The Rose of Old St. Louis Part 26

Mr. Talleyrand shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"As you will, Monsieur; but do not give Mr. Monroe reason to think that I speak with authority. The idea struck me that you might like the whole of the colony quite as well as part of it."

I thought this would have put an end to the conversation; but I soon saw that Mr. Livingston had another card to play, and that he evidently did not believe the minister was speaking entirely on his own authority.

"Monsieur Talleyrand," he said, "I have this morning received a notice from my home government that Mr. Ross's resolution authorizing the President to seize New Orleans was lost by four votes. Another was offered by Mr. Breckinridge of Kentucky, which was unanimously adopted. Mr. Breckinridge's resolution was to the effect that the President of the United States be authorized to require of the executives of the several States, to arm and equip, and hold in readiness to march at a moment's notice, eighty thousand militia; that money be appropriated for paying and subsisting such troops; and also that money be appropriated for erecting on the Western border one or more a.r.s.enals, as the President may judge proper. Monsieur Talleyrand, this means but one thing: that the United States is ready to act at once if France does not recognize our right of deposit; and I beg you will use your influence with the First Consul, that he will not send General Bernadotte until this question is determined."

Mr. Talleyrand, with another shrug of his shoulders, seemed to disclaim any influence with the First Consul, though he said:

"If you will make me an offer for the whole of Louisiana that I can convey to him, I have no doubt it will carry great weight."

"I must decline to do so, Monsieur, as I am expecting Mr. Monroe in a day or two."

Suddenly Mr. Livingston changed his tone. It was no longer one of mild argument, but as of one who called another to account. I was astonished that he dared so address the powerful Minister of Foreign Relations.

"I have long been endeavoring to bring you to some point, Monsieur, but, unfortunately, without effect. I wish merely to have the negotiation opened by any proposition on your part. It was with that view I sent you a note a few days ago, to which, as yet, I have received no answer."

The great man sounded to me surprisingly meek as he replied:

"I would have answered your note earlier, Mr. Livingston, but I have been waiting, hoping I could give you some more satisfactory reply. I will delay no longer. I will answer it; but it will have to be evasively, for Louisiana is not ours."

I caught a glimpse of Mr. Livingston's countenance; a more sardonic smile I have never seen--a smile which said as plainly as words, "You are lying." He spoke with frigid courtesy:

"It seems strange that I should be better informed than the Minister of Foreign Relations," he said, "but I have seen the treaty. Moreover, I know that the Consul has appointed officers to govern the colony, and he has himself told me that General Victor was to take possession.

And, what seems to me most convincing proof--why does the First Consul send General Bernadotte to the United States to treat in relation to Louisiana, if Louisiana does not belong to France?"

I thought that would have floored even Talleyrand; but not at all.

With another shrug of his shoulders, and putting together his finger-tips in a manner that gave him a most indifferent air, he only persisted in saying that they had it in contemplation, but had not yet secured it. I wondered what Mr. Livingston would say next, but I need not have feared for him. Quick as thought, and all smiles and amiability, he responded to the minister:

"I am very well pleased to understand this from you, Monsieur, because, if so, we will not commit ourselves with you by taking it from Spain, to whom, by your account, it still belongs. And as we have just cause of complaint against Spain, if Mr. Monroe concurs in my opinion, we will negotiate no further on the subject with you, but advise our government to take possession."

For the first time Mr. Talleyrand seemed moved. He sprang to his feet and spoke quickly:

"I beg you will take no such measures at present, Mr. Livingston. I will answer your note, though I must still say, as I have said before, it will have to be evasively."

Mr. Livingston, who had also risen to his feet, bowed formally.

"I shall be glad to receive any communication from you, Citizen Minister, but we are not disposed to trifle. The times are critical, and though I do not know what instructions Mr. Monroe may bring, I am perfectly satisfied they will require a precise and prompt notice. I am very fearful, from the little progress I have made, my government will consider me as a very indolent negotiator."

Mr. Talleyrand laughed, a high, rasping laugh, but evidently intended to be of great good humor.

"I will give you a certificate, Mr. Livingston, and you can send it home to your government, that you are the most importunate negotiator I have ever met with."

Their conference seemed to be ended; they turned and walked toward the house, leaving me to ponder with wonder and amaze at what I had listened to, and with keen admiration for the part Mr. Livingston had taken in the matter. I had always been led to believe that no man could hold his own against the shrewd and unfathomable Abbe; but, if I mistook not, this time Mr. Livingston had not only held his own, but got much the better of him.

Suddenly a thought flashed into my mind. What did Talleyrand mean by repeating over and over, and in such significant phrase, that his answer must be "evasive"? Could it be possible that he was intimating that a consideration would be necessary to make it more decided? I believed that he had so intimated, and that Mr. Livingston had understood him, and had repelled the intimation with scorn.

Then again there flashed into my mind the two million dollars that had been voted the President to use "as he thought best" in adjusting this matter. Was it intended to use in buying up "such creatures," I said scornfully to myself, "as Talleyrand"? Vague insinuations in those speeches in Congress I had listened to now seemed to me as clear as day.

Hot with indignation and shame,--my indignation for Talleyrand, my shame that my country could stoop to such measures,--I rushed into the house to my uncle. He had been entertaining Colonel Livingston while the other two were holding their conference; but all three gentlemen were gone now, and I found him sitting quietly in his library, reading. I had flung the door wide as I entered, and I stopped on the threshold.

"Monsieur, what does it mean?" I cried. "Does Monsieur Talleyrand want Mr. Livingston to offer him a bribe? And were the two millions of dollars given to Mr. Jefferson for such base purposes?"

My uncle looked up, startled and amazed beyond measure. He did not at all take in my meaning, but he was very sensible of my rudeness. My uncle was ever the most amiable of men and the most tolerant, but for correctness of deportment and elegance of manner he was a stickler, and so flagrant a breach of both was intolerable to him.

"I think you forget yourself, sir," he said coldly; and that was all he said, but his words cut like tempered steel in quivering flesh. A great wave of mortification rushed in a crimson flood to the very roots of my hair.

"I am most truly sorry, sir, to have been so rude," I stammered, "and I beg you will not think that we do not know good manners in America.

I fear I am ever slow to think and headlong to act, and it has often brought me to grief."

My uncle, who, as I said, was all amiability, forgave me at once, and invited me most cordially to enter his library. I was loath to intrude after my great rudeness, but he would not let me off.

"Come in, come in," he said, "and I will answer your question by another. What has led you to think that Mr. Talleyrand desires a bribe from Mr. Livingston? Has any one been saying so to you?"

Then was I in greater confusion than before. I did not know whether Mr. Livingston would desire me to say anything about the interview to which I had been accidentally made a party, and I had intended to say nothing to any one until I had had a chance to find out his wishes; and now, in my indignation, I had entirely forgot my resolution and betrayed myself. There was no way out but to make a clean breast of my part in it.

So I told my uncle how I had been caught in the summer-house, and been invited to become a listener to secrets of state. My uncle threw back his head and laughed long and loud. But when he had calmed down a little, he looked at me keenly.

"So you think Mr. Talleyrand wanted a bribe from Mr. Livingston? Would you mind telling me what he said that led you to think so?"

Now was I greatly embarra.s.sed, for I had fully resolved that not one iota of information of which I had become the possessor so innocently should pa.s.s my lips without Mr. Livingston's sanction. My uncle noticed my embarra.s.sment, and spoke quickly:

"Never mind, my boy. It is no doubt just as well that you should not tell me what you feel you have no right to repeat; but it would make no real difference. I see that you are trustworthy, and I do not mind telling you that the First Consul is of somewhat the same opinion. He does not altogether trust the Minister of Foreign Relations, and it is more than likely the negotiations will be taken out of his hands and put into mine. It is more than likely also that it was because Mr.

Livingston does not trust him that he desired to have you present as a witness. Now you see how I trust you. These are matters of grave import, my boy, and if you had been eager to tell me all you had heard I would have been loath indeed to confide in you, as I have just done."

I glowed with pleasure at my uncle's words, and thanked him most earnestly for his confidence, which I told him was not misplaced. And then, fearing I was intruding too long upon his hours of privacy (for they were few indeed, and greatly prized, I knew), I bowed myself out of his library, and dashed for a ride on Fatima down the crowded avenue. For it was upon Fatima's back I could ever think best, and I had much to think over: the amazing conversation I had listened to; my uncle's confidence to me; and last of all, and which set my pulses throbbing and the blood tingling to my finger-tips--Mr. Monroe would be in Paris in a day or two!

CHAPTER XX

BONAPARTE GIVES ENGLAND A RIVAL

"Great let me call him, for he conquered me."

The next morning was Easter, and, dressed in a new suit of puce-colored ferrandine, with fresh ruffles of finest lace, and a new plume in my hat, I walked decorously beside my aunt through the thronged streets, every one dressed in his best and every one going the same way--to the Church of the Madeleine, to see the First Consul attend service. The sun was s.h.i.+ning, birds were singing, the air was soft and warm and filled with the mingled perfume of flowers and incense, borne out through the open doors of all the churches.

The world was happy, and so was I. I was greatly excited, too, for I was to behold, for the first time, the man who held in his hand the destinies of nations, and before whose terrible word even our own proud republic trembled.

I had been three weeks in Paris and had not seen him. It seemed to be my ill fortune never to be on the streets when he made one of his das.h.i.+ng progresses through them, and though there had been several levees my wardrobe had not been in condition to attend them. At least, so my aunt thought. I think I would have been willing to don once more the old plum-colored velvets for the sake of seeing the great Bonaparte, but Madame Marbois thought otherwise.

"n.o.body is such a stickler for forms and ceremonies, or such a lover of magnificence, as the First Consul," said she, "and if you want to make a good impression upon him, or do credit to your family at home and to your uncle and to me, you must wait for your new costumes."

So she had me to the tailor's, and more suits were ordered than I thought I could wear in a lifetime. When they came home and my man Caesar (my own colored boy whom I had brought with me from home) had laid them all out for me in my room, I thought them well worth waiting for. There were suits for church and suits for dinner, suits for riding and for walking, and, most resplendent of all, two court costumes. One especially of white satin with much gold lace and bullion quite took my breath away. Now I have always had a weakness for fine clothes that I secretly deprecated, for I feared it was a womanish weakness quite unbefitting a soldier of fortune, which was the career I had laid out for myself and was quite determined upon.

Yet I have never found that my liking for fine clothes has made me less ready to draw my sword to help the innocent or weak, and so I hope it may not be a sign in me of any lack of true manliness.

Be this as it may, I was walking joyously beside my aunt that beautiful Easter morning, and part of the joy in my heart was for the beautiful puce-colored ferrandine that sat so well and had an air of distinction I was sure no other clothes of mine had ever had, for these were made in Paris.