Franklin, after some further deliberation, felt the potential benefits more than justified the risks. It was clear that next year’s campaign was going to be crucial for the American cause. Help was needed, and needed soon. In spite of Bonvouloir’s fervent disavowals, it was clear he was acting on the orders of the French government. The French may have been slow, tentative and perhaps even irritating, but they were finally showing signs of abandoning their official neutrality. Bonvouloir’s mission was a significant first step in that direction.

It was agreed that members of the Committee of Secret Correspondence would meet with Bonvouloir, but only under conditions of utmost discretion. Carpenter’s Hall was chosen for the nighttime rendezvous. The meeting would involve only four men: Franklin, fellow committee member Jay, Francis Daymon and the mysterious Frenchman. It was best to keep participants to an absolute minimum; a larger group would only attract unwanted attention.

Daymon was needed to act as an interpreter. Franklin knew how to read French, having taught himself the rudiments of the language as early as the 1730s. He also knew how to speak a little French, but he was far from fluent at the time, and it was important that no misunderstandings arise due to mistranslation.

As things turned out, there were three long meetings with the French agent, all occurring between December 18 and 27, 1775.

The first meeting set the pattern for the rest. One chilly night Franklin slipped on a cloak and walked to Carpenter’s Hall. It was agreed that each participant would go to the rendezvous separately, using different routes, and strictly under the cover of darkness.

Franklin’s great brick house on High Street was only about a block from the hall, so he didn’t have far to go. It was ironic that, thanks to Franklin, Philadelphia boasted the best lighted streets in the country. Four-sided lamps, designed by Franklin himself, hung suspended from tall poles and gave out a strong glow. Under those street lamps, his bulky silhouette easily could be seen as he trudged through the frigid streets.

Once Franklin showed up — the last to arrive by some accounts — Daymon led the party up the stairs to the second floor by the light of a flickering candle. He had already made sure that the building’s shutters were tightly fastened, lest any telltale beam of light betray the fact that Carpenter’s Hall was not empty. The stairs bore an uncanny resemblance to the kind seen on scaffolds. For all these men knew, this might be a dress rehearsal for a climb of a more sinister kind.

The second floor of Carpenter’s Hall was divided into two large rooms. The east room housed the Library Company’s books, while the west room was home to its many scientific devices and equipment. In 1774 the west room was described as a ‘handsome Appartment [sic]‘ where ‘apparatus is deposited and directors meet.’ Cluttered as the west room was with telescopes, air pumps and electrical devices, the east room was a logical place to conduct the secret talks. It was, after all, where the library directors met.

John Jay later recalled Bonvouloir as an ‘elderly, lame gentleman, having the appearance of an old, wounded French officer.’ It’s a curious description, because the chevalier was in his mid-20s at the time. He did have a game leg, but nothing else fits. Jay’s story does conjure up yet another intriguing possibility — that Bonvouloir was in disguise.

The chevalier de Bonvouloir rigidly adhered to his instructions. ‘I made them no offer,’ he proudly recalled later, ‘absolutely none.’ But Franklin and Jay assumed — correctly — that he was a French agent, and acted accordingly. Apparently Franklin took the lead in the discussions, and though the tone was friendly, Bonvouloir was put on the defensive.

‘These affairs are so delicate,’ he admitted, ‘that with all the goodwill possible, I tremble as I advance.’ Franklin and Jay cut to the chase. They wanted to know if France would aid America, and at what price. The chevalier said that yes, France might come to the rebels’ aid, but he did not know what the condition would be.

Franklin apparently asked if France was favorable to the American cause. Bonvouloir pleaded ignorance, explaining he was only a ‘private citizen.’ When pressed, the chevalier opined that France did wish them well. Benjamin Franklin knew that few American officers had training in European warfare. When the Frenchman was asked if his country might supply two good military engineers, Bonvouloir was evasive, but promised to forward the request to friends back home.

America was rich in a variety of natural resources, but poor in gold or silver specie to pay for arms. Franklin queried Bonvouloir about the possibility of obtaining arms and munitions in exchange for American commercial goods. Once again the chevalier gave a conditional assent, but stressed the French government would not take part in such transactions. Instead, business would be conducted by private French merchants.

The meetings concluded on an upbeat note. In spite of Bonvouloir’s attempts at evasion, it was clear that France was indeed interested in helping the American cause. This was encouraging to Franklin and Jay.

As soon as the last session was over, the chevalier quickly sent messages back to France as instructed. On December 28, Bonvouloir penned an account of both the clandestine encounters at Carpenter’s Hall and his impressions of the general situation. Many of his statements are exaggerations, the narrative peppered with facts that sound plausible but are ultimately false. There is no deliberate attempt to deceive his superiors; it’s obvious from the tone that Bonvouloir believes what he is saying. Much of the report is a product of a fevered imagination desperate to achieve success.

The evidence is circumstantial, but Franklin’s own ‘fingerprints’ seemed to be all over Bonvouloir’s report. Ben Franklin was a skilled propagandist, and it looks as if he filled the Frenchman’s head with facts and figures to suggest America was in a better position than it really was. Some of Bonvouloir’s statements bear suspicious similarities to some of Franklin’s own letters to foreign friends that year.

Bonvouloir saw the budding Revolution in a favorable light, as when he boldly states, ‘The Confederates [Americans] are preparing themselves extensively for the coming spring.’ This sounds much like Franklin’s letter of December 9, 1775, when the printer speaks glowingly of how ‘our artificers are also every where busy in fabricating small arms, casting cannon, etc.’

The French emissary reported: ‘Everyone here is a soldier, the troops are well clothed, well paid and well armed. They have more than 50,000 regular soldiers and an even larger number of volunteers who do not wish to be paid….Nothing shocks or frightens them, you can count on that. Independency is a certainty for 1776.’

This, of course, was a wild exaggeration. Washington’s Continental Army never had more than 18,000 to 20,000 men at a time, and usually the figures were much lower. The troops were badly paid, often badly clothed, especially in winter, and had to endure periods of sickness and semi-starvation. Ironically, the only one of Bonvouloir’s predictions that proved accurate was that America would declare its independence from Britain.

The Secret Committee of Correspondence was encouraged by the chevalier de Bonvouloir’s clandestine visits, so much so that on March 2, 1776, they appointed Connecticut lawyer and revolutionary leader Silas Deane as a special envoy to negotiate with the French government.

On the French side, Bonvouloir swallowed the committee’s propaganda hook, line and sinker. When his wildly positive report reached France on February 27, 1776, it gave Vergennes more ammunition to persuade King Louis XVI to aid the rebellious colonies. France and Spain were not ready for open hostilities, but it was secretly agreed by both parties that the rebellion must be kept alive as long as possible.

Meanwhile, another pro-American Frenchman was enlisted as a middleman between the two nations. Pierre Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais was a flamboyant man of many talents, author of the play Barber of Seville and later Marriage of Figaro. Among his other accomplishments, he was a French spy, passionately devoted to the American cause. In April 1776, Vergennes wrote to Beaumarchais: ‘We will secretly give you one million livres. We will try to obtain an equal sum from Spain. [He did.] With these two millions you will establish a commercial firm and…supply the Americans with arms, munitions, equipment….’ Once the funds were in hand, a dummy company — Hortalez & Cie — was set up to funnel arms and supplies to America. While still maintaining a precarious neutrality, France was now fully committed to providing substantial aid to the insurgent Americans.

The chevalier de Bonvouloir soon faded into obscurity. He stayed on in America for about a year, but accomplished little of consequence. After some wrangling he managed to get a commission in the French navy, sailed to India in his ship and died there in 1783.

After independence was declared, Franklin sailed for France on October 27, 1776, as a member of a commission authorized by Congress to negotiate a commercial treaty with Louis XVI’s government. In 1778 Franklin signed a Franco-American Treaty of Alliance. Thus, from those first furtive winter meetings at Carpenter’s Hall in Philadelphia three years earlier, aided by Franklin’s wise guidance and diplomacy, emerged massive French moral, monetary, material and eventually direct military support for the American colonial cause.

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This article was written by Eric Niderost and originally published in the February 2006 issue of American History Magazine. For more great articles, subscribe to American History magazine today!

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