The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [168]
Gerard’s reception room was similar to that of Vergennes, more like the grand ballroom of some astonishing palace than any place devoted simply to business. When Franklin and Temple disembarked from their carriage, they were met by the customary secretary, the man gushing out his usual greetings, as though Franklin was the most influential visitor ever received at the palace. Franklin had heard it all before, assumed that the man’s patronizing flood of compliments was well rehearsed, the same delivery to any visitor. The man was always accompanied by an escort of soldiers, emphasizing the point that though Franklin might be a celebrated guest, the king’s security was still the priority.
It was Temple’s first visit to Versailles, and Franklin had one eye focused on his grandson as their escort led them through the extraordinary halls. Franklin had become accustomed to the fineries, the walls, floors and ceiling bathed in luxurious detail, but he expected Temple to gawk in wide-eyed wonder, assumed the young man would be as captivated by the grandeur as his hosts expected him to be. Instead, Temple seemed to focus on the soldier in front of them, and Franklin could see now he was matching the man’s steps, mimicking his march. The secretary was a tour guide as well, pointing out certain artifacts, explaining in thick English the history they passed. Franklin made a polite show of paying attention, annoyed that his grandson was not.
They reached the end of a long hall, and their escorts stood aside. The secretary motioned toward a grand entryway to the reception hall, and Franklin stepped in first, his eye caught by the rich scarlet draperies framing the enormous windows. The walls were a creamy white, bordered in gold, and much like Vergennes’ office, enormous mirrors stood between the windows. The secretary left them alone, the doors closing softly, and Franklin could hold his impatience no longer, said in a hushed voice, “Temple! Can you not show some respect? Are you so accustomed to palaces that you cannot at least pretend to be impressed?”
Temple seemed stung by Franklin’s scolding, looked around the room, said, “Yes, sir, I am impressed. I am impressed by how much money the French have spent decorating their halls. If America had this much gold in our treasury, the war would already be over. We would not need to come to this place to beg for our means.”
Franklin was shocked, stared at him for a long moment.
“My apologies, Temple. You are quite correct. It is an appropriate reminder.”
Temple was studying the room, and Franklin realized how much he cared for the young man, thought, A man indeed. Years ago Temple’s father William had accepted with perfect ease the appointment by King George as royal governor of New Jersey. Franklin had never been comfortable with his son’s attitude, as though by the appointment alone, William had earned the right to surround himself with such finery and baubles as these. Temple was William’s illegitimate son, a source of scandal that often came to life during the early days of the Revolution. But Temple had seemed immune to the controversies surrounding his father, had been doted on by a stepmother who placed a desperate value on social position. For the first time, Franklin understood that his grandson had seen past the absurdity of the façade, had formed his own opinions of the dangerous trappings of title. He was suddenly proud of the young man, thought, He is so . . . American. And you, old man, so accustomed to all this grandeur, if you become a bit too impressed, remember the wisdom from this . . . boy.
The door opened behind him, and a parade of men entered.
“Ah, Doctor, welcome yet again! And this young man is your grandson, yes?”
Gerard was all smiles, and Temple responded with perfect politeness, said, “I am honored to be allowed to attend, sir.”
Gerard smiled at Franklin, said, “His grandfather’s grace! Excellent! Please, let us be seated!”
Franklin saw Vergennes