Calvert of Strathore Part 19

He came in with Sir Joshua Reynolds--the two gentlemen were the greatest friends--and, on discovering that the young gentleman was an American and had been attached to the Legation in Paris, he immediately entered into an animated conversation with him.

"You ought to be able to give us some interesting information about the present state of affairs in France, Mr. Calvert," said Burke to the young man. "By the way, I have thrown together some reflections on the revolution which I would be glad to have you see. They are elaborated from notes made a year ago and are still in ma.n.u.script. I live near here in Gerrard Street, Soho, and I would be happy to welcome you and Mr.

Stuart to my home, and to have you give me your opinion on certain points."

Mr. Stuart saying that the sitting was over, suggested that they should go at once, so the three gentlemen accompanied Mr. Burke to Gerrard Street and were hospitably ushered into his library. He brought out the ma.n.u.script of which he had spoken so lightly (and which was, indeed, voluminous enough for a book) and, turning over the pages rapidly, read here and there extracts from that remarkable treatise which he thought might most interest his audience.

"It has been nearly a score of years since I was in France," he says to Mr. Calvert, laying down the ma.n.u.script, "but the interest which that country aroused in me then has never flagged, and ever since my return I have endeavored to keep myself informed of the progress of events there.

While in Paris I was presented to their Majesties and many of the most notable men and women of the day. I remember the Queen well--surely there never was a princess so beautiful and so entrancing. She shone brilliant as the morning star, full of splendor and joy. But stay--I have written what I thought of her here," and so saying, he began to read that wonderful pa.s.sage, that exquisite panegyric of the Dauphiness of France which was soon to be so justly famous. There was a murmur of applause from the gentlemen when he laid the ma.n.u.script down.

"'Tis a beautiful tribute. I wish Mr. Jefferson could hear it," says Mr.

Calvert, with a smile. "He is not an admirer of the Queen, like yourself, Mr. Burke, and thinks she should be shut up in a convent and the King left free to follow his ministers, but I think your eloquence would win him over, if anything could."

A couple of days afterward, at a dinner at the French Amba.s.sador's, Monsieur de la Luzerne, Mr. Calvert repeated this famous panegyric of the Queen, as nearly as he could remember it. 'Twas received with the wildest enthusiasm and Mr. Burke's health drunk by the loyal refugees who were always to be found at Monsieur de la Luzerne's table and in his drawing-rooms. An immense amount of "refugee" was talked there, and the latest news from Paris discussed and rediscussed by the homesick and descouvre emigrants. Mr. Morris and Calvert were frequent visitors there, liking to hear of their friends in Paris and the events taking place in France.

In spite of all the distractions and pleasures of town life which Mr.

Calvert engaged in, he still felt those secret pangs of bitter disappointment and the fever of unsatisfied desire, but he was both too unselfish and too proud to show what he suffered. There are some of us who keep our dark thoughts and secret, hopeless longings in the background, as the maimed and diseased beggars are kept off the streets in Paris, and only let them come from their hiding-places at long intervals, like the beggars again, who crawl forth once or twice a year to solicit alms and pity. Although Mr. Morris knew Calvert so well, his impetuous nature could never quite comprehend the calm fort.i.tude, the silent endurance of the younger man, and so, when he saw him apparently amused and distracted by the society to which he had been introduced, and by the thousand gayeties of town life, he left him in September and returned for a brief stay in Paris, happy in the belief that the young man was already half-cured of his pa.s.sion.

He was back again in December with a budget of news from France. "The situation grows desperate," he said to Calvert. "I told Montmorin and the Due de Liancourt that the const.i.tution the a.s.semblee had proposed is such that the Almighty Himself could not make it succeed without creating a new species of man. The a.s.signats have depreciated, just as I predicted, the army is in revolt, and the ministers threatened with la lanterne. 'Tis much the fas.h.i.+on in Paris, let me tell you. But murder, duelling, and pillage--they sacked the hotel of the Duc de Castries the other day because his son wounded Charles de Lameth in a duel--are every-day occurrences now. Lafayette is in a peck of trouble, and received me with the utmost coldness. He knows I cannot commend him, and therefore he feels embarra.s.sed and impatient in my society. I am seriously pained for d'Azay, too. I met him at Montmorin's, and he confessed to me that he knew not how to steer his course. He is horrified at the insane measures of the Jacobins, he has cut himself loose from his own cla.s.s, and is beginning to doubt Lafayette's wisdom and powers. He is in a hopeless situation. He told me that Montmorin had asked that Carmichael be appointed to the court of France, but that he and Beaufort and other of my friends had insisted on my appointment.

'Tis a matter of indifference to me. Whoever is appointed--Short, Carmichael, Madison, or myself--will have no sinecure in France. Unhappy country! The closet philosophers who are trying to rule it are absolutely bewildered, and I know not what will save the state unless it be a foreign war."

"'Tis the general opinion here among the ministers that the Emperor is too cautious ever to engage in that war, however," said Calvert.

"I see you have been affiliating with the peaceful Pitt and not carousing with Sheridan and Fox," returned Mr. Morris, with a smile.

"I have been endeavoring to learn some of that useful information which Mr. Jefferson recommended," said Calvert, smiling also. "Upon Mr. Pitt's recommendation I have been reading 'The Wealth of Nations' and studying the political history of Europe. Seriously, I hope my time has not been spent entirely without profit, although I have caroused, as you express it, to some extent. I have drunk more than was good for me, and I have gone to the play and tried to fancy myself in love with Mrs. Jordan, but, to tell the truth, I can't do any of these things with enthusiasm.

I'm a quiet fellow, with nothing of the stage hero in me, and I can't go to the devil for a woman after the approved style."

"Don't try it, boy! The pretty ones are not worth it and the good ones are not pretty," said Mr. Morris, cynically. "I found Madame de Flahaut surrounded by half a dozen new admirers, in spite of which she tried to make me believe she had not forgotten me in my absence. I pretended to be convinced, of course, but I devoted myself to the Comtesse de Frize, and I think she liked me all the better for my defection. Come back to Paris with me and see what Madame de St. Andre would say to a like treatment," he went on, laughing, but looking shrewdly at the young man.

"I am best away from Paris--although separation does not seem to help me."

"Absence may extinguish a small pa.s.sion, but I think it only broadens and deepens a great one," said Mr. Morris. "I saw many of our friends--Madame de Chastellux and the d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans, Madame de Stael and Madame d'Azay--she is much broken, Ned; the emigration of so many of her friends, the tragic death of many, the disrupting of her whole social world, has begun to tell seriously on her health, though her spirit is still indomitable. She and Madame de St. Andre and d'Azay are living very quietly in the mansion in the rue St. Honore. In the evenings some of the friends who still remain come in for a dinner or to play quinze or lansquenet, but, in truth, 'tis difficult to get half a dozen people together. Madame de St. Andre is more beautiful than ever, with a new and softer beauty. The horror of the times hath touched her, too, I think, and rendered more serious that capricious nature. But who, indeed, could live in Paris and not be chastened by the awful scenes there enacting? I almost shudder to think of having to return so soon, but I shall only stay to see His Grace of Leeds once more relative to the treaty."

This interview, having been twice postponed, and pressing affairs calling Mr. Morris to France, he finally left London in January with the promise of returning in the spring. This promise he fulfilled, getting back in May and bringing with him news of Mirabeau's death and splendid burial and of the widespread fear of a counter-revolution by the emigrant army under the Prince de Conde. He was warmly welcomed by Calvert, who, in spite of the many kind offices and attentions of the friends he had made, was beginning to weary of the English capital. In truth, he was possessed by a restlessness that would have sent him home had he not wished to respect Mr. Jefferson's advice and make a tour on the continent before returning. He hoped to persuade Mr. Morris to accompany him, and in this he was not disappointed. Accordingly, after a month in London, they set out for Rotterdam and, travelling leisurely through the Low Countries, made their way to Cologne. It was while waiting there for a boat to take them up the Rhine--both Mr. Morris and Calvert were anxious to make this water trip--that they heard the news, already two weeks old, of the flight of their Majesties and of Monsieur from France and of the recapture of the King and Queen at Varennes.

Monsieur had escaped safely to Brussels and had made his way to Coblentz, where Mr. Morris and Calvert saw him later. He was installed in a castle, placed at his service by the Elector of Treves, which over-looked the great fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, and there he held his little court and made merry with the officers of the Prince de Conde's army and the throngs of emigres who came and went and did a vast deal of talking and even laughing over their misfortunes, but who never seemed to learn a lesson from them. Coblentz was full of these exiles from France, who treated the townsfolk with a mixture of condescension and rudeness which caused them to speedily become detested. There was one little cafe in particular, Les Trois Colonnes, which they frequented, and where they laughed and gambled and made witty speeches and tremendous threats against the men in France from whom they had run away. It was at this little inn that Mr. Calvert one day saw Monsieur de St. Aulaire for the first time in two years. He came into the gaming-room where Mr. Morris and Calvert were sitting at a side-table drinking a gla.s.s of cognac and talking with Monsieur de Puymaigre, one of the Prince de Conde's officers. As his glance met that of Mr.

Calvert, he bowed constrainedly, and the red of his face deepened. He was more dissipated-looking, less debonair than he had seemed to Calvert in Madame d'Azay's salon. There was an uneasiness, too, in his manner that was reflected in the att.i.tude toward him of the other gentlemen in the room. In fact, he was welcomed coldly enough, and in a few days he left the town. 'Twas rumored pretty freely that he was an emissary of Orleans and that Monsieur and the Prince de Conde were in a hurry to get rid of him. Mr. Calvert was of this belief, which was confirmed by St.

Aulaire himself when Calvert met him unexpectedly during the winter in London.

This journey, so pleasantly begun and which was to have continued through the fall, was interrupted, shortly after the two gentlemen left Coblentz, by a pressing and disquieting letter which urged Mr. Morris's presence in Paris. He therefore left Calvert to continue the tour alone, which the young man did, travelling through Germany and stopping at many of the famous watering-places, and even going as far as the Austrian capital, where he met with a young Mr. Huger of the Carolinas. This young American, who was an ardent admirer of Lafayette and who was destined to attempt to serve him and suffer for him, accompanied Mr.

Calvert as far as Lake Constance, where they parted, Mr. Calvert going on to Bale and up through the Austrian Netherlands. He pa.s.sed through Maubeuge and Lille and Namur, and so was, fortunately, made familiar with places he was to see something of a little later in the service of his Majesty Louis XVI.

He was back in London by Christmas, and was joined there shortly after the New Year by Mr. Morris, who had gone over on private affairs entirely, but whose close connection with the court party in France laid open to the suspicion of being an agent of the aristocratic party.

"I heard the rumors myself," said Mr. Morris. "Indeed, I was openly told of it before leaving Paris. But only a madman would interfere in French politics at this hour. The whole country is in a state of disorganization almost inconceivable. The King--poor creature--has been reinstated, after a fas.h.i.+on, since his flight, but with most unkingly limitations. All political parties are broken up--Lafayette and Bailly and the Lameths find themselves in an impossible position and have seceded from the Jacobins. For two years now they have been preaching the pure democracy of Rousseau, the rights of man, the sovereignty of the people. They have done everything to deprive the King of his power, they have hurled abuse at the throne, at the whole Old Order of things.

And now, when they see to what chaos things are coming, when they wish to stop at moderation, at order, at a monarchy based on solid principles and supported by the solid middle cla.s.s, they are suddenly made to realize how little their theories correspond with their real desires.

Incapacity, misrule, is everywhere. Narbonne has been made War Minister!

At this crisis, when the allied armies are gathering on the frontier, when war is imminent against two hundred and fifty thousand of the finest soldiers in Europe, a trifler like Narbonne is placed in power!

But if others were no worse than he! 'Tis incredible the villains who have pushed themselves into the high places. Can you believe it, boy?--your servant, that scoundrel Bertrand, that soldier of the ranks, that waiter of the Cafe de l'ecole, is a great man in Paris these days.

He is listened to by thousands when he rants in the garden of the Palais Royal; he is hand in glove with Danton; he divides attention with Robespierre; he is a power in himself. Heaven knows how he has become so--but these creatures spring up like mushrooms in a night. I saw much of Danton and not a little of Bertrand, for I frequented the Cordelliers Club a good deal. 'Tis well to stand in with all parties, especially if there is even a remote chance of my being placed as minister at the French court. 'Tis so rumored in Paris, and the elections are now taking place in America," so Mr. Short informs me. "I heard of St. Aulaire,"

went on Mr. Morris. "Beaufort told me that he had got into Paris secretly on the Due d'Orleans's business, but that he had spent much of his time in the rue St. Honore, pressing his suit with Madame de St.

Andre. She would have none of him, however, and seems to have conceived a sort of horror of him--as, indeed, well she might. He went away, raging, Beaufort said, and vowing some mysterious vengeance. He is believed to be in London, Ned, and I dare say we shall meet with him some day. D'Azay has been denounced in the a.s.sembly and is in bad odor with all parties, apparently. I fear he is in imminent peril, and 'tis pitiful to see the anxiety of his sister and the old d.u.c.h.ess for him. I think she would not survive the shock should he be imprisoned. 'Twould be but another gap in the ranks of our friends."

The appointment of American ministers to the different foreign courts was in progress, as Mr. Short had said, and, on January 12th, Mr.

Morris, after a stormy debate in the Senate, was chosen Minister to France by a majority of only five votes out of sixteen. He was told of his appointment by Mr. Constable in February and, shortly after, received the official notice of it under the seal of the Secretary of State. Although Mr. Jefferson had differed radically from Mr. Morris in his opinion concerning the French Revolution, knowing him as he did, he could not but affirm both officially and personally so wise a choice.

The President's indors.e.m.e.nt of Mr. Morris was even more hearty, and, indeed, 'twas hinted by Mr. Morris's enemies that Was.h.i.+ngton's open approval of him had alone saved him from defeat. But though the President was of the opinion that Mr. Morris was the best possible choice for the difficult post of Minister Plenipotentiary from the United States to France, he was also entirely aware of those traits of character which, his opponents urged, rendered him unsuited for the place. His impetuosity, occasional haughtiness, and close connection with the aristocratic party, were disabilities undoubtedly, but the President was convinced that they were far more than counterbalanced by his force of character, mental keenness, and wide knowledge of French affairs, and so wrote Mr. Morris in one of the kindest letters that great man ever penned. This letter Mr. Morris received in the spirit in which it was written, and, being already involved in a secret affair, of which, as minister, he should not even have known, much less been engaged in, he determined to withdraw himself from it as speedily as possible and to conduct himself with such discretion that the President would have no occasion to regret his efforts in his behalf. He immediately set about making the necessary arrangements for his new establishment, writing to Paris to engage a hotel in the rue de la Planche, Faubourg St. Germain, for the new Legation, and forwarding to France as rapidly as possible the English horses and coach, the furniture and plate which he had purchased in London. He set out for Paris in early March, leaving Calvert again in London, though he pressed the young man urgently to accompany him back to the capital and accept the post of Secretary of the Legation under him.

CHAPTER XVII

MR. CALVERT MEETS AN OLD ENEMY

This kind, and even brilliant, offer of Mr. Morris's Calvert declined, reiterating smilingly to that gentleman that he felt himself a little better of that fever of love and disappointment which he had endured in silence for so long, and that he had no intention of suffering a relapse. Indeed, he might have got over it in time, and been as contented as many another man, but that he was suddenly recalled to all that he had tried so sedulously for two years to forget. This was brought about by a meeting with Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire a couple of weeks after Mr. Morris's departure for Paris. Although it was known that the French n.o.bleman was in London, Mr. Calvert did not see him until one evening at the house of Monsieur de la Luzerne. A large company had gathered at the Amba.s.sador's, where Monsieur de St. Aulaire presented himself toward the end of the evening. 'Twas so evident that he had been drinking deeply that Calvert would have avoided him, but that the tipsy n.o.bleman, catching sight of him, made his way directly to him.

"At last, Monsieur," he said, bowing low and laying his hand unsteadily on the small sword he wore at his side.

"Well," replied Mr. Calvert, coldly, by no means pleased at the attention bestowed upon him so unexpectedly. Monsieur de St. Aulaire sober he found objectionable; Monsieur de St. Aulaire drunk was insufferable.

"'Well' is a cold welcome, Mr. Calvert," he said, the insolent smile deepening on his lips.

"I am not here to welcome you, Monsieur," returned Calvert, indifferently.

Monsieur de St. Aulaire waved his hand lightly as if flinging off the insult, but the flush on his dissipated face deepened. Calvert, seeing that he could not be got rid of immediately, drew him into a little anteroom where they were almost alone.

"And yet I wished profoundly that we might meet, Monsieur--more so, apparently, I regret to say, than you have. I have seen friends of ours in Paris since you have had that pleasure, Monsieur," says St. Aulaire, throwing himself across a chair and resting his folded arms on the back.

"Indeed."

"You are cold-blooded, Monsieur--'tis a grave fault. You miss half the pleasures of life--but I think you would like to know whom I mean.

Confess, Monsieur! But there, I see you know--who else could it be but Madame de St. Andre?" and the insolent smile broke into a still more insolent laugh.

"We will leave Madame de St. Andre's name out of this conversation, Monsieur."

"Pardieu! So you think I am not worthy to mention it, Monsieur," cried St. Aulaire, half-rising and laying his hand again on his dress sword.

"I know it, Monsieur," retorted Calvert, coolly.

"You are not so cold-blooded after all! I have struck fire at last!"

said St. Aulaire, looking at Calvert for an instant and then breaking into a drunken laugh as he reseated himself. "'Tis a pity Madame de St.

Andre has not my luck--for, look you, Monsieur," he went on, leaning over the back of the chair and shaking his finger at Calvert, "I think she likes you and would be kind--very kind--to you, should you be inclined to return to Paris and tempt your fortune."

"Were you sober, Monsieur, I would ask you for five minutes and a pair of pistols or rapiers, if you prefer," says Calvert, white and threatening.

"By G.o.d, Monsieur, how dare you say I am drunk?" flings out the other, rising so unsteadily as to overturn the chair, which crashed upon the floor. "But I have no time for duels just now. I have other and more important business in hand. Later--later, sir, and I will be at your service. I add that insult to the long list I have against you. I will punish you when the time comes, but first I must punish her. She would not even listen to me. She crushed me with her disdain. 'Tis another favor I have to thank you for, Monsieur, I think." He was quite wild and flushed by this time, and spoke so thickly that Calvert could scarce understand him. The few gentlemen who had been lounging in the anteroom had retired, thinking not to overhear a conversation evidently so personal and stormy, so that they were quite alone. As St. Aulaire reeled forward, a sudden thought came to Calvert.

"'_In vino veritas_,'" he said to himself, and then--"How do you propose punis.h.i.+ng Madame de St. Andre, Monsieur?" he asked, slowly, aloud, and looking nonchalantly at the distorted face before him.