both the American cause and Franklin himself. Franklin was furnished a suite of rooms that opened onto a large garden, and despite his protest, the owner would accept no payment of rent.

They settled with ease into the very different atmosphere of the pleasant village. Benny was immediately enrolled in a boarding school nearby, which would keep the boy occupied six days a week. Temple had seemed unsure if the new residence would take him too far from the Parisian girls. The ballrooms were always open to the grandson of the great man, but even the impatience of a seventeen-year-old was not tested by the short ride to the city.

Franklin’s new routine was enhanced by the luxurious grounds of the hotel, and he walked often past the bare patches of black dirt, already raked clean by a host of gardeners, who eyed the calendar for the start of the season, the first warm days that would allow for the first seeding.