MR. CALVERT MEETS OLD AND NEW FRIENDS
The day after Calvert's arrival was a long and busy one for him. He was
closeted from morning until night with Mr. Jefferson, who explained to
him the many private affairs awaiting transaction, as well as much of
the important official business of the Legation. It was also necessary
that he should be thoroughly au courant with the political outlook of
the times and the entire state of European affairs, and in those
shifting, troublesome days it was no easy matter to thoroughly
understand the drift of events. Russia was the cynosure of all eyes at
that moment, and on her throne sat the most ambitious, the most daring,
the most brilliant, and the most successful queen the world has ever
seen. Catharine's designs upon Turkey, in which she was abetted by
Austria's Emperor, Joseph, threatened to disrupt Europe and caused
Chatham's son to look with anxious eyes toward the East, while
strengthening his hold in Holland. Poland, desperate, and struggling
vainly to keep her place among European nations, was but a plaything in
the hands of the Empress, aided by Prussia, who realized only too well
that her own prosperity demanded the destruction of the weaker state. In
the North, Gustavus ruled in isolated splendor, now lending his aid to
some one of the warring continental powers, now arraying himself against
the combatants to preserve some semblance of a balance of power.
Calvert threw himself with enthusiasm into his work, delighted to be
able to lighten the immense labors of Mr. Jefferson (who, to tell the
truth, was always overworked and underpaid), and happy to think he was
of service to one who had always shown such kindness to him. So
interested and energetic was the young man that Mr. Jefferson had much
difficulty in getting him to lay aside his papers and make himself ready
for the reception of the evening. Indeed, when, after dressing quickly,
he descended to the great drawing-room, which looked quite splendid,
with its multitude of wax lights and gilded mirrors, he found it already
filled with a company more splendid than any he had ever before seen. As
he approached, he noticed that Mr. Jefferson was conversing with a large
gentleman of pompous appearance, to whom he had just presented Mr.
Morris, and to whom he presented Calvert in turn as "Monsieur Necker."
'Twas with a good deal of curiosity and disappointment that Calvert saw
for the first time the Minister of Finance, the greatest power for the
moment in France. He was a large, heavy man, whose countenance, with its
high, retreating forehead, chin of unusual length, vivid brown eyes and
elevated eyebrows, was intelligent, but did not even hint at genius.
There was about him an air of fatigue and laboriousness which suggested
the hard-working and successful business man rather than a great
statesman and financier, and the courtly richness of his embroidered
velvet dress suited ill his commonplace figure. In his whole personality
Calvert decided there was no suggestion of that nobility of mind and
nature which so distinguished Mr. Jefferson, nor of that keen mentality
and easy elegance of manner so characteristic of Mr. Gouverneur Morris.
"His looks seem to say, 'I am the man,'" whispered that gentleman to
Calvert as Monsieur Necker turned aside for an instant to speak with Mr.
Jefferson, and Calvert could not help smiling at the humorous and swift
summing-up of the Minister's character and the merry twinkle in Mr.
Morris's eye. But whatever their opinion of his talents, Monsieur
Necker's cordiality was above reproach, and it was with elaborate
politeness that he presented the Americans to Madame Necker. She was a
very handsome woman still, retaining traces of that beauty which had
fired Gibbon in his youth, and was all amiability to the two strangers,
whom she introduced to her daughter, Madame la Baronne de
Staël-Holstein, wife of the ambassador from Gustavus III. to the court
of Louis XVI.
Madame de Staël stood with her back to the open fire, her hands clasped
behind her, her brilliant black eyes flashing upon the assembled
company. Although she had accomplished nothing great ('twas before she
wrote "Corinne" or "De l'Allemagne"), she was already famous for her
appreciation of Monsieur Rousseau. Indeed, there was something so
unusual, so forceful in this large, almost masculine woman, that
Calvert was as much impressed with her as he had been disappointed in
Monsieur Necker. It seemed as if the mediocre talents of the Minister of
Finance had flamed into genius in this leonine creature who was as much
her mother's inferior in looks as her father's superior in intelligence.
Mingled with this masculinity of mind and appearance was an egotism, a
coquetry, a directness of thought and action that combined to make a
curious personality. It was amusing to note with what assiduity she
showered her attentions on Mr. Morris, the man of the world, of whom she
had heard much, and with what polite indifference she dismissed
Calvert--though it is but doing her justice to say that later, tiring of
her ineffectual efforts to interest Mr. Morris, she made the amende
honorable and essayed her coquetries on the younger man, much to his
embarrassment. With a slight gesture of command she pointed Mr. Morris
to a seat beside her on the divan upon which she had sunk.
"Ah! Monsieur," she said to him, with a languishing glance out of her
brilliant eyes and a smile that displayed a row of wonderfully white
teeth, "Monsieur de Lafayette tells me that you are un homme d'esprit."
"Madame," returned Mr. Morris, bowing low--perhaps to conceal the
ironical smile playing about his lips--"I do not feel myself worthy of
such a compliment."
"Mais, si!" insisted Madame de Staël, with another glance, which did not
and was not meant to conceal her newly awakened interest in the
distinguished-looking American. "We hear that Monsieur has even written
a book on the American Constitution."
"Alas, no, Madame! 'Tis a libel, I assure you," returned Mr. Morris,
this time laughing outright with the amusement he could no longer
conceal. "I have but done my duty in helping to form the Constitution."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Madame de Staël, and then lowering her voice
slightly and dropping her coquettish manner for a serious air, "perhaps
we shall have occasion to beg of Monsieur Morris some ideas là dessus.
There is nothing this poor, distracted France stands so much in need of
as a constitution. My father is a great man, on whom the King and
country depend for everything" ("In my life I never saw such exuberant
vanity," thought Mr. Morris to himself), "but even he must fail at times
if not supported by a reasonable constitution. You must come to see me,
Monsieur, when we can be alone and discuss this. One who has helped to
form his country's laws and has been wounded in her services," and she
pointed with an eloquent, somewhat theatrical gesture to Mr. Morris's
wooden stump, "cannot fail to be a good adviser."
"Oh, Madame, I must indeed cripple myself in your esteem now," says Mr.
Morris, laughing again heartily. "'Twas not in my country's service that
I lost my leg--'twas but a runaway accident with two fiery little ponies
in Philadelphia! But, indeed," he goes on, still laughing, "I do not
miss it greatly, and can get around as easily as though I were a
centipede and had a hundred good legs at my disposal!"
As for Calvert, he had been only too glad to make his escape on Madame
de Staël's cool dismissal, and had retreated to the side of Madame
Necker, who was kindness itself to the young man, pointing out the great
celebrities of the Paris world who thronged the rooms, and presenting
him to many of the most famous people of the day. Thither had come
Monsieur le Maréchal de Castries, Monsieur le Duc d'Aiguillon, Mr.
Arthur Young, the noted English traveller, His Grace the Duc de
Penthièvre, the richest and best noble of France, together with Monsieur
de Montmorin, of the Foreign Affairs, and Monsieur de la Luzerne,
Minister of Marine. Monsieur Houdon, the sculptor, was there, with a
young poet named André Chenier, and later entered the daintily beautiful
Madame de Sabran, followed by her devoted admirer, the Chevalier de
Boufflers, abbé, soldier, diplomat, and courtier. Madame de Chastellux,
the Duchesse d'Orléans's lady-in-waiting, whom Calvert had once met in
America, was also making a tour of the salon, accompanied by that
charming hedonist, Monsieur le Vicomte de Ségur, than whom there was no
wilder, lighter-headed youth in Paris, unless it was his bosom friend,
Beaufort, who, catching sight of Calvert standing beside Madame Necker,
straightway went over to him.
"As ever, the Squire of Elderly Dames," he whispered to Calvert, smiling
mockingly. "Are you looking for d'Azay? Well, he has not arrived, nor
Madame la Marquise, nor Madame la Duchesse. Trust me for seeing them as
soon as they come! In the meantime, my dear Calvert, there are some
beauties here whom you must meet. Madame de Flahaut, for example. I
shall ask Madame Necker's permission to take you to her. But wait," he
said, with a little laugh, and, laying a hand on Calvert's arm, "we are
forestalled! See, Mr. Morris is just being presented," and he motioned
to where a beautiful young woman sat, before whom Mr. Morris was making
a most profound bow. Calvert thought he had rarely seen a more lovely
face, though there was a touch of artificiality about it, young as it
was, which he did not admire. The soft, fair hair was thickly powdered,
the cheeks rouged, and the whiteness of the chin and forehead enhanced
by many patches. The eyes were intelligent, but restless and insincere,
the mouth too small.
"'Twill have to be for another time, Calvert," said Beaufort, after an
instant's pause, during which Mr. Morris installed himself beside the
lady with the evident intention of staying. "'Tis plain that the
beautiful Madame de Flahaut has thrown her spell over him, and 'twill
not do to break it just yet. But by St. Denis!" he suddenly whispered to
Calvert, "here comes d'Azay with the Duchess and Madame de St. André,
attended as usual by St. Aulaire."
Calvert followed Beaufort's glance and saw entering the room his friend
d'Azay, at whose side, slowly and proudly, walked an old woman. She bore
herself with a nobility of carriage Calvert had never seen equalled, and
her face, wrinkled and powdered and painted though it was, was the face
of one who had been beautiful and used to command. Her dark eyes were
still brilliant and glittered humorously and shrewdly from beneath their
bushy brows. The lean, veined neck, bedecked with diamonds, was still
poised proudly on the bent shoulders. Her wrecked beauty was a perfect
foil for the fresh loveliness of the young girl who, with a splendidly
attired cavalier, followed closely behind her.
"Is she not a beauty?" said Beaufort, under his breath, to Calvert. With
a start the young man recognized the original of the miniature that
d'Azay had shown him that last evening at Monticello, so many years ago.
It is to be doubted whether, in the interim, Calvert had bestowed a
thought upon the beautiful French girl, but as he looked at the deep
blue eyes shining divinely beneath the straight brows, at the crimson
mouth, with its determined but lovely curves, at the cloud of dark hair
about the white brow, it suddenly seemed to him as if the picture had
never been out of his mind. "The Lass with the Delicate Air" was before
him, but changed. The look of girlish immaturity was gone--replaced by
an imperious decision of manner. A haughty, almost wayward, expression
was on the smiling face--a look of dawning worldliness and caprice.
'Twas as if the thought which had once passed through Calvert's mind had
come true--that countenance which had been capable of developing into
noble loveliness or hardening into unpleasing, though striking, beauty,
had somehow chosen the latter way. The spiritual beauty seemed now in
eclipse and only the earthly, physical beauty remained.
Calvert had opportunity to note these subtle changes which time had
wrought in the original of the miniature while Mr. Jefferson bent low
over the withered, beringed hand of the old Duchess, and he waited his
turn to be presented to the ladies. The ceremony over, he and d'Azay
greeted each other as old friends and comrades-in-arms are wont to do.
They had scarce time to exchange a word, however, as Monsieur de Ségur,
coming up hurriedly, carried d'Azay and Beaufort away to where a group
of young men were waiting for the last news of the elections. Already
politics were ousting every other topic of conversation in the salon.
As for Madame de St. André, she did not at all imitate her brother's
warmth of manner toward Calvert. He was conscious of an almost
contemptuous iciness in her greeting, and that mentally she was
unfavorably comparing him, the simply dressed, serious young American
before her, with the splendid courtiers who crowded around. Certain it
was that she was much more gracious in manner to Monsieur le Baron de
St. Aulaire, who had accompanied her into the salon and still remained
at her side. It was the first time that Calvert had seen St. Aulaire,
and, remembering Beaufort's words about him, a sudden pang shot through
his breast as he saw the young girl turn aside with him to make a tour
of the rooms. For, in truth, Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire was the
epitome of all that was most licentious, most unworthy, most brilliant
in the Old Order, and was known throughout the kingdom by
reputation--or, more properly speaking, by lack of it. But in spite of
his long life of dissipation and adventure (he had campaigned with the
Swiss Guards at thirteen, and, though he was much past forty, looked
like a man of scarce thirty), there was still such an unrivalled grace
in all he said and did, such an heroic lightness and gallantry in all he
dared--and he dared everything--that he seemed to be eternally young and
incomparably charming. It was with a new-born and deep disgust that
Calvert noted the attentions of this man, whose life he disdained to
think of, to the beautiful girl beside him. And it seemed to him that
she took a wayward pleasure in charming him, though she kept him at a
distance by a sort of imperious coquetry that was not to be presumed
upon.
Calvert turned from his almost melancholy contemplation of the young
girl to the old Duchesse d'Azay standing beside him and talking volubly
to Mr. Jefferson.
"And have your friends newly arrived from America brought you news from
our old friend, Dr. Franklin, Monsieur?" she asks, in her grand manner.
"Ah, I wish we might see him again! I think there was never an
ambassador so popular with us--snuff-boxes with his face upon them,
miniatures, fans! I was present when he was crowned with laurel. We had
thought it impossible to replace him, Monsieur, until you arrived!"
"Ah, Madame, I did not come to replace him," corrected Mr. Jefferson,
making his best bow, and which was very courtly and deferential,
indeed, "not to replace him--no one can do that--only to succeed him."
"Bien, bien, Monsieur," cried the Duchess, tapping her fan against her
long, thin fingers and breaking out into an appreciative little cackle.
"Monsieur understands our language" (they were both speaking French)
"quite as well as that paragon of wit and erudition, Dr. Franklin
himself. Ah! what a man," she went on, musingly; "'twas he who gave the
Duchesse de Bourbon a lesson in chess! She put her king in _prise_ and
Monsieur Franklin promptly took it! 'But we do not take kings so,' cried
Her Grace, furiously, for you may be sure she was greatly put out. 'We
do in America,' said the Doctor, calmly." And she broke out laughing
again in her thin, cracked voice at the recollection of the discomfiture
of her archrival, the old Duchesse de Bourbon. "Truly that America of
yours must be a wonderful place."
"Ah, Madame," said Mr. Jefferson--and there was a note of sadness in his
voice--"I think there is no land like it, no rivers so broad and deep,
no woods so green and wild, no soil so fertile, no climate so
delightful. I wish I might show you but one garden-spot of it--my
Virginia--to prove to you, Madame, that I do not exaggerate when I sing
my country's praises. The Duc de la Rochefoucault-Liancourt promises to
visit me at Monticello within the next few years. Cannot I persuade you,
Madame, to come, too?"
"Ah, Monsieur, 'twould give me infinite pleasure, but I shall never
leave my France--although"--and here she lowered her voice and shrugged
her lean shoulders contemptuously--"did I listen to but one-half of what
I hear prophesied in these revolutionary salons, to but one-half of what
I hear openly discussed at the card-tables, I might accept your
invitation as a refuge! But I have no fear for my King. I am not shaking
with apprehension at the turn affairs are taking, like that
poor-spirited little Madame de Montmorin, whose husband knows no more
about foreign affairs than does my coachman, but I wish with all my
heart, Monsieur, that you had kept your revolution chez vous! 'Tis a
fever, this revolution of yours, and our young men return from the war
and spread the contagion. They clamor for new rights, for assemblies,
for States-Generals--'twas that fever-stricken young Lafayette himself
who demanded that, and, instead of being in attendance at court, as a
young noble should be, he is buried in Auvergne, trying to get himself
elected to his own States-General! Bah! what will it all come to?" She
fastened her keen, bright eyes on Mr. Jefferson's face and spoke with
indomitable energy and haughtiness. "The noblesse is all-powerful. We
have everything--why should we cry for something more? As for the
commons, they don't know what is good for them and they have all they
deserve. At any rate they will not get anything more. These contentions,
these revolts of the lower orders"--she stopped, for at that instant the
young Vicomte de Ségur came up and, making a profound bow, offered his
arm to the Duchess.
"Madame," he said, "the Duchesse de Chastellux begs that you will join
her at a table of whist." He paused a moment, and then, with a languid
shrug of his shoulders and a whimsical smile, "Your Grace was speaking
of the discontent of the lower orders? They are very unreasonable--these
lower orders--they spoil one's Paris so!"
Calvert was about to follow the two figures into the crowd, when
suddenly he heard his name called softly, and, turning, found himself
beside St. Aulaire and Madame de St. André. She was looking at him, her
eyes and lips smiling mockingly. Calvert met her gaze calmly and fully.
They stood thus, looking at each other, courteously on Calvert's part,
curiously, almost challengingly, on the young girl's. It was Madame de
St. André who broke the silence. When she spoke, her voice was
exquisitely sweet and low, and her eyes became kind, and the artificial
smile faded from her lips. Looking at her so, Calvert could scarce
believe that it was the same arrogant beauty who had regarded him so
haughtily but a moment before. 'Twas as if she had let fall from her
face, for a moment, some lovely but hateful mask, which she could resume
instantly at will.
"Mr. Calvert," she said, "I hope my brother has had a chance to talk
with you. He is most anxious to see you." As she spoke, Calvert thought
he had never heard anything so beautiful as the sound of those clear,
French words, each one as sweet and distinct as the carillon of a silver
bell.
"Alas, no, Madame! We have exchanged but a dozen words. 'Tis almost
five years since we last talked together. That was at Monticello, where,
indeed, I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance--in miniature!"
He bowed and smiled as he noted her look of surprise. "And where---"
"And where," interrupted Beaufort, who at that instant joined them and
who had overheard Calvert's last words, "d'Azay promised to introduce
Mr. Calvert to you as an American savage!"
"Indeed, my brother spoke to me on the subject," returned Madame de St.
André, laughing outright at the recollection (and if each word she spoke
was like the sound of a silver bell, her laugh was like a whole chime of
them). "I had looked for something quite different," she went on, in a
mock-disappointed tone, and with an amused glance at Beaufort. "Perhaps
paint and feathers and a--a--what is the name, Monsieur? a--tomahawk to
kill with! Ah! Monsieur"--here she sighed in a delightfully droll way
and swept Calvert a courtesy--"as an American you are a great
disappointment!"
"I am inexpressibly grieved to be the cause of any disappointment to
you, Madame," replied Calvert, calmly. "But as for paint and feathers,
surely they can be no novelties to you," and here he looked meaningly
around at the bedaubed, bedecked ladies of fashion (though 'tis but fair
to say that the young beauty before him disdained the use of furbelows
or cosmetics, as well she might with such a brilliant complexion); "and
as for tomahawks--the ladies of this country need no more deadly weapons
than their own bright glances. But truly, Madame, did you expect to see
a young savage?"
"I was hoping to," she said, demurely. "'Twould have been more
interesting than--than--" And here she stopped as if in seeming
embarrassment and loss for words. "Is not America full of them?" she
asked, innocently.
"Assuredly, Madame, as you must know, since they have so often been your
allies!"
As Calvert spoke, all the amusement and good-nature died out of Madame
de St. André's face, and she resumed her mask, becoming again the
haughty and distant young beauty.
"But 'tis not an uncivilized land by any means," went on Calvert, who
was young and ardent enough to espouse warmly the cause of his country
from even the badinage of a spoilt young girl. "There is much learning
and the most gracious manners to be found there, as you must also know,
since we have been able to spare two such shining examples of both to
this court--Dr. Franklin and Mr. Jefferson."
"Monsieur does not mean to compare the civilization of his own country
to that of ours?" contemptuously demanded St. Aulaire, who, up to that
time, had stood superciliously by, taking no part in the conversation.
"Indeed, no!" returned Calvert, with suspicious promptness. "In my mind
there can be no comparison, and surely you will acknowledge that a
country which has produced the greatest man of the age is not one to be
despised."
"And who may that be?" asked Monsieur de St. Aulaire, with lazy
insolence.
"I had thought, my lord," returned Calvert, bowing low, "that the
subject of so enlightened a state as you say France is would surely have
heard the name of General Washington. Monsieur does not read history?"
"'Tis impossible to read yours, since you have none," returned St.
Aulaire, with a contemptuous little laugh.
"We are making it every day, Monsieur," said Calvert, calmly.
"Ah, sir!" demanded Madame de St. André, "are all Americans so
presumptuous?"
"Yes, Madame--if 'tis presumptuous to admire General Washington."
"We have heard of him in effect," sneeringly broke in Monsieur de St.
Aulaire. "A lucky adventurer with a pretty talent for fighting British
cowards, a beggar who has not been turned away empty from our doors.
Why, hasn't the whole country given to him?--from the King down--and
truth to tell we were glad to give as long as he whipped the English."
"No, no, Monsieur de St. Aulaire," suddenly interrupted Madame de St.
André, turning upon him, "do not wrong France, do not wrong your King,
do not wrong Lafayette and Rochambeau and Dillon and so many others! We
gave because France was strong and America weak, because it was our
greatest happiness to help right her wrongs, because 'tis ever France's
way to succor the oppressed. As for General Washington, Monsieur
Calvert does well to admire him. The King admires him--can Monsieur de
St. Aulaire do less? We are devoted royalists, but we can still respect
and admire patriotism and genius under whatever government they
flourish." She changed her tone of authority and accusation and turned
to Calvert. Again the mask had been dropped, the eyes were once more
kind, the voice and smile once more tender. "I should like to hear more
of your General Washington and of America, Monsieur," she said, almost
shyly, and Calvert wondered at the change in her. "If Monsieur skates,
we should be happy to have him join us to-morrow afternoon on the ice
near the Pont Royal. 'Tis for three o'clock." And she smiled as she
turned away, followed by Monsieur de St. Aulaire, apparently in no very
good-humor.
When Calvert again looked around him, after having watched Madame de St.
André disappear, he noticed Mr. Jefferson at the farther end of the room
looking much disturbed and talking earnestly with Monsieur Necker,
Monsieur le Comte de Montmorin, and Mr. Gouverneur Morris, who had at
length left the side of the charming Madame de Flahaut. Calvert
approached the group, and, as he drew near, he could hear Necker
speaking in an anxious, despondent tone.
"My dear friend," he was saying, "'tis not only difficulties with the
finances which alarm us! Obedience is not to be found anywhere. Even the
troops are not to be relied on." And he turned wearily away.
When Mr. Jefferson caught sight of Calvert, who had stopped, hesitating
to join the group lest he should intrude on some important and private
business, he beckoned the young man forward.
"Is anything the matter?" asked Calvert, in a low tone. "You look
anxious."
"I will tell you later, my boy," returned Mr. Jefferson, smiling
reassuringly. "Go and talk to Madame de Flahaut--Mr. Morris has promised
to send you to her."
Calvert did as he was desired, and found Madame de Flahaut a very
entertaining lady, but who, in spite of her charms, he was not sorry to
see go, as she did presently, with Madame de Coigny and Monsieur de
Curt. And soon after she retired the company broke up and only Mr.
Morris remained behind to have a last glass of wine and a few moments'
quiet chat with Mr. Jefferson and Calvert. It was while they were thus
engaged in the now deserted drawing-room that Mr. Jefferson told Calvert
the cause of his perturbed look, which was none other than a
conversation concerning the state of the kingdom confided to himself and
Mr. Morris by Monsieur Necker. He explained at great length to Calvert
the delicacy and danger of the Comptroller-General's position and the
wretched condition of the country's finances and army. To which Mr.
Morris added some of his own observations, made with the rapidity and
justness so characteristic of him.
"Monsieur Necker seems to me, indeed, to be in a disagreeable and
sufficiently dangerous position. His business stands thus: if any
mischiefs happen they will be charged to him. If he gets well through
the business others will claim the reputation of what good is done by
the States-General. If he is a really great man, I am deceived. If he is
not a laborious man, I am also deceived. He loves flattery--for he
flatters. He is therefore easily imposed upon."
But here Mr. Jefferson would not allow Mr. Morris to proceed with his
dicta, declaring that he did Monsieur Necker a gross injustice, and
defending him warmly, both as a financier and statesman. Mr. Morris
still clinging to his hastily formed opinion, the two gentlemen
continued to argue the matter until, Mr. Morris's carriage having been
announced, he took his final leave and stumped his way down the broad
staircase, attended to the door by Calvert.
But deeply as Calvert was already interested in the affairs of France,
it was not the miscarried business of a nation that troubled his sleep
that night. For the first time in his life the face of a woman haunted
his dreams, now luring him on with glance and voice, as it seemed to
him, now sending him far from her with teasing laughter and disdainful
eyes.