Benjamin Franklin

If this was indeed his end, he achieved it, for negotiations were now zealously pushed. The important question of the western boundaries and the navigation of the Mississippi was the especial concern of Jay. Spain covertly wished to see the States worsted upon these demands, and confined between the Alleghanies and the sea; and the Bourbon family compact influenced France to concur with the Spanish plans. But in the secret treating Jay prevailed. The fisheries were the peculiar affair of Adams, as the representative of New England. France would fain have had the States shut out from them altogether; but Adams carried the day. Some concessions were made concerning the collection of debts owing in the States to Englishmen, and then there remained only the matter of indemnification to American royalists. Upon this the fight was waged with zeal by all; yet Franklin had the chief responsibility to bear. For there now arose to plague him that unfortunate proposition of his for the cession of Canada and the restoration of confiscated Tory property in the States. This encouraged the English and gave them a sort of argument. Moreover the indemnification was "uppermost in Lord Shelburne's mind," because, unlike other matters, it seemed a point of honor. With what face could the ministry meet Parliament with a treaty deserting all those who had been faithful to their king? It was indeed a delicate position, and the English were stubborn; but no less so was Franklin, upon the other side. With the great province of Canada as an offset, or quasi fund, the States might have assumed such an obligation, but without it, never. Further the American commissioners reiterated the explanation often given: that Congress had no power in the premises, for the matter lay within the sovereign jurisdiction of each State. This argument, however, really amounted to nothing; for if the fact was so, it behooved the States to give their agent, the Congress, any power that was necessary for making a fair treaty; and England was not to be a loser by reason of defects in the American governmental arrangements. For a while it really seemed that the negotiation would be wrecked upon this issue, so immovable was each side. As Vaughan wrote: "If England wanted to break, she could not wish for better ground on her side. You do not break, and therefore I conclude you both sincere. But in this way I see the treaty is likely of itself to break."

Franklin now ingeniously counteracted his earlier imprudence by reviving an old suggestion of his, that immense claims might be preferred against England on behalf of Americans whose property had been wantonly destroyed, especially by the burning and plundering of towns, and he actually presented an article providing for such compensation, and an elaborate written paper sustaining it.[85] At last the Englishmen sought final instructions from Lord Shelburne. He replied with spirit that it should be understood that England was not yet in a position to submit to "humiliation," least of all at the hands of Americans; but finally he so far yielded as to say that indemnification need not be absolutely an ultimatum. This settled the matter; the negotiators who could yield must yield, and they did so. A sort of compromise article was inserted: "that Congress should recommend to the state legislatures to restore the estates, rights, and properties of real British subjects." The American envoys knew that this was worthless, and the English negotiators certainly were not deceived. But the article sounded well, and gave at least a standing ground for the ministry to defend themselves.[86]

On November 30 the articles were at last signed, with the stipulation that they were for the present merely preliminary and provisional, and that they should be executed as a definitive treaty only simultaneously with the execution of a treaty of peace between France and England.

The business was finished none too soon. In order to cover it the meeting of Parliament had been postponed until December 5. The danger which had been escaped, and which would not have been escaped had Franklin had a less correct appreciation of relative values in the negotiation, at once became apparent. The howl of condemnation swelled loud in the House of Commons; it was felt that the ministry had made not a treaty but a "capitulation." The unfortunate Shelburne was driven out of power, pursued by an angry outcry from persons altogether incapable of appreciating the sound statesmanship and the wise forecast of the future advantage of England which he had shown in preferring to give the colonies a chance to become a great, English-speaking, English-sympathizing, commercial people, rather than to feed fat the aspirations of France and Spain. These proceedings would have been good evidence, had evidence been wanting, that the American commissioners had done a brilliant piece of work. De Vergennes also added his testimony, saying: "The English have bought the peace rather than made it."

If the original instructions given to Oswald are compared with the treaty it will be found that England had conceded much; on the other hand the Americans, with no ultimatum save independence, had gained in substance all that they had dared seriously to insist upon. One would think that Franklin, Jay, and Adams had fairly won warm gratitude at the hands of their countrymen. Posterity, at least since the publication of long suppressed private papers and archives has shown what powerful occult influences were at work to thwart them, regards their achievement with unlimited admiration. But at that time a different feeling prevailed.

No sooner were the preliminary or provisional articles signed than Franklin informed de Vergennes of the fact. That minister was much surprised. He had been quietly biding his time, expecting to be invoked when the English and the Americans should find themselves stopped by that deadlock which he had done his best to bring about by his secret intimations to England. He was now astonished to learn that England had not availed herself of his astute suggestions, but had given terms which the Americans had gladly accepted. The business was all done, and the clever diplomat had not had his chance. At first he said nothing, but for a few days pondered the matter. Then on December 15 he disburdened his mind in a very sharp letter to Franklin. "I am at a loss," he wrote, "to explain your conduct and that of your colleagues on this occasion. You have concluded your preliminary articles without any communication between us, although the instructions from Congress prescribe that nothing shall be done without the participation of the king. You are about to hold out a certain hope of peace to America, without even informing yourself of the state of the negotiation on our part. You are wise and discreet, sir; you perfectly understand what is due to propriety; you have all your life performed your duties; I pray you consider how you propose to fulfill those which are due to the king."

Franklin found himself in a painful position; for he could by no means deny that he had duties, or at least something very near akin to duties, to the king, imposed upon him by numerous and weighty obligations which at his request had been conferred upon him and accepted by him on behalf of the American people. The violation of the instructions of Congress gave to the secret treating too much the air of an insulting distrust, of the throwing over a friend when he had been sufficiently used; for whatever might be suspected, it could by no means be proved that de Vergennes was not still the sincere friend which he certainly long had been. This bore hard upon Franklin. The policy which in fact had been forced upon him against his will by his colleagues was now made a matter of personal reproach against him especially, because he was persistently regarded as the head and front of the commission; no European yet dreamed of considering any other American as of much consequence in any matter in which Franklin was concerned. During long years de Vergennes had been his constant and efficient adviser and assistant in many a day of trial and of stress, and Franklin believed him to be still an honest well-wisher to the States. Moreover it actually was only a very few weeks since Franklin had applied for and obtained a new loan at a time when the king was so pressed for his own needs that a lottery was projected, and bills drawn by his own officials were going to protest. All this made the secrecy which had been practiced seem almost like duplicity on Franklin's part, and he felt keenly the ill light in which he was placed. It is true that if he had known then all that we know now, his mind would have been at ease; but he did not know it, and he was seriously disturbed at the situation into which he had been brought.

But his usual skill did not desert him, and his reply was aptly framed and prompt. "Nothing," he said, "had been agreed in the preliminaries contrary to the interests of France; and no peace is to take place between us and England till you have concluded yours. Your observation is, however, apparently just that, in not consulting you before they were signed, we have been guilty of neglecting a point of bienséance. But as this was not from want of respect for the king, whom we all love and honor, we hope it will be excused, and that the great work which has hitherto been so happily conducted, is so nearly brought to perfection, and is so glorious to his reign, will not be ruined by a single indiscretion of ours. And certainly the whole edifice sinks to the ground immediately if you refuse on that account to give us any further assistance.... It is not possible for any one to be more sensible than I am of what I and every American owe to the king for the many and great benefits and favors he has bestowed upon us.... The English, I just now learn, flatter themselves they have already divided us. I hope this little misunderstanding will, therefore, be kept a secret, and that they will find themselves totally mistaken."

This letter in a measure accomplished its soothing errand. Yet de Vergennes did not refrain from writing to de la Luzerne that "the reservation retained on our account does not save the infraction of the promise, which we have mutually made, not to sign except conjointly;" and he said that it would be "proper that the most influential members of Congress should be informed of the very irregular conduct of their commissioners in regard to us," though "not in the tone of complaint." "I accuse no person," he added, "not even Dr. Franklin. He has yielded too easily to the bias of his colleagues, who do not pretend to recognize the rules of courtesy in regard to us. All their attentions have been taken up by the English whom they have met in Paris."

So soon as the facts were known in the States expressions of condemnation were lavished upon the commissioners by members of Congress who thought that the secrecy as towards France was an inexcusable slight to a generous and faithful ally. Livingston, as secretary for foreign affairs, wrote to the envoys, commending the treaty, but finding fault with the manner of attaining it. Jay, angered at the injustice of a reproof which belonged more especially to him, drew up an exculpatory statement. But Franklin, showing his usual good sense and moderation, sought to mitigate Jay's indignation, drew all the sting out of the document, and insisted upon leaving the vindication to time and second thoughts. For his own part Franklin not only had to take his full share of the reproaches heaped upon the commissioners for insulting France, but upon the other hand he was violently assaulted on the quite opposite ground, that he had desired to be too subservient to that power. Many persons insisted that he "favored, or did not oppose," the designs of France to rule out the States from the fisheries, and to curtail their boundaries; and that it was only due to the "firmness, sagacity, and disinterestedness" of Jay and Adams that these mischiefs were escaped.

Such were the fault-findings and criminations to which the diplomatic complexities, which it was impossible then to unravel, gave rise. Fortunately they were soon rendered mere personal and abstract disputes, of little practical consequence, by the simultaneous execution of definitive treaties by France and the United States with Great Britain on September 3, 1783. Many efforts had been made to insert additional articles, especially as to commercial matters; but they were all abortive. The establishment of peace had exhausted the capacity of the States and England to agree together; and the pressure of war being removed, they at once fell into very inimical attitudes. So the definitive treaty was substantially identical with the provisional one.

Franklin, after a while, finding that these charges of his having preferred France to his own country were being reiterated with such innuendoes as to bring his integrity into serious question, felt it necessary to appeal to his colleagues for vindication. He wrote to them a modest, manly letter,[87] and in reply received from Jay a generous testimonial,[88] and from Adams a carefully narrow acquittal.[89] The subsequent publication of Franklin's papers written at, and long before, the time of the negotiation, shows that he was inclined to demand from Great Britain fully as much as any American upon either side of the ocean.

In taking leave of the subject it is interesting to know that in point of fact the secret action of the American commissioners was very nearly fraught with serious injury to France. For when the States were practically eliminated from active war by the signing of the provisional articles, five members of Shelburne's cabinet were in favor of breaking off negotiations with France, and continuing the contest with her.[90]

During the negotiation Franklin wrote to Laurens: "I have never yet known of a peace made that did not occasion a great deal of popular discontent, clamor, and censure on both sides, ... so that the blessing promised to peacemakers, I fancy, relates to the next world, for in this they seem to have a greater chance of being cursed." The prognostication was fulfilled. The act which gave peace to the warring nations brought anything but good will among the American negotiators. Jay was so just, conscientious, and irreproachable a gentleman in every respect that he escaped unvexed by any personal quarrel; moreover he was not so distinguished as to have become the victim of envy and jealousy. But the antipathy previously so unhappily existing between Franklin and Adams became greatly aggravated, and their respective advocates in historical literature have not to this day reached an accord. Adams was a relentless hater, and has bequeathed bitter diatribes, which, as they can never be obliterated, can never cease to excite the ire of the admirers of Franklin. On the other side, Franklin has at least the merit of having left not a malicious line behind him. I have no mind to endeavor to apportion merits and demerits between these two great foemen, able men and true patriots both, having no room for these personalities of history, which, though retaining that kind of interest always pertaining to a feud, are really very little profitable. Perhaps, after all, the discussion would prove to be not unlike the classic one which led two knights to fight about the golden-silver shield.

Yet one dispute, which has been long waged, no longer admits of doubt. The suspicions of the good faith of de Vergennes which Jay first entertained, which Adams adopted, and which Franklin rejected, were undoubtedly correct. As the years go by and collections of private papers and of hitherto suppressed public archives find their way to the light, the accumulated evidence to this effect has become overwhelming. Such being the case, it must be admitted that the vital merit in the conduct of this difficult negotiation rests with Jay; that Adams has the credit belonging to one who accepts a correct view when presented to him; and that Franklin did more wisely than he knew in twice assenting to a course which seemed to him based upon erroneous beliefs.

There is abundant evidence that from the very outset Franklin was not less resolute than was Adams about the fisheries; and that he was in perfect accord with Jay about the western boundaries and the Mississippi; though Adams and Jay did most of the talking concerning these subjects, respectively. When it came to the even more difficult matter of the royalists, Franklin in turn took the laboring oar. So far therefore as the three cardinal points of the negotiation were concerned honors were very evenly divided. But the value of Franklin's contribution to the treating is not to be measured either by his backwardness in supporting Jay in certain points, or by his firm attitude about boundaries, royalists, and fisheries. All these things he had outlined and arranged with Oswald at an early stage in the negotiating. Later he fell seriously ill and was for a long while in no fit condition for work. Yet the treaty seemed to be made under his auspices. In reading the great quantity of diaries and correspondence which relate to the transactions, many a passage indicates the sense of respect with which he was looked up to. The high opinion entertained of his ability, integrity, and fair-mindedness influenced very powerfully the minds of the English ministry and their envoys. "I am disposed," said Shelburne, "to expect everything from Dr. Franklin's comprehensive understanding and character." The like feeling, strengthened by personal confidence and regard, went far to keep de Vergennes from untimely intermeddling and from advancing embarrassing claims of supervision. Altogether, it was again the case that Franklin's prestige in Europe was invaluable to America, and it is certainly true that beneath its protection Jay and Adams were able to do their work to advantage. Had they stood alone they would have encountered difficulties which would have seriously curtailed their efforts.[91] It is truth and not theory that Franklin's mere name and presence were sufficient to balance the scale against the abilities and the zeal of both his coadjutors.

It seems hardly necessary to endeavor to palliate Franklin's error in failing to detect the duplicity of de Vergennes. On the contrary, it would give a less agreeable idea of him had he been ready to believe so ill of an old and tried friend. For years Franklin had been the medium through whom had passed countless benefits from France to the States, benefits of which many had been costly and inconvenient for the giver; he had been treated with high consideration at this court, when no other court in all Europe would even receive an American ambassador; he had enjoyed every possible token of esteem and confidence both personally and in his official capacity; he had ever found fair words backed by no less fair deeds. In short, the vast mass of visible evidence seemed to him to lie, and in fact did lie, all on one side. On September 13, 1781, writing to the president of Congress, he said that de Vergennes had just read to him a copy of the instructions prepared by Congress for the commissioners, and that the minister "expressed his satisfaction with the unreserved confidence placed in his court by the Congress, assuring me that they would never have cause to regret it, for that the king had the honor of the United States at heart, as well as their welfare and independence. Indeed, this has been already manifested in the negotiations relative to the plenipotentiaries; and I have already had so much experience of his majesty's goodness to us, in the aids afforded us from time to time, and by the sincerity of this upright and able minister, who never promised me anything that he did not punctually perform, that I cannot but think the confidence well and judiciously placed, and that it will have happy effects." Every event in the history of many years made it natural and right for Franklin to feel in this way; and it surely was no cause for distrust that de Vergennes had had the interest of France in mind as an original motive for aiding America, when throughout the war Franklin had witnessed France straining every nerve and taxing every resource to aid her ally, in perfect sincerity; and when also, upon the suggestion of negotiations, he had just seen de Vergennes adhere rigidly to his word to do no treating save collaterally with the Americans, and refuse to take advantage of Grenville's efforts to reach the Americans through the French minister. Even though de Vergennes had disapproved the delay caused by Jay's objection to the form of the commission, still he had honorably stayed his own negotiation until that matter was favorably settled. Early in the negotiations Grenville said to Franklin that the States owed no gratitude to France, since she had in fact only promoted her own interests. The remark excited Franklin's indignation, and he says: "I told him I was so strongly impressed with the kind assistance afforded us by France in our distress, and the generous and noble manner in which it was granted, without extracting or stipulating for a single privilege or particular advantage to herself in our commerce, or otherwise, that I could never suffer myself to think of such reasonings for lessening the obligation, and I hoped, and indeed did not doubt, but my countrymen were all of the same sentiments." The words do his heart none the less honor, because it has been since discovered that his confidence was too implicit. In truth de Vergennes had been extremely scrupulous and delicate throughout, in all matters which could fall within the observation of the Americans. At the outset he said to Franklin: the English "want to treat with us for you; but this the king will not agree to. He thinks it not consistent with the dignity of your state. You will treat for yourselves; and every one of the powers at war will make its own treaty. All that is necessary is that the treaties go hand in hand, and are all signed on the same day." Thus, to one who could believe de Vergennes, everything seemed fair and sincere, and Franklin at least had a right to believe de Vergennes.

Furthermore it was not until negotiations actually began that the previous condition of French relationship, as Franklin had well known it for many years, underwent a sudden and complete change. Then at last were presented new temptations before which friendship and good faith could not stand, and each nation, keeping a decorous exterior, anxiously studied its own advantage. It was the trying hour when the spoils were to be divided. The States themselves preferred the profit of their enemy England to that of their half-friend Spain. Franklin did not appreciate this quick turning of the kaleidoscope, with the instant change of all the previous political proximities; in view of his age, his infirmities, his recent experience in France, and his habitual generous faith in his fellow men, this failure should give rise neither to surprise nor censure.

In 1782, after signing the preliminary articles, Franklin a second time sent to Congress his resignation. He received no reply to this communication, and again, therefore, after the execution of the definitive treaty, he renewed his request to be relieved. But still Congress delayed. They wished to enter into commercial treaties with the European nations, and in spite of the rebukes which their chairman of the committee for foreign affairs had administered to Franklin, Jay, and Adams, they now showed no readiness to remove these gentlemen from the diplomatic service. Franklin accordingly remained in Paris, probably with no great reluctance, for he was attached to the place and the people, and his affection was warmly returned. It was a light labor to conduct the negotiations for the desired commercial treaties. Sweden, Denmark, Portugal, and even Morocco, all made advances to him almost immediately after the signing of the treaty of peace. For the most part he had the gratification of success. His last official act, just before his departure from Paris, was the signature of a treaty with Prussia, in which it was agreed to abolish privateering,[92] and to hold private property by land and sea secure from destruction in time of war. It was pleasant thus to be introducing his country to the handshaking, so to speak, of the old established nations of the world. So his life glided on agreeably. He was recognized as one of the most illustrious men living; and to enjoy such a reputation in Paris in those days, especially when it was supplemented by personal popularity, was to find one's self in the enjoyment of all which the world could bestow to make delightful days.

In August, 1784, Jefferson arrived to assist in the commercial business. But it was not until March, 1785, that Congress at last voted that Franklin might "return to America as soon as convenient," and that Jefferson should succeed him as minister at the French court. Jefferson has borne good testimony to Franklin's situation, as he observed it. A few years later, in February, 1791, he wrote: "I can only therefore testify in general that there appeared to me more respect and veneration attached to the character of Dr. Franklin in France, than to that of any other person in the same country, foreign or native. I had opportunities of knowing particularly how far these sentiments were felt by the foreign ambassadors and ministers at the court of Versailles.... I found the ministers of France equally impressed with the talents and integrity of Dr. Franklin. The Count de Vergennes particularly gave me repeated and unequivocal demonstrations of his entire confidence in him." When Jefferson was asked: "C'est vous, Monsieur, qui remplace le Docteur Franklin?" he used to reply: "No one can replace him, sir; I am only his successor;" and we may be sure that the Frenchmen appreciated and fully agreed with an expression of courtesy which chimed so well with their own customs of speech. Later, in 1818, Jefferson wrote an interesting letter concerning the calumnies from which Franklin's reputation still suffered:—

When at last, in the summer of 1785, Franklin took his farewell of the much-loved land of France, the distinguished attentions which he received left no doubt of the admiration in which he was held. Indeed, many persons pressed him to remain in France, and three offered him homes in their own families, telling him that not even in America could he expect esteem and love so unalloyed as he enjoyed in France, and warning him also that he might not survive the voyage. But he said: "The desire of spending the little remainder of life with my family is so strong as to determine me to try at least whether I can bear the motion of the ship. If not, I must get them to set me ashore somewhere in the Channel and content myself to die in Europe." When the day of departure from Passy came "it seemed," said Jefferson, "as if the village had lost its patriarch." His infirmities rendered the motion of a carriage painful to him, and the king therefore placed at his disposal one of the queen's litters, which bore him by easy stages to the seacoast. He carried with him the customary complimentary portrait of the king; but it was far beyond the ordinary magnificence, for it was framed in a double circle of four hundred and eight diamonds, and was of unusual cost and beauty. On July 18 he arrived at Havre, and crossed the Channel to take ship at Portsmouth. The British government offset the discourtesy with which it was irritating Mr. Adams by ordering that the effects of Dr. Franklin's party should be exempt from the usual examination at the custom house. His old friend, the Bishop of St. Asaph, "America's constant friend," came to see him. So also did his Tory son, the ex-governor of New Jersey, with whom a sort of reconciliation had been patched up. He sailed with Captain, afterward Commodore, Truxton, who found him a most agreeable companion.

Of all things in the world a sea voyage most induces to utter idleness, and it is a striking proof of the mental industry of this aged man that during the seven weeks of this summer passage across the Atlantic he wrote three essays, which remain among his best. But he never in his life found a few weeks in which his mind was relieved from enforced reflection upon affairs of business that he did not take his pen in hand for voluntary tasks. During the last eighteen months of his life in Paris all the social distractions incident to his distinguished position had not prevented his writing some of the best papers which he has bequeathed to literature.

CHAPTER XV

AT HOME: PRESIDENT OF PENNSYLVANIA: THE CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION: DEATH

On September 12, 1785, the ship brought Franklin into Delaware Bay, and the next morning he rejoiced to find himself "in full view of dear Philadelphia." A multitude, filling the air with huzzas of salutation, greeted his landing and escorted him to his door. Private welcomes and public addresses poured in upon him. His health had been much improved by the sea air and rest, and he rejoiced, as his foot touched the streets of the town which after all his wanderings was his home, to feel himself by no means yet a worn-out man, though in fact he had seventy-nine years of a busy life behind him. His fellow citizens evidently thought that the reservoir which had been so bountiful could not yet be near exhaustion, and were resolved to continue their copious draughts upon it. They at once elected him to the State Council, of which he was made President; and, as he said, "I had not firmness enough to resist the unanimous desire of my country folks; and I find myself harnessed again in their service for another year. They engrossed the prime of my life. They have eaten my flesh, and seem resolved now to pick my bones." A visible and a natural pleasure lurks in the words; old age finds nothing sweeter than a tribute to the freshness of its powers; and especially Franklin saw in this honor a vindication against his maligners. From it he understood that, however some individuals might indulge in dislike and distrust, the overwhelming mass of his fellow citizens esteemed him as highly as he could wish. The distinction, however, cost posterity an unwelcome price, for it prevented further work on the autobiography, which otherwise would probably have been finished.[94]

He came into office as a peacemaker amid warring factions, and in the fulfillment of his functions gave such satisfaction that in 1786 he was unanimously reëlected; and the like high compliment was paid him again in the autumn of 1787. It was like Washington and the presidency: so long as he would consent to accept the office, no other candidate was thought of. He also took substantially the same course which had been taken by Washington as commander-in-chief concerning his pay; for he devoted his whole salary to public uses. He had the good fortune to be able to carry out his somewhat romantic, and for most persons impracticable, theory in this respect, because his private affairs were prospering. His investments in real estate in Philadelphia had risen greatly in value and in their income-producing capacity since the war, and he was now at least comfortably endowed with worldly goods.

He still continued to ply his pen, and the just but annoying complaints which came from Great Britain, that English creditors could not collect their ante-bellum debts from their American debtors, stimulated him to a bit of humor at which his own countrymen at least were sure to laugh, however little droll it might seem to Englishmen, who reasonably preferred good dollars to good jokes. "We may all remember the time," he wrote, "when our mother country, as a mark of her parental tenderness, emptied her gaols into our habitations, 'for the better peopling,' as she expressed it, 'of the colonies.' It is certain that no due returns have yet been made for these valuable consignments. We are therefore much in her debt on that account; and as she is of late clamorous for the payment of all we owe her, and some of our debts are of a kind not so easily discharged, I am for doing, however, what is in our power. It will show our good will as to the rest. The felons she planted among us have produced such an amazing increase that we are now enabled to make ample remittance in the same commodity," etc., etc.

Nevertheless these English assaults nettled him not a little; and further he dreaded their possible influence in the rest of Europe outside of England. The English newspapers teemed with accounts of the general demoralization and disintegration of the States; it was said that they had found their ruin in their independence, and the unwillingness of American merchants to pay their debts was in one paragraph attributed to their dishonesty, and in the next to the hopeless poverty which was described as having possession of the country. It was in good truth what Mr. John Fiske has called it, "The Critical Period of American History." But Franklin was at once too patriotic and too sanguine to admit that matters were so bad as they seemed. His insight into the situation proved correct, and the outcome very soon showed that the elements of prosperity which he saw were substantial, and not merely the phantoms of a hopeful lover of his country. During these years of humiliation and discouragement he was busy in writing to many friends in England and in France very manly and spirited letters, declaring the condition of things in the States to be by no means so ill as it was represented. Industry had revived, values were advancing, the country was growing, welfare and success were within the grasp of the people. These things he said repeatedly and emphatically, and in a short time the accuracy of his knowledge had to be admitted by all, whether friends or enemies. He would not even admit that the failure to arrange a treaty of commerce with England was the serious misfortune which most Americans conceived it to be. In his usual gallant fashion of facing down untoward circumstances he alleged again and again that the lack of such a treaty was worse for Great Britain than for the States. If British merchants could stand it, American merchants, he avowed, could stand it much better. He was for showing no more concern about it. "Let the merchants on both sides treat with one another. Laissez les faire," he said. The presence of such a temper in the States, in so prominent a man, was of infinite service in those troubled years of unsettled, novel, and difficult conditions.

Dr. Franklin was not at first elected a member of the deputation from Pennsylvania to the convention which framed the Constitution of the United States. But in May, 1787, he was added in order that, in the possible absence of General Washington, there might be some one whom all could agree in calling to the chair.[95] It was fortunate that even an unnecessary reason led to his being chosen, for all future generations would have felt that an unpardonable void had been left in that famous assemblage, had the sage of America not been there. Certainly the "fitness of things," the historical picturesqueness of the event, imperatively demanded Dr. Franklin's venerable figure in the constitutional convention of the United States of America.

As between the two theories of government which divided that body, Franklin ranged himself with the party opposed to a strong and centralized government endowed with many functions and much power.[96] The simplest government seemed to him the best; and he substantially gave in his allegiance to those democratic ideas which afterward constituted the doctrines of the Jeffersonian school in American politics. It was natural that he should do so; he was a cheerful optimist all his life long, and few men have ever so trusted human kind as he did; so now he believed that the people could take care of themselves, as indeed the history of the past few years and the character of the population of the States at that time indicated that they could. He attended regularly all the sessions, and gave his opinions freely; but they are only dimly revealed in the half-light which enfolds in such lamentable obscurity the debates of that interesting body. What little is known can be briefly stated.

The same theory which he was practicing concerning his own salary he wished to see introduced as an article of the Constitution. The President, he thought, should receive no salary. Honor was enough reward; a place which gave both honor and profit offered too corrupting a temptation, and instead of remaining a source of generous aspiration to "the wise and moderate, the lovers of peace and good order, the men fittest for the trust," it would be scrambled for by "the bold and the violent, the men o£ strong passions and indefatigable activity in their selfish pursuits."[97] In our day such a notion and such arguments would be quickly sneered out of the debate; but they were in keeping with the spirit of that era when the first generation which for ages had dared to contemplate popular government was carried away by the earliest romantic fervor of inexperienced speculation.

It is familiar that the gravest question which perplexed the convention was whether the larger and the smaller States should stand upon terms of equality, or whether some proportion should be established. After a discussion, recurred to at intervals during many weeks, had failed to develop any satisfactory solution of this problem, pregnant with failure, Franklin moved that the daily proceedings should be opened with prayer.[98] But Hamilton said that a resort to prayer would indicate to the people that the convention had reached a desperate pass; and either this or some other reason was so potent that scarcely any one voted yea on the motion. What could be more singular than to see the skeptical Franklin and the religious Hamilton thus opposed upon this question! Franklin next suggested a compromise: an equal number of delegates for all States; an equal vote for all States upon all questions respecting the authority or sovereignty of a State, and upon appointments and confirmations; but votes to be apportioned according to the populations of the States respectively upon all bills for raising and spending money. He was in favor of a single legislative chamber, and his plan was designed to be applied to such a system. Its feasibility would probably have been defeated through the inevitable complexity which would have attended upon it in practice.[99] Nevertheless it was a suggestion in the right direction, and contained the kernel of that compromise which later on he developed into the system of an equal representation in the Senate, and a proportionate one in the House. This happy scheme may be fairly said to have saved the Union.

Upon the matter of suffrage Franklin voted against limiting it to freeholders, because to do so would be to "depress the virtue and public spirit of our common people," for whose patriotism and good sense he expressed high esteem. He opposed the requirement of a residence of fourteen years as a preliminary to naturalization, thinking four years a sufficient period. He thought that the President should hold office for seven years, and should not be eligible for a second term; he should be subject to impeachment, since otherwise in case of wrong-doing recourse could be had only to revolution or assassination; he should not have the power of an absolute veto.

When at last the long discussions were over and the final draft was prepared, Franklin found himself in the position in which also were most of his associates, disapproving certain parts, but thinking adoption of the whole far better than rejection. He was wise enough and singular enough to admit that he was not infallibly right. "Nothing in human affairs and schemes is perfect," he said, "and perhaps that is the case of our opinions." He made an excellent speech,[100] urging that at the close of their deliberations all should harmonize, sink their small differences of opinion, and send the document before the people with the prestige of their unanimous approbation. While the last members were signing, relates Madison, "Dr. Franklin, looking toward the president's chair, at the back of which a rising sun happened to be painted, observed to a few members near him that painters had found it difficult to distinguish in their art a rising from a setting sun. 'I have,' he said, 'often and often in the course of the session, and the vicissitudes of my hopes and fears as to its issue, looked at that behind the president without being able to tell whether it was rising or setting; but now at length I have the happiness to know that it is a rising and not a setting sun.'"

He did what he could to secure the adoption of the instrument by the people; and when that end was happily achieved he joined his voice to the unanimous cry with which the American nation nominated George Washington as the only possible candidate for the presidency. He said: "General Washington is the man whom all our eyes are fixed on for President, and what little influence I may have is devoted to him."

It was about the time of the election that he himself took his farewell of public life. The third year of his incumbency in the office of president of Pennsylvania expired in the autumn of 1788, and his physical condition precluded all idea of further official labors. Nature could not have committed such an incongruity, such a sin against æsthetic justice, as not to preserve Benjamin Franklin's life long enough to enable him to see the United States fairly launched as a real nation, with an established government and a sound constitution giving promise of a vigorous career. But evidently with this boon the patience of nature was exhausted; for Franklin's infirmities now increased upon him terribly. He endured extreme pain during periods steadily increasing in length and recurring at ever-shortening intervals. He bore his suffering, which too often became agony, with heroic fortitude; but it was evident that even his strong frame could not long hold out against the debilitating effects of his merciless disease. Yet while it racked his body it fortunately spared his mental faculties; and indeed so lively did his interest in affairs remain that it seemed to require these physical reminders to show him how old he was; save for his body, he was still a man in his prime. He once said: "I often hear persons, whom I knew when children, called old Mr. Such-a-one, to distinguish them from their sons, now men grown and in business; so that by living twelve years beyond David's period, I seem to have intruded myself into the company of posterity, when I ought to have been abed and asleep,"—words which should take their place among the fine sayings of the ages.

He was courageous and cheerful. In November, 1788, he wrote: "You kindly inquire after my health. I have not of late much reason to boast of it. People that will live a long life and drink to the bottom of the cup must expect to meet with some of the dregs. However, when I consider how many more terrible maladies the human body is liable to, I think myself well off that I have only three incurable ones: the gout, the stone, and old age; and, those notwithstanding, I enjoy many comfortable intervals, in which I forget all my ills, and amuse myself in reading or writing, or in conversation with friends, joking, laughing, and telling merry stories, as when you first knew me, a young man about fifty."[101] He does not seem to have taken undue credit to himself; there is no querulousness, or egotism, or senility in his letters, but a delightful tranquillity of spirit. His sister wrote to him that the Boston newspapers often had matter in his honor. "I am obliged to them," he wrote; "on the other hand, some of our papers here are endeavoring to disgrace me. I take no notice. My friends defend me. I have long been accustomed to receive more blame, as well as more praise, than I have deserved. It is the lot of every public man, and I leave one account to balance the other." So serene was the aged philosopher, a real philosopher, not one who, having played a part in life, was to be betrayed in the weakness and irritability of old age. He felt none of the mental weariness which years so often bring. He was by no means tired of life and affairs in this world, yet he wrote in a characteristic vein to the Bishop of St. Asaph: "The course of nature must soon put a period to my present mode of existence. This I shall submit to with the less regret, as, having seen during a long life a good deal of this world, I feel a growing curiosity to be acquainted with some other." It was characteristic that in these closing days it was the progress of mankind in knowledge and welfare which especially absorbed his thoughts. When he reflected on the great strides that were making he said that he almost wished that it had been his destiny to be born two or three centuries later. He was one of the few men who has left on record his willingness to live his life over again, even though he should not be allowed the privilege of "correcting in the second edition the errors of the first."

The French Revolution excited his profoundest interest. At first he said that he saw "nothing singular in all this, but on the contrary what might naturally be expected. The French have served an apprenticeship to liberty in this country, and now that they are out of their time they have set up for themselves."[102] He expressed his hope that "the fire of liberty, ... spreading itself over Europe, would act upon the inestimable rights of man as common fire does upon gold: purify without destroying them; so that a lover of liberty may find a country in any part of Christendom." The language had an unusual smack of the French revolutionary slang, in which he seems in no other instance to have indulged. But as the fury swelled, his earlier sympathies became merged in a painful anxiety concerning the fate of his many good old friends.

Franklin's last act was a memorial addressed to Congress, signed by him in his capacity as president of the abolition society, and praying that body: "That you will devise means for removing this inconsistency from the character of the American people; that you will promote mercy and justice towards this distressed race; and that you will step to the very verge of the power vested in you for discouraging every species of traffic in the persons of our fellow men." He had always spoken of slavery with the strongest condemnation, and branded the slave-trade as "abominable," a "diabolical commerce," and a "crime."

A large part of the last year or two of his life was passed by Franklin in his bed. At times when his dreadful suffering seemed to become intolerable, it was quelled, so far as possible, by opium. But at intervals it left him, and still whenever he thus got a respite for a few days he was again at work. It was in such an interval that he wrote his paper condemning the liberty, which was becoming the license, of the press. If the law permitted this sort of thing, he said, then it should restore also the liberty of the cudgel. The paper is not altogether antiquated, nor the idea altogether bad!

It was even so late as March 23, 1790, that he wrote the humorous rejoinder to the pro-slavery speech delivered in Congress by Jackson of Georgia. But the end was close at hand; and when this brilliant satire was composed, there lacked but a few days of the allotted term when that rare humor was to be stilled forever, and that broad philanthropy was to cease from the toil in which it had never tired alike for the free and the oppressed.

On April 12, 1790, a pain in the chest and difficulty of breathing, which had been giving him much trouble, ceased for a short while, and he insisted upon getting up in order to have his bed re-made; for he wished to "die in a decent manner." His daughter expressed the conventional wish that he might yet recover and live many years. "I hope not," he replied. Soon afterward the pain returned, and he was advised to change his position, so that he could breathe more easily. "A dying man can do nothing easy," he said; and these are the last words which he is known to have uttered. Soon afterward he sank into a lethargy, and so remained until at eleven o'clock, P. M., on April 17, 1790, he died.

A great procession and a concourse of citizens escorted his funeral, and Congress voted to "wear the customary badge of mourning for one month." The bits of crape were all very well, a conventional, insignificant tribute; but unfortunately the account of the country, or at least of Congress as representing the country, did not stand very honorably, to say nothing of generously, with one of its oldest, most faithful, and most useful servants.[103] Again and again Franklin had asked for some modest office, some slight opening, for his grandson, Temple Franklin. The young man's plans and prospects in life had all been sacrificed to the service of Franklin as his secretary, which was in fact the service of the country; yet he had never been able to collect even the ordinary salary pertaining to such a position. Throughout a long life of public service, often costly to himself in his own affairs, Franklin had never asked any other favor than this, which after all was rather compensation than favor, and this was never given to him. When one reflects how such offices are demanded and awarded in these days, one hardly knows whether to be more ashamed of the present or of the past. But this was not all nor even the worst; for Franklin's repeated efforts to get his own accounts with the government audited and settled never met with any response. It needed only that Congress should appoint a competent accountant to examine and report. Before leaving France Franklin had begged for this act of simple, business-like justice, which it was the duty of Congress to initiate without solicitation; he had the fate of the "poor unhappy Deane" before his eyes, to make him uncomfortable, but in this respect he was treated no better than that misused man. After his return home he continued his urgency during his last years, not wishing to die leaving malignant enemies behind him, and accounts open which he could no longer explain and elucidate. Indeed, stories were already circulating that he was "greatly indebted to the United States for large sums that had been put into [his] hands, and that [he] avoided a settlement;" yet this request was still, with unpardonable disregard of decency and duty, utterly ignored. He never could get the business attended to, and Benjamin Franklin actually could not extort from an indifferent Congress the small satisfaction of having his accounts passed. The consequence was that when he died the United States appeared his debtor, and never extricated itself from that painful position.[104] It was only in this matter that he ever showed the slightest anxiety concerning his reputation with posterity. He wanted to leave the name of an honest man; but otherwise he never was at the trouble of preparing a line to justify any of his actions, therein differing from many of his contemporaries.

France showed a livelier affection and warmer appreciation toward the great dead than did his own countrymen. At the opening of the National Assembly, June 11, 1790, Mirabeau delivered an impassioned eulogy in the rhetorical French fashion; and the motion to wear mourning for three days was carried by acclamation. The president of that body, M. Siéyes, was instructed to communicate the resolution to Washington. At the celebration of the municipality of Paris the citizens generally wore a mourning badge; and the grain market, where the oration was delivered, was draped in black. The Academy of Sciences of course did formal honor to his memory, as did likewise the revolutionary clubs. A street at what was in his day Passy, but is now included in Paris, near the Trocadéro, perpetuates by his name the admiration which France felt for him.

Among illustrious Americans Franklin stands preëminent in the interest which is aroused by a study of his character, his mind, and his career. One becomes attached to him, bids him farewell with regret, and feels that for such as he the longest span of life is all too short. Even though dead, he attracts a personal regard which renders easily intelligible the profound affection which so many men felt for him while living. It may be doubted whether any one man ever had so many, such constant, and such firm friends as in three different nations formed about him a veritable host. In the States and in France he was loved, and as he grew into old age he was revered, not by those who heard of him only, but most warmly by those who best knew him. Even in England, where for years he was the arch-rebel of all America, he was generally held in respect and esteem, and had many constant friends whose confidence no events could shake. It is true, of course, that he had also his detractors, with most of whom the reader has already made acquaintance. In Pennsylvania the proprietary party cherished an animosity which still survives against his memory, but which does not extend far beyond those who take it as an inheritance. It does him no discredit with persons who understand its source. In New England a loyalty to those famous New Englanders, John Adams and Samuel Adams, seems to involve in the minds of some persons a depreciation of Franklin. In English historical literature the patriotic instinct stands in the way of giving Franklin quite his full due of praise. But the faults and defects of character and conduct which are urged against him appear little more than the expression of personal ill will, when they are compared with the affection and the admiration given to him in liberal measure by the great mass of mankind both in the generations which knew him as a living contemporary and in those which hear of him only as one of the figures of history. It is not worth while to deify him, or to speak with extravagant reverence, as if he had neither faults nor limitations. Yet it seems ungracious to recall these concerning one who did for his fellow men so much as Franklin did. Moral, intellectual, and material boons he conferred in such abundance that few such benefactors of the race can be named, though one should survey all the ages. A man of a greater humanity never lived; and the quality which stood Abou Ben Adhem in good stead should suffice to save Franklin from human criticism. He not only loved his kind, but he also trusted them with an implicit confidence, reassuring if not extraordinary in an observer of his shrewdness and experience. Democrats of the revolutionary school in France and of the Jeffersonian school in the United States have preached an exaggerated gospel of the people, but their words are the dubious ones of fanatics or politicians. Franklin was of a different kind, and had a more genuine and more generous faith in man than the greatest democrat in politics who ever lived.

Franklin's inborn ambition was the noblest of all ambitions: to be of practical use to the multitude of men. The chief motive of his life was to promote the welfare of mankind. Every moment which he could snatch from enforced occupations was devoted to doing, devising, or suggesting something advantageous more or less generally to men. His detractors have given a bad, but also a false coloring to this trait. They say that the spirit of all that he did and taught was sordid, that the motives and purposes which he set before men were selfish, that his messages spoken through the mouth of Poor Richard inculcated no higher objects in life than money-getting. This is an utterly unfair form of stating the case. Franklin was a great moralist: though he did not believe in the Christian religion according to the straitlaced orthodox view, he believed in the virtues which that religion embodies; and he was not only often a zealous preacher, but in the main a consistent exemplar of them. Perhaps he did not rest them upon precisely the same basis upon which the Christian preacher does, but at least he put them on a basis upon which they could stand firm. In such matters, however, one may easily make mistakes, breed ill blood, and do harm; and his wisdom and good sense soon led him to put forth his chief efforts and to display especial earnestness and constancy in promoting the well-being of all men. It was an object sufficiently noble, one would think, worthy of the greatest brain and the largest heart, and having certain very commendable traits in the way of practicability and substantial possibilities. His desire was to see the community prosperous, comfortable, happy, advancing in the accumulation of money and of all physical goods, but not to the point of luxury; it was by no means the pile of dollars which was his end, and he did not care to see many men rich, but rather to see all men well to do. He was perfectly right in thinking that virtuous living has the best prospects in a well-to-do society. He gave liberally of his own means and induced others to give, and promoted in proportion to the ability of the community a surprising number of public and quasi public enterprises; and always the fireside of the poor man was as much in his thought as the benefit of the richer circle. Fair dealing and kindliness, prudence and economy in order to procure the comforts and simpler luxuries of life, reading and knowledge for those uses which wisdom subserves, constituted the real essence of his teaching. His inventive genius was ever at work devising methods of making daily life more agreeable, comfortable, and wholesome for all who have to live. In a word, the service of his fellow men was his constant aim; and he so served them that those public official functions which are euphemistically called "public services" seemed in his case almost an interruption of the more direct and far-reaching services which he was intent upon rendering to all civilized peoples. Extreme religionists may audaciously fancy that the judgment of God upon Franklin may be severe; but it would be gross disloyalty for his own kind to charge that his influence has been ignobly material.

As a patriot none surpassed him. Again it was the love of the people that induced this feeling, which grew from no theory as to forms of government, no abstractions and doctrines about "the rights of man." He began by espousing the cause of the people of the province of Pennsylvania against proprietary despotism, and for many years he was a patriot in his colony, before the great issue against England made patriotism common. His patriotism had not root in any revolutionary element in his temper, but was the inevitable outcome of his fair-mindedness. That which was unfair as between man and man first aroused his ire against the grinding proprietaries; and afterward it was the unfairness of taxation without representation which especially incensed him; for an intellect of the breadth and clearness of his sees and loves justice above all things. During the struggle of the States no man was more hearty in the cause than Franklin; and the depth of feeling shown in his letters, simple and unrhetorical as they are, is impressive. All that he had he gave. What also strikes the reader of his writings is the broad national spirit which he manifested. He had an immense respect for the dignity of America; he was perhaps fortunately saved from disillusionment by his distance from home. But be this as it may, the way in which he felt and therefore genuinely talked about his nation and his country was not without its moral effect in Europe.

Intellectually there are few men who are Franklin's peers in all the ages and nations. He covered, and covered well, vast ground. The reputation of doing and knowing various unrelated things is wont to bring suspicion of perfunctoriness; but the ideal of the human intellect is an understanding to which all knowledge and all activity are germane. There have been a few, very few minds which have approximated toward this ideal, and among them Franklin's is prominent. He was one of the most distinguished scientists who have ever lived. Bancroft calls him "the greatest diplomatist of his century."[105] His ingenious and useful devices and inventions were very numerous. He possessed a masterly shrewdness in business and practical affairs. He was a profound thinker and preacher in morals and on the conduct of life; so that with the exception of the founders of great religions it would be difficult to name any persons who have more extensively influenced the ideas, motives, and habits of life of men. He was one of the most, perhaps the most agreeable conversationist of his age.

He was a rare wit and humorist, and in an age when "American humor" was still unborn, amid contemporaries who have left no trace of a jest, still less of the faintest appreciation of humor, all which he said and wrote was brilliant with both these most charming qualities of the human mind. Though sometimes lax in points of grammar, as was much the custom in his day, he wrote as delightful a style as is to be found in all English literature, and that too when the stilted, verbose, and turgid habit was tediously prevalent. He was a man who impressed his ability upon all who met him; so that the abler the man and the more experienced in judging men, the higher did he rate Franklin when brought into direct contact with him; politicians and statesmen of Europe, distrustful and sagacious, trained readers and valuers of men, gave him the rare honor of placing confidence not only in his personal sincerity, but in his broad fair-mindedness, a mental quite as much as a moral trait.

It is hard indeed to give full expression to a man of such scope in morals, in mind, and in affairs. He illustrates humanity in an astonishing multiplicity of ways at an infinite number of points. He, more than any other, seems to show us how many-sided our human nature is. No individual, of course, fills the entire circle; but if we can imagine a circumference which shall express humanity, we can place within it no one man who will reach out to approach it and to touch it at so many points as will Franklin. A man of active as well as universal good will, of perfect trustfulness towards all dwellers on the earth, of supreme wisdom expanding over all the interests of the race, none has earned a more kindly loyalty. By the instruction which he gave, by his discoveries, by his inventions, and by his achievements in public life he earns the distinction of having rendered to men varied and useful services excelled by no other one man; and thus he has established a claim upon the gratitude of mankind so broad that history holds few who can be his rivals.