by Ron Carter
“It is my honor to be here with you, Mr. Deane. I survived the passage, though I dare not say by how much. I trust you are well—that you are getting along grandly with your work here.”
Deane glanced about the foyer nervously. “Tolerable. I see you have not taken time to unpack your luggage.”
Franklin nodded. “I preferred my first act in Paris to be meeting you. Would there be a later time convenient for us to talk? Perhaps after my grandsons and I have had time to unpack and take supper?”
At ten minutes past nine P.M. Franklin settled onto a chair in the privacy of Deane’s room. He leaned back, one hand resting on the table between them. Deane, opposite him, drew a deep breath as Franklin spoke quietly, casually.
“May we speak freely in this room?”
“Yes. I’m certain of it.”
“Is there anything of immediate importance that we should handle first?”
Deane shook his head.
Franklin pursed his mouth for a moment in thought. “I would very much appreciate developing a picture of how things stand presently. Would you care to give me your view, or would you prefer I ask questions?”
Deane considered for a moment. “Do you have questions?”
Franklin nodded and continued casually, quietly. “Is my coming here well known to the French people generally?”
“Very well known.”
“What reaction?”
“From the common citizenry? Adulation.”
“From the political powers?”
“King Louis?” Deane shook his head. “A bit of a dullard. He’s turned the entire matter over to Comte de Vergennes, his foreign minister. I do not know his reaction.”
“What instruction did the king give Vergennes? Do you know?”
“Vergennes has never said.”
Franklin’s expression and casual voice had not changed. “Do the French know of the loss of New York, and Washington’s retreat to New Jersey? The pitiful condition of the Continental army now?”
Deane nodded. “Yes.”
“What result?”
“Vergennes does not think the Continental army can survive it.”
“Then why has Vergennes not broken off any dealings with us altogether? allowed you to remain here?”
Deane shrugged. “He’s never said, and I’ve been afraid to ask. It’s too critical, too heavy.”
“Has France taken any steps to aid the Americans?”
Deane leaned forward, narrowed eyes glowing. “Yes. Have you ever heard the name Beaumarchais? Pierre Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais?”
Franklin dropped his eyes while he searched his memory. “The author? The Marriage of Figaro?”
“Yes.”
“What is the current state of affairs with him?”
“Over a year ago, Beaumarchais saw the rebellion coming and went to Vergennes. He’s well known, and Vergennes listened. Beaumarchais offered his services in secretly arranging aid for the Americans until they were strong enough to withstand the British. Vergennes took him to King Louis. Louis agreed. Louis saw to it that one million livres reached Beaumarchais. He also persuaded Spain to contribute another million, which Beaumarchais was ordered to use to set up a regular commercial company named ‘Rodrique Hortalez and Company.’ From all appearances it has nothing to do with King Louis or France. Since early this year, Beaumarchais has been shipping arms and ammunition undercover to the colonies. The British know about Rodrique Hortalez and Company, but they can’t prove King Louis has anything to do with it. They’re watching it. Closely.”
“Does Stormont know this?”
“The British ambassador to Paris? Yes, he does. He smells the rat, but he can’t find it.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“He knew about your coming before you arrived. He knows about the two Irish ships Captain Wickes took as prizes just off the Irish coast. He knows where you landed and when. He’s already told Vergennes that if you set foot in Paris he’s going to leave instantly and not return.”
“What did Vergennes say?”
Deane grinned. “Vergennes agreed totally with Stormont. Told him he’d already sent a messenger to Nantes to stop you before you even started your journey to Paris. However, it was possible the messenger might miss you if you were already on your way, and if that happened he would try to find you and stop you before you ever reached Paris. And he added that of course if you actually got into the city without being detected, it would be a bit undesirable to turn you out because of the scandalous scene it would create for all of France if it were known that she neither abided nor respected the laws of nations, not to mention hospitality.”
Franklin chuckled, then sobered. Vergennes is to be reckoned with. Be careful.
“What was Stormont’s reply?”
“Nothing, yet. You’ve arrived and he’s still here.”
Franklin changed his train of thought. “You heard about those two ships we brought in with us at Belle Ile?”
Deane’s eyebrows peaked. “Yes. I was surprised. Wasn’t Wickes told to avoid battles? I have to tell you, if the British officer Sir Grey Cooper had been a bit more alert, he would have had a dozen British gunboats off the Bordeaux coast and found your ship and arrested you. They still have an active criminal warrant for you.”
Franklin dropped his eyes and spoke through a grin. “I know about the warrant. One ship was Irish, the other British. Wickes turned to me when we saw them and asked me what to do. The man was all but bursting out in tears in his need to go after them. I told him to attack. He did. We took them both without firing a shot.”
For several seconds a silent chuckle shook Deane’s shoulders, and Franklin waited before he continued.
“Where’s Arthur Lee, our third man? Still in London? Would Stormont trump up charges and arrest him and hold him hostage to force me out?”
Deane shook his head. “I saw that coming and I wrote to Lee. He’s due in Paris in the next day or two.”
Franklin relaxed. “Good. Has he ever gotten over that small problem of a few years ago about which of us was the actual agent for the Massachusetts House?”
Dean shrugged. “I didn’t know about it.”
“No matter. Does Stormont know Lee has left London?”
“Yes.”
“Has he done anything about it?”
“Not that I know about.”
“Is Stormont still talking with Vergennes?”
“Yes. Lately he’s warned Vergennes against you. Told him that France could expect you to rise to political heights and then betray their trust through treachery in an attempt to bring France down in defeat, just as you did to England.”
“What did Vergennes say?”
“He agreed totally. Said he would never trust you beyond what he could prove to his own satisfaction.”
Franklin smiled, nodded, and for a time sat with his head slightly bowed, staring at the tabletop as he worked with the information Deane had delivered to him, putting it together, smoothing it, pushing to see the bigger dimensions of it. He raised his head.
“Is there anything else I should know?”
“Yes.” Once again Deane leaned forward, eyes intense. “Nothing in the past decade has been as closely scrutinized as your arrival here for the American colonies. Every politician in London knows. Both Stormont and Horace Walpole have published articles in London newspapers that are accurate nearly to the last detail. Their network of eyes and ears now reaches everywhere, watching and waiting for the first mistake. They plan to bring down both you and France with the whole world watching.”
Deane paused to order his thoughts. “The French people view you as the only person alive who can provide a way for them to revenge themselves against England. The government is another matter. I can only guess the mind of King Louis.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. I’ve made arrangements with Beaumarchais for two hundred brass cannon and thirty thousand fusees and gunpowder. They should be
ready for shipment soon. We don’t call them cannon and munitions in our dealings. We simply refer to them as commercial commodities. You’ll hear more of this, and I tell you now only so you’ll know if it comes up.” Deane paused and pursed his mouth while he searched for words to express his last thought. “I’m a businessman. Not a politician. I can handle business arrangements, but I am poorly prepared to handle the intrigues we are getting into. I understand you are quite capable in that regard. You don’t know the mighty relief I feel at having you here.”
Franklin rose. “I’ll do what I can. You’ve given me much of what I need.” He walked to the door and turned. “I think we should meet Comte de Vergennes immediately. Could I prepare a document for our signatures tomorrow morning?”
“Absolutely.”
At midnight, with his two grandsons asleep in their beds, Franklin silently lighted a lamp on a table and took quill in hand. For long minutes he worked with the words in his mind, then carefully wrote the required proper political salutation to Comte de Vergennes, and continued.
“We beg leave to acquaint your Excellency that we are appointed and fully empowered by the Congress of the United States of America to propose and negotiate a treaty of amity and commerce between France and the United States.” He reread the lines with approval, and for more than half an hour he continued to write, pausing to select his words, rereading the message to be certain he had said what was intended.
The following morning he and Deane signed their names with a flourish, and Franklin turned to his grandson, William. “I would very much appreciate you delivering this to his Excellency, the Foreign Minister Vergennes. Mr. Deane can give you the address.”
Hastily Deane wrote it out and Franklin read it, surprised. “He resides in Versailles?”
“Yes.”
The next morning William was greeted by a clerk at the Foreign Office in Versailles. The balding, rotund little man stared at the youthful American with a condescending eye and glanced at the document. “Monsieur Gérard is absent today. I will deliver this to him upon his return.”
William reflected for one moment. “May I inquire, since the document is for his Excelleny, Comte de Vergennes, why is it necessary to deliver it to Monsieur Gérard?”
The man raised his nose. “Monsieur Gérard receives all messages.”
William nodded. “I see. And when will Monsieur Gérard return?”
The man tossed the document on his desk. “I do not know.”
William smiled. “Well, sir”—he reached to pick up the document—”then may I wait and deliver this document to his Excellency myself?” His eyes narrowed slightly and his smile became wooden. “It is from representatives of the United States of America.” He paused. “And it is urgent.” He slipped the document back into his inside coat pocket.
The round little man’s eyes opened wide for a split second. “America? From whom in America?”
William locked eyes with him. “Doctor Benjamin Franklin and Silas Deane.”
The man’s head thrust forward. “Franklin? Doctor Benjamin Franklin?”
William neither spoke nor moved.
“Please wait,” the man stammered and disappeared through a door at the rear of the room to return in two minutes. “His Excellency has instructed me to accept the document and deliver it to him.”
William drew the paper from his pocket and paused, smiling while his eyes took on a flinty spark. “I am most grateful for the offer, but sir, I will deliver this to his Excellency myself, if it takes all day.”
The man clamped his mouth shut and once again disappeared. Within minutes he returned, followed by a rather small man dressed in a black coat, white shirt, and black bow gathered at his throat. The man’s face was a blend of amusement and pique as he approached William.
“I understand you have a message from the representatives of the United States of America?”
“I do, sir. For his Excellency, the Foreign Minister, Comte de Vergennes.”
“I am he.”
William bowed. “I am honored, sir. I herewith deliver the message.” He handed the document to Vergennes.
“Your name?”
“William Temple Franklin.”
“Related to Doctor Franklin?”
“My grandfather, sir.”
Vergennes smiled despite himself. “How interesting.” He reflected for a moment. “I will want to study this in depth. Would you return tomorrow morning at nine o’clock for my reply? I shall try to schedule a meeting with Doctor Franklin in the next few days.”
“It would be my privilege, sir. I shall take lodging overnight nearby.”
Five days later Franklin and Deane hunched their shoulders against a drizzle of freezing rain and made their way to the Office of the Foreign Minister in Versailles. At ten o’clock Monsieur Gérard, sparse, hawk-nosed, immaculate in both dress and manner, appeared before them in the plush anteroom outside the office of Vergennes. “His Excellency will see you now.”
The square room was not large, but every appointment, every fixture, was luxurious. The great, dark oak desk stood squarely before a floor-to-ceiling window with velvet draperies. A massive painting of King Louis XVI dominated the wall above the oak mantel on the marble fireplace.
Vergennes stood instantly as Deane walked through the door, Franklin following. “Accept my warmest welcome to France,” he said in accented English as he strode across the polished hardwood floor. “I am the French Foreign Minister. I am honored to greet you and welcome you to France.”
Deane bowed. “I am Silas Deane and this is Benjamin Franklin. We are most honored at your warm reception.”
For a moment, Vergennes’s eyes locked with Franklin’s. “I trust your journey was reasonably acceptable.”
Franklin smiled and replied in fluent French. “Shall we say, I survived it?”
Vergennes’s eyes lighted. “I have heard stories concerning ‘Admiral Franklin.’ May I presume they are true? Your vessel—let me see—the Reprisal I believe—took two British prizes of war not far off the Brittany coast?” Vergennes’s French was as smooth as glass.
Franklin chuckled. “It is true, but do not believe the propaganda about Admiral Franklin.’ I simply nodded my head at the wrong moment and Captain Wickes misunderstood. That brave soul attacked without so much as a warning.”
Vergennes laughed. “Please be seated, gentlemen.”
As Franklin settled onto the velvet upholstered chair facing Vergennes’s desk, he felt the old, familiar rise in his breast as every sense, every nerve in his being came to a fierce, intense focus on Vergennes, and what was to come in the next hour. He knew the rules of political exchange by which nations conducted their business at the highest levels. In times of war, the implicit was more critical than the explicit, the hidden more deadly than the revealed. You learned to maintain every requirement of absolute innocence and propriety while you sorted the truth out, or you went down. In what was coming with Vergennes, the sorting would have to be almost instantaneous.
Vergennes sat on his high-backed, intricately carved, velvet upholstered chair and turned to Franklin. “I was greatly impressed by your written inquiries of a few days ago—the ones delivered by your grandson. Extremely bright young man—great future—I’m sure you’re very proud, as you ought to be.”
Franklin smiled benignly. “William favors his father’s side.”
Vergennes smiled back. “May I address the questions you posed?”
“We would be delighted.”
“You expressed concern about our French seaports. Rest assured, all our ports are, and will remain open to your ships of commerce. We are anxious to maintain the usual import-export relationship with all of the colonies, with our two peoples exchanging goods and merchandise according to the usual rules of sovereign states that enjoy friendly relations.” He paused, then added as though by afterthought. “Of course, such exchange will be subject to such treaties as either of our countries might have with others.”
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br /> “Excellent.” Franklin leaned back in his chair. “I would be delighted to frame such a treaty for your consideration, or at least a document setting forth the general terms by which the merchants of both countries can be guided.”
Vergennes raised his hands, palms up, eyebrows arched. “There is no need. The merchants have already established their own rules. The exchange is proceeding beautifully. May I suggest that a formal treaty or document would only serve to interrupt what is already the accepted practice.”
Franklin nodded. “Should the Congress of the United States wish to obtain various items from the government of France—perhaps munitions—I presume we should make the request in writing through your good offices?”
“Of course. We would be delighted to consider it. Simply submit the requests in writing to myself, privately, from time to time according to your need.”
Again Franklin nodded. “There is a rumor that a few such requests and acquisitions have already been made.”
Vergennes leaned forward, his face a mask of surprise. “How interesting. I have heard no such rumors, nor am I privy to any such dealings. I am intensely surprised.”
Franklin passed it off. “No matter.” He cleared his throat and once again brought his eyes to Vergennes’s. “There is some concern about the proximity of France to England. The channel is narrow. Shipping moves freely. Considering the current disaffection between the United States and England, may we understand that French ports will extend the usual courtesy of protecting our incoming ships once they have arrived in your ports?”
Vergennes nodded deeply. “Of course. All internationally
recognized courtesies will be afforded your incoming commercial vessels once they have reached waters considered to be a French port.”
Franklin paused for a moment. “Would it be prudent for us to establish ourselves with any other offices of your government? Perhaps your Minister of Domestic Affairs?”
Vergennes shrugged. “I see no need. For the time, you would be best served to communicate with only this office. I will be most happy to give my personal attention to anything you may wish.”
“You are most gracious. Is there anything you wish to inquire of us?”
