How Benjamin Franklin's Reputation (and Allegedly, Other Attributes) Saved the American Revolution: A Somewhat Historical Account

The Historical Facts (Boring But Necessary)

In December 1776, Benjamin Franklin arrived in France at the ripe age of 70. America desperately needed French support—ships, soldiers, money, anything to fight off the British. Franklin was chosen as diplomat because he was already famous in Europe as a scientist, inventor, and writer.

The facts are these: Franklin became an absolute sensation in Paris. He attended salons (the intellectual cocktail parties of the era), charmed influential women, and played up his image as a simple American frontiersman by wearing a fur cap instead of powdered wigs. The French elite ate it up.

He developed particularly close friendships with two women: Madame Brillon, a talented musician 30 years his junior, and Madame Helvétius, a wealthy widow who ran one of Paris's most influential salons. The surviving letters between Franklin and these ladies are genuinely flirtatious, affectionate, and playfully suggestive.

Through these social connections, Franklin gained access to the French court and eventually secured the Franco-American alliance in 1778, which proved decisive in winning the Revolutionary War.

Those are the facts. Now let's talk about the legend.

Legend Has It... (The Fun Part)

According to tavern tales, coffeehouse gossip, and stories whispered in the halls of Versailles, Benjamin Franklin's conquest of Paris was not merely intellectual.

Picture, if you will, the man himself: seventy years old, considerably rotund, balding (hence the fur cap), wearing bifocals of his own invention. By modern standards—or frankly, by 18th-century standards—not exactly what one would call a "heartthrob." And yet...

The Salon Circuit

Franklin began attending Madame Brillon's salon twice weekly. The ladies of French society were initially curious about this "American philosopher." They expected perhaps a rustic colonial, rough around the edges, maybe smelling of gunpowder and freedom.

What they got was something far more dangerous: wit.

Franklin regaled them with stories. He made them laugh. He listened—actually listened—when they spoke. He complimented their intelligence, not just their appearance. For women accustomed to being ornamental fixtures at French court, this was revolutionary indeed.

Now, here's where we need to discuss Madame Brillon's bathing habits. As was fashionable among French elite women, she would receive guests while taking her bath. And Franklin? Franklin would sit beside her copper tub, playing chess with her while she soaked.

Yes. You read that correctly. A 70-year-old American diplomat, playing chess with a beautiful married French woman while she bathed. This is documented historical fact. There are contemporary accounts of this.

The question is: HOW? How does a septuagenarian with gout manage this level of scandalous intimacy and maintain such composure?

Madame Brillon began calling him "mon cher Papa." Their correspondence grew increasingly playful. Franklin once wrote asking if he could spend his afterlife with her. She wrote back, suggesting he work on his virtue first. He replied that he was making excellent progress and looked forward to collecting on that promise.

But it gets better. There exist actual portraits and sketches from the period showing French ladies sitting on Franklin's lap at salons. SITTING. ON. HIS. LAP. At 70+ years old, Franklin was apparently a human throne for the ladies of Paris.

And perhaps most tellingly, Franklin himself penned an essay titled "Advice to a Young Man on the Choice of a Mistress" in which he argued—quite explicitly—that older women make superior lovers. His reasoning? They're more experienced, more discreet, "more prudent and discreet in conducting an Intrigue," and most memorably, he claimed that "the Pleasure of corporal Enjoyment with an old Woman is at least equal, and frequently superior" to that with a young one.

This was not a man afraid of earthly pleasures. This was a man who, at 70, was actively campaigning for the virtues of geriatric romance.

The other salon ladies took notice. How could they not?

The Whispers Begin

Now, here's where history meets legend, facts blur into fog, and we enter the realm of "rumor has it."

The French court ran on gossip the way engines run on steam. And the gossip about Franklin became intense.

Consider what the French nobility were witnessing: A portly, balding 70-year-old man with gout, who by all rights should be home with a warm blanket and some soup, was instead playing chess beside bathtubs, collecting ladies on his lap like living decorations, writing essays about the superiority of elderly lovers, and maintaining multiple intimate (though supposedly platonic) relationships with beautiful, sophisticated women.

The question on everyone's lips: HOW?

First, there were murmurs about his stamina. How does a 70-year-old man attend multiple salons in one evening, charm dozens of ladies, engage in spirited intellectual debate, play chess with bathing beauties, and still have energy left to write lengthy letters full of flirtatious banter? What was his secret?

Some said it was the simple American diet. Others suggested it was all that experimental electricity he'd been playing with—perhaps he'd shocked himself into perpetual vigor.

One wag at Versailles supposedly quipped that Franklin had "discovered how to bottle lightning and stored it somewhere personal."

The French, being French, were not content with mere intellectual explanations.

Then came the more specific rumors.

"They Say..." (The Really Fun Part)

Legend has it—and please understand, dear reader, this is pure speculation, gossip, and probably fiction—that the ladies of the French court became increasingly curious about whether Franklin's intellectual prowess extended to other domains.

The Versailles rumor mill went into absolute overdrive. Remember, these people had nothing to do but gossip, plot, and attend elaborate dinners. Franklin became their favorite subject.

Theory #1: The American Diet

Some courtiers became convinced that the secret lay in Franklin's rustic American upbringing. "It must be all that corn and wild game!" declared one count. "The man eats like a frontiersman!" Never mind that Franklin had lived in cities most of his life and enjoyed fine French cuisine as much as anyone. The "hearty colonial food" theory gained surprising traction.

Theory #2: The Electricity Experiments

Others insisted it was the electrical experiments. Franklin had famously flown a kite in a lightning storm and invented electrical devices. Surely, they reasoned, all that exposure to mysterious electrical forces had somehow... charged him up? One particularly creative rumor suggested he'd discovered a way to "electrify his vital humors." Another claimed he wore a special device under his clothes that generated a constant, stimulating current.

A physician at court allegedly examined Franklin's published electrical papers looking for clues, as if "Experiments and Observations on Electricity" was actually a coded manual for maintaining geriatric vigor.

Theory #3: The Bifocals Connection

Someone noticed that Franklin invented bifocals—glasses that let you see both near and far. Surely a man who could improve vision must have insights into improving... other functions? This theory made absolutely no logical sense, but it persisted anyway. "He sees clearly in all domains," went the whispered innuendo.

Theory #4: The Specific Rumors (Brace Yourself)

Now we enter truly speculative territory—the rumors that are almost certainly complete fiction but became part of Franklin's mystique nonetheless.

Madame Helvétius supposedly remarked at a dinner party (after several glasses of wine, one assumes) that "the American's genius must manifest in all aspects of his person." The comment sparked rampant speculation about what "all aspects" might include.

One particularly outrageous rumor suggested that Franklin possessed not only brilliant ideas but also... impressive physical attributes that defied his age and general body type. The logic, if you can call it that, went: "He's unremarkable in appearance everywhere else, so perhaps nature compensated elsewhere?"

Another whispered legend claimed his "refractory period"—the time needed between amorous encounters—was remarkably brief for a septuagenarian. Some scandalous gossips claimed it was briefer than men half his age. Where did this rumor originate? No one knows. Did anyone have actual evidence? Absolutely not. Did it spread through Versailles like wildfire anyway? You bet it did.

Theory #5: The Secret Virility Tonic

Perhaps most persistent was the theory that Franklin had access to some secret American remedy—an herbal concoction from the natives, a tonic made from mysterious New World plants, something that explained his seemingly inexhaustible energy.

Courtiers actually asked him about this. Multiple times.

Franklin, with characteristic wit, would smile and say something cryptic like, "The secret is simple living and good company," which only made people MORE convinced he was hiding something.

The Ladies' Perspective

Meanwhile, the ladies who actually knew Franklin—Madame Brillon, Madame Helvétius, and others—found the rumors absolutely hilarious.

When asked directly about Franklin's appeal, Madame Brillon reportedly said (and this is documented): "He has the wit of a sage and the naughtiness of a schoolboy. It is an irresistible combination."

Madame Helvétius was more direct: "He listens when we speak. Do you know how rare that is?"

In other words, Franklin's actual secret was devastatingly simple: he was intelligent, funny, attentive, and genuinely enjoyed women's company as intellectual equals. In a court full of preening, self-absorbed noblemen, this was apparently revolutionary enough to seem like magic.

But that's not as fun as wild rumors about electrical enhancement and mysterious American tonics, so the gossip persisted.

The Reality Check

Let's be absolutely clear: Franklin was 70+ years old with gout, kidney stones, and various other ailments. The man could barely walk some days. The idea that he was some sort of geriatric Casanova engaging in athletic amorous adventures is almost certainly ridiculous.

But the genius of Benjamin Franklin was this: he never explicitly denied any of it.

When asked about his popularity with the ladies, he'd smile that knowing smile. When rumors swirled, he let them swirl. He understood that mystique was more powerful than mundane truth. If people wanted to believe he was an inexplicably virile septuagenarian with mysterious powers, well, that made him more interesting, more talked-about, more impossible to ignore.

Was any of it true? Almost certainly not.

But did it matter? Absolutely not.

The King Takes Notice

Here's where our story gets deliciously ironic.

King Louis XVI, a somewhat awkward and indecisive monarch, kept hearing Franklin's name. At dinners, at court, from his wife Marie Antoinette (who thought Franklin charmingly rustic), from his ministers, from practically everyone.

"The American philosopher this, the American diplomat that, Madame So-and-So is absolutely enchanted, have you heard what he said about—"

Louis XVI finally demanded to meet this Benjamin Franklin who had apparently captivated half his court.

When Franklin arrived at Versailles, Louis XVI saw... a portly elderly man in a plain brown suit and fur cap, standing among the powdered and perfumed French nobility like a potato in a fruit bowl.

And yet the King was charmed. Because Franklin was genuinely brilliant. He spoke about liberty, about science, about the American cause with such eloquence and wit that even Louis—who had initially been skeptical about supporting colonial rebels—began to warm to the idea.

But here's the beautiful irony: Franklin likely got that royal audience because the King wanted to meet the man who had somehow become the toast of Parisian society. And Franklin became the toast of Parisian society partly through his intelligence and charm, yes, but also because the rumor mill had built him into something of a legend.

The Alliance

In February 1778, France officially allied with America. Ships, soldiers, and money flowed across the Atlantic. The British were eventually defeated. America won its independence.

Traditional history credits Franklin's diplomatic skill, French resentment toward Britain, and strategic timing.

But perhaps—just perhaps—we owe a small debt of gratitude to the ladies of the French court, whose fascination with an unlikely septuagenarian charmer created enough social buzz to get him in front of the King.

And if the legends are to be believed (which they shouldn't be, but let's pretend), we might owe an even stranger debt to Benjamin Franklin's alleged... personal attributes... which were almost certainly invented by gossips but nonetheless became part of his mystique.

The Moral of the Story

Benjamin Franklin was genuinely brilliant—inventor, writer, scientist, diplomat, and founding father. His success in France was earned through intelligence, wit, and strategic thinking.

But he was also savvy enough to understand that reputation and mystique matter. He cultivated an image. He played to his audience. He let the rumors swirl because they made him more interesting, more talked-about, more impossible to ignore.

Did he actually have all the attributes the rumors suggested? Almost certainly not. The man was 70 years old and had gout.

But did those rumors help make him the most famous American in France? Did they get him invited to every important salon? Did they eventually contribute to getting him an audience with the King?

Perhaps.

And that's the genius of Benjamin Franklin: he understood that in diplomacy, as in life, sometimes perception is reality. If people believe you're remarkable, you become remarkable—whether or not the specific details hold up under scrutiny.

So yes, in a roundabout, absurd, and probably fictional way, we might owe American independence partly to Benjamin Franklin's wit, wisdom, and... allegedly impressive refractory period.

The Founding Fathers would be so proud. Or horrified. Possibly both.

Author's Note: The historical facts in this piece are accurate. The rumors, legends, and speculation about Franklin's personal attributes are exactly that—rumors and legends, unsupported by serious historical evidence but too entertaining not to mention. Benjamin Franklin was genuinely brilliant and charming. Everything else is what happens when 18th-century gossips meet 21st-century humor.