SUNDAY evening was stormy, and some enthusiasm was required to make one
face its perils for the sake of society. Nevertheless, a few intimates
made their appearance as usual at Mrs. Lee's. The faithful Popoff was
there, and Miss Dare also ran in to pass an hour with her dear Sybil;
but as she passed the whole evening in a corner with Popoff, she must
have been disappointed in her object. Carrington came, and Baron Jacobi.
Schneidekoupon and his sister dined with Mrs. Lee, and remained after
dinner, while Sybil and Julia Schneidekoupon compared conclusions about
Washington society. The happy idea also occurred to Mr. Gore that,
inasmuch as Mrs. Lee's house was but a step from his hotel, he might as
well take the chance of amusement there as the certainty of solitude
in his rooms. Finally, Senator Ratcliffe duly made his appearance, and,
having established himself with a cup of tea by Madeleine's side, was
soon left to enjoy a quiet talk with her, the rest of the party by
common consent occupying themselves with each other. Under cover of
the murmur of conversation in the room, Mr. Ratcliffe quickly became
confidential.
“I came to suggest that, if you want to hear an interesting debate,
you should come up to the Senate to-morrow. I am told that Garrard, of
Louisiana, means to attack my last speech, and I shall probably in that
case have to answer him. With you for a critic I shall speak better.”
“Am I such an amiable critic?” asked Madeleine.
“I never heard that amiable critics were the best,” said he; “justice is
the soul of good criticism, and it is only justice that I ask and expect
from you.”
“What good does this speaking do?” inquired she. “Are you any nearer the
end of your difficulties by means of your speeches?”
“I hardly know yet. Just now we are in dead water; but this can't last
long. In fact, I am not afraid to tell you, though of course you will
not repeat it to any human being, that we have taken measures to force
an issue. Certain gentlemen, myself among the rest, have written letters
meant for the President's eye, though not addressed directly to him, and
intended to draw out an expression of some sort that will show us what
to expect.”
“Oh!” laughed Madeleine, “I knew about that a week ago.”
“About what?”
“About your letter to Sam Grimes, of North Bend.”
“What have you heard about my letter to Sam Grimes, of North Bend?”
ejaculated Ratcliffe, a little abruptly.
“Oh, you do not know how admirably I have organised my secret service
bureau,” said she. “Representative Cutter cross-questioned one of the
Senate pages, and obliged him to confess that he had received from you a
letter to be posted, which letter was addressed to Mr. Grimes, of North
Bend.”
“And, of course, he told this to French, and French told you,” said
Ratcliffe; “I see. If I had known this I would not have let French off
so gently last night, for I prefer to tell you my own story without his
embellishments. But it was my fault. I should not have trusted a page.
Nothing is a secret here long. But one thing that Mr. Cutter did not
find out was that several other gentlemen wrote letters at the same
time, for the same purpose. Your friend, Mr. Clinton, wrote; Krebs
wrote; and one or two members.”
“I suppose I must not ask what you said?”
“You may. We agreed that it was best to be very mild and conciliatory,
and to urge the President only to give us some indication of his
intentions, in order that we might not run counter to them. I drew a
strong picture of the effect of the present situation on the party, and
hinted that I had no personal wishes to gratify.”
“And what do you think will be the result?”
“I think we shall somehow manage to straighten things out,” said
Ratcliffe.
“The difficulty is only that the new President has little experience,
and is suspicious. He thinks we shall intrigue to tie his hands, and he
means to tie ours in advance. I don't know him personally, but those
who do, and who are fair judges, say that, though rather narrow and
obstinate, he is honest enough, and will come round. I have no doubt
I could settle it all with him in an hour's talk, but it is out of the
question for me to go to him unless I am asked, and to ask me to come
would be itself a settlement.”
“What, then, is the danger you fear?”
“That he will offend all the important party leaders in order to
conciliate unimportant ones, perhaps sentimental ones, like your friend
French; that he will make foolish appointments without taking advice. By
the way, have you seen French to-day?”
“No,” replied Madeleine; “I think he must be sore at your treatment of
him last evening. You were very rude to him.”
“Not a bit,” said Ratcliffe; “these reformers need it. His attack on me
was meant for a challenge. I saw it in his manner.
“But is reform really so impossible as you describe it? Is it quite
hopeless?”
“Reform such as he wants is utterly hopeless, and not even desirable.”
Mrs. Lee, with much earnestness of manner, still pressed her question:
“Surely something can be done to check corruption. Are we for ever to
be at the mercy of thieves and ruffians? Is a respectable government
impossible in a democracy?”
Her warmth attracted Jacobi's attention, and he spoke across the room.
“What is that you say, Mrs. Lee? What is it about corruption?”
All the gentlemen began to listen and gather about them.
“I am asking Senator Ratcliffe,” said she, “what is to become of us if
corruption is allowed to go unchecked.”
“And may I venture to ask permission to hear Mr. Ratcliffe's reply?”
asked the baron.
“My reply,” said Ratcliffe, “is that no representative government can
long be much better or much worse than the society it represents. Purify
society and you purify the government. But try to purify the government
artificially and you only aggravate failure.”
“A very statesmanlike reply,” said Baron Jacobi, with a formal bow, but
his tone had a shade of mockery. Carrington, who had listened with
a darkening face, suddenly turned to the baron and asked him what
conclusion he drew from the reply.
“Ah!” exclaimed the baron, with his wickedest leer, “what for is my
conclusion good? You Americans believe yourselves to be excepted from
the operation of general laws. You care not for experience. I have lived
seventy-five years, and all that time in the midst of corruption. I am
corrupt myself, only I do have courage to proclaim it, and you others
have it not. Rome, Paris, Vienna, Petersburg, London, all are corrupt;
only Washington is pure! Well, I declare to you that in all my
experience I have found no society which has had elements of corruption
like the United States. The children in the street are corrupt, and know
how to cheat me. The cities are all corrupt, and also the towns and the
counties and the States' legislatures and the judges. Everywhere men
betray trusts both public and private, steal money, run away with public
funds. Only in the Senate men take no money. And you gentlemen in the
Senate very well declare that your great United States, which is the
head of the civilized world, can never learn anything from the example
of corrupt Europe. You are right--quite right! The great United States
needs not an example. I do much regret that I have not yet one hundred
years to live. If I could then come back to this city, I should find
myself very content--much more than now. I am always content where there
is much corruption, and ma parole d'honneur!” broke out the old man with
fire and gesture, “the United States will then be more corrupt than Rome
under Caligula; more corrupt than the Church under Leo X.; more corrupt
than France under the Regent!”
As the baron closed his little harangue, which he delivered directly at
the senator sitting underneath him, he had the satisfaction to see that
every one was silent and listening with deep attention. He seemed to
enjoy annoying the senator, and he had the satisfaction of seeing that
the senator was visibly annoyed. Ratcliffe looked sternly at the baron
and said, with some curtness, that he saw no reason to accept such
conclusions.
Conversation flagged, and all except the baron were relieved when Sybil,
at Schneidekoupon's request, sat down at the piano to sing what she
called a hymn. So soon as the song was over, Ratcliffe, who seemed to
have been curiously thrown off his balance by Jacobi's harangue, pleaded
urgent duties at his rooms, and retired. The others soon afterwards went
off in a body, leaving only Carrington and Gore, who had seated himself
by Madeleine, and was at once dragged by her into a discussion of the
subject which perplexed her, and for the moment threw over her mind a
net of irresistible fascination.
“The baron discomfited the senator,” said Gore, with a certain
hesitation.
“Why did Ratcliffe let himself be trampled upon in that manner?”
“I wish you would explain why,” replied Mrs. Lee; “tell me,
Mr. Gore--you who represent cultivation and literary taste
hereabouts--please tell me what to think about Baron Jacobi's speech.
Who and what is to be believed? Mr. Ratcliffe seems honest and wise. Is
he a corruptionist? He believes in the people, or says he does. Is he
telling the truth or not?”
Gore was too experienced in politics to be caught in such a trap as
this. He evaded the question. “Mr. Ratcliffe has a practical piece of
work to do; his business is to make laws and advise the President;
he does it extremely well. We have no other equally good practical
politician; it is unfair to require him to be a crusader besides.”
“No!” interposed Carrington, curtly; “but he need not obstruct crusades.
He need not talk virtue and oppose the punishment of vice.”
“He is a shrewd practical politician,” replied Gore, “and he feels first
the weak side of any proposed political tactics.”
With a sigh of despair Madeleine went on: “Who, then, is right? How can
we all be right? Half of our wise men declare that the world is going
straight to perdition; the other half that it is fast becoming perfect.
Both cannot be right. There is only one thing in life,” she went on,
laughing, “that I must and will have before I die. I must know whether
America is right or wrong. Just now this question is a very practical
one, for I really want to know whether to believe in Mr. Ratcliffe. If I
throw him overboard, everything must go, for he is only a specimen.”
“Why not believe in Mr. Ratcliffe?” said Gore; “I believe in him myself,
and am not afraid to say so.”
Carrington, to whom Ratcliffe now began to represent the spirit of evil,
interposed here, and observed that he imagined Mr. Gore had other
guides besides, and steadier ones than Ratcliffe, to believe in; while
Madeleine, with a certain feminine perspicacity, struck at a much weaker
point in Mr.
Gore's armour, and asked point-blank whether he believed also in
what Ratcliffe represented: “Do you yourself think democracy the best
government, and universal suffrage a success?”
Mr. Gore saw himself pinned to the wall, and he turned at bay with
almost the energy of despair:
“These are matters about which I rarely talk in society; they are like
the doctrine of a personal God; of a future life; of revealed religion;
subjects which one naturally reserves for private reflection. But since
you ask for my political creed, you shall have it. I only condition that
it shall be for you alone, never to be repeated or quoted as mine. I
believe in democracy. I accept it. I will faithfully serve and defend
it. I believe in it because it appears to me the inevitable consequence
of what has gone before it. Democracy asserts the fact that the masses
are now raised to a higher intelligence than formerly. All our
civilisation aims at this mark. We want to do what we can to help it. I
myself want to see the result. I grant it is an experiment, but it is
the only direction society can take that is worth its taking; the only
conception of its duty large enough to satisfy its instincts; the only
result that is worth an effort or a risk. Every other possible step is
backward, and I do not care to repeat the past. I am glad to see society
grapple with issues in which no one can afford to be neutral.”
“And supposing your experiment fails,” said Mrs. Lee; “suppose society
destroys itself with universal suffrage, corruption, and communism.”
“I wish, Mrs. Lee, you would visit the Observatory with me some evening,
and look at Sirius. Did you ever make the acquaintance of a fixed star?
I believe astronomers reckon about twenty millions of them in sight, and
an infinite possibility of invisible millions, each one of which is a
sun, like ours, and may have satellites like our planet. Suppose you see
one of these fixed stars suddenly increase in brightness, and are
told that a satellite has fallen into it and is burning up, its career
finished, its capacities exhausted? Curious, is it not; but what does it
matter? Just as much as the burning up of a moth at your candle.”
Madeleine shuddered a little. “I cannot get to the height of your
philosophy,” said she. “You are wandering among the infinites, and I am
finite.”
“Not at all! But I have faith; not perhaps in the old dogmas, but in the
new ones; faith in human nature; faith in science; faith in the survival
of the fittest. Let us be true to our time, Mrs. Lee! If our age is to
be beaten, let us die in the ranks. If it is to be victorious, let us be
first to lead the column. Anyway, let us not be skulkers or grumblers.
There! have I repeated my catechism correctly? You would have it! Now
oblige me by forgetting it. I should lose my character at home if it got
out. Good night!”
Mrs. Lee duly appeared at the Capitol the next day, as she could not but
do after Senator Ratcliffe's pointed request. She went alone, for Sybil
had positively refused to go near the Capitol again, and Madeleine
thought that on the whole this was not an occasion for enrolling
Carrington in her service. But Ratcliffe did not speak. The debate was
unexpectedly postponed.
He joined Mrs. Lee in the gallery, however, sat with her as long as she
would allow, and became still more confidential, telling her that he had
received the expected reply from Grimes, of North Bend, and that it had
enclosed a letter written by the President-elect to Mr. Grimes in regard
to the advances made by Mr. Ratcliffe and his friends.
“It is not a handsome letter,” said he; “indeed, a part of it is
positively insulting. I would like to read you one extract from it, and
hear your opinion as to how it should be treated.” Taking the letter
from his pocket, he sought out the passage, and read as follows: “'I
cannot lose sight, too, of the consideration that these three Senators'
(he means Clinton, Krebs, and me) are popularly considered to be the
most influential members of that so-called senatorial ring, which has
acquired such general notoriety. While I shall always receive their
communications with all due respect, I must continue to exercise
complete freedom of action in consulting other political advisers as
well as these, and I must in all cases make it my first object to follow
the wishes of the people, not always most truly represented by their
nominal representatives.' What say you to that precious piece of
presidential manners?”
“At least I like his courage,” said Mrs. Lee.
“Courage is one thing; common sense is another. This letter is a studied
insult. He has knocked me off the track once. He means to do it again.
It is a declaration of war. What ought I to do?”
“Whatever is most for the public good.” said Madeleine, gravely.
Ratcliffe looked into her face with such undisguised delight--there was
so little possibility of mistaking or ignoring the expression of his
eyes, that she shrank back with a certain shock. She was not prepared
for so open a demonstration. He hardened his features at once, and went
on:
“But what is most for the public good?”
“That you know better than I,” said Madeleine; “only one thing is clear
to me. If you let yourself be ruled by your private feelings, you will
make a greater mistake than he. Now I must go, for I have visits to
make. The next time I come, Mr. Ratcliffe, you must keep your word
better.”
When they next met, Ratcliffe read to her a part of his reply to Mr.
Grimes, which ran thus: “It is the lot of every party leader to suffer
from attacks and to commit errors. It is true, as the President says,
that I have been no exception to this law. Believing as I do that great
results can only be accomplished by great parties, I have uniformly
yielded my own personal opinions where they have failed to obtain
general assent. I shall continue to follow this course, and the
President may with perfect confidence count upon my disinterested
support of all party measures, even though I may not be consulted in
originating them.”
Mrs. Lee listened attentively, and then said: “Have you never refused to
go with your party?”
“Never!” was Ratcliffe's firm reply.
Madeleine still more thoughtfully inquired again: “Is nothing more
powerful than party allegiance?”
“Nothing, except national allegiance,” replied Ratcliffe, still more
firmly.