ensued, had
fixed the regards of Paris, of Versailles, of the whole kingdom
indeed,--although in his simple and farmer-like exterior so unlike those
gilded plenipotentiaries to whom France was accustomed,--and he
recounts, most sympathetically, that the Prince, after an interview of
two hours, declared that "Franklin appeared to him above even his
reputation."[39] And here again we encounter the unwilling testimony of
Capefigue, who says that he was followed everywhere, taking possession
of "hearts and minds," and that "his image, under the simple garb of a
Quaker, was to be found at the hearth of the poor and in the boudoir of
the beautiful";[40]--all of which is in harmony with the more
sympathetic record of Lacretelle, who says that "portraits of Franklin
were everywhere, with this inscription, _Eripuit coelo_, etc., _which
the Court itself found just and sublime_."[41]

But it was at court, even in the precincts of Versailles, that the
portrait and the inscription had their most remarkable experience. Of
this there is an authentic account in the Memoirs of Marie Antoinette by
her attendant, Madame Campan. This feminine chronicler relates that
Franklin appeared at court in the dress of an American farmer. His flat
hair without powder, his round hat, his coat of brown cloth contrasted
with the bespangled and embroidered dresses, the powdered and perfumed
hair of the courtiers of Versailles. The novelty charmed the lively
imagination of French ladies. Elegant _fetes_ were given to the man who
was said to unite in himself the renown of a great, natural philosopher
with "those patriotic virtues which had made him embrace the noble part
of Apostle of Liberty." Madame Campan records that she assisted at one
of these _fetes_, where the most beautiful among three hundred ladies
was designated to place a crown of laurel upon the white head of the
American philosopher, and two kisses upon the cheeks of the old man.
Even in the palace, at the exposition of the Sevres porcelain, the
medallion of Franklin, with the legend, "_Eripuit coelo_", etc., was
sold directly under the eyes of the King. Madame Campan adds, however,
that the King avoided expressing himself on this enthusiasm, which, she
says, "without doubt, his sound sense made him blame." But an incident,
called "a pleasantry," which has remained quite unknown, goes beyond
speech in the way of explaining the secret sentiments of Louis XVI. The
Comtesse Diane de Polignac, d