AN AFTERNOON ON THE ICE
Calvert's second morning at the Legation was even busier than the first
had been, so that there was no time for disquieting thoughts or the
memory of troubled dreams. Indeed, the young man had very good nerves
and such power of concentration and so conscientious a regard for
whatever he might have on hand to do as always kept him absorbed in his
work. The packet by which he and Mr. Morris had arrived being ready to
start on the return voyage, it was necessary to make up the American
mail, which Calvert found to be no light task. Mr. Jefferson's large
private correspondence always necessitated the writing of a dozen or
more letters for every packet, several copies of the more important
having to be made, owing to the unreliability of the vessels themselves
and the danger of all communications being opened and possibly destroyed
by the French agents before they could even be sent on their way.
Besides these private letters there were also many communications
concerning official business to be written. The most important one was a
letter to the Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Jay, concerning the
recall of Monsieur le Comte de Moustier, whose conduct had become most
offensive to the American Congress, and the possible appointment of
Colonel Ternant to his office. This officer had won a great European
reputation as _Generalissimo_ of one of the United Provinces, and it was
even hinted that, had he been put at the head of affairs instead of the
pusillanimous Rhinegrave of Salm, the cause might have been saved. All
this and other details had to be communicated to Mr. Jay, and so
delicate was the business that Calvert was instructed to put the letter
in cipher lest it be opened and the French Government prematurely
informed of the dissatisfaction felt with its representative in America.
It was well on toward three in the afternoon before all the business was
disposed of and Calvert had leisure to recall his engagement. When Mr.
Jefferson heard of it he declared his intention of going, too, for it
was ever one of his greatest pleasures to watch young people at their
amusements. The carriage was ordered, and, after stopping in the rue de
Richelieu for Mr. Morris, Mr. Jefferson ordered the coachman to drive to
the terrace of the Jardin des Tuileries, near the Pont Royal, which
particular place the fashionable world had chosen for a rendezvous from
which to watch the skating upon the Seine.
It was a beautiful and unusual sight that met Calvert's eyes for the
first time on that brilliant winter's afternoon as he alighted from Mr.
Jefferson's carriage. The river, which was solidly frozen over at this
point, and which was kept smooth and free of soft ice by attendants from
the Palais Royal, was thronged. Officers of the splendid Maison du Roi
and the Royale Cravate, in magnificent uniforms, glided about; nobles
in their rich dress, the sunlight catching their small swords and
burnishing them to glittering brightness, skated hither and thither; now
and then in the crowd was seen some beautiful woman on skates or more
frequently wrapped in furs and being pushed luxuriously about in a
chair-sleigh by lackeys and attended by a retinue of admirers. On the
terrace of the garden overlooking the river a throng of the most notable
people of the court and society, drawn hither by the novelty of the
pastime and comfortably installed in chairs brought by their servants,
with chaufferettes and furs to keep them protected from the intense
cold, looked on at the shifting, swiftly moving pageant before them. For
the time being the Parisian world was mad about skating, both because of
its popularity as an English sport and because of the rarity with which
it could be enjoyed in France.
Joining the throng of spectators, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Morris quickly
found themselves surrounded by friends and acquaintances, and Calvert
left them talking with Madame d'Azay, Madame de Flahaut, and the
Maréchal de Ségur, while he put on his skates. The young man was no
great proficient in the art of skating as he was in that of swimming and
riding (indeed, he was a most perfect equestrian, seeming to have some
secret understanding and entente cordiale with every animal he ever
bestrode), but with that facile acquirement of any physical
accomplishment which ever distinguished him, he was soon perfectly at
ease on the ice.
It was while opposite the Place du Carrousel and almost out of sight of
the crowd of onlookers, that Calvert suddenly came upon Madame de St.
André. She had ventured upon the ice on skates, and was talking to St.
Aulaire, who skated slowly beside her. Even in the bright sunshine the
Baron de St. Aulaire did not show his age, and moved and bore himself
with incomparable grace on the ice. Indeed, in his rich dress and
splendid decorations he made a dazzling appearance, and quite eclipsed
Mr. Calvert in his sober garments and unpowdered hair. Calvert would
have passed by or retreated without intruding himself upon Madame de St.
André, but before he could do either she had caught sight of him, and he
saw, or fancied he saw, a look of relief pass over her face and a
welcome dawn in her eyes. Thinking so, he skated slowly toward her,
wishing to be sure that he was wanted, and, as he did so, the gentleman,
perceiving his approach, ceased speaking and looked most obviously
annoyed at the young man's arrival.
Madame de St. André waved her hand lightly. "Au revoir, Monsieur de St.
Aulaire!" she cried. "Here is Monsieur Calvert, who will take me back
over the ice, so I shall not have to trouble you," and she laughed in a
relieved, if somewhat agitated, fashion as St. Aulaire, doffing his hat
and scowling fiercely at Calvert, skated rapidly away. As Calvert looked
at the retreating figure, Beaufort's words of two days before flashed
through his mind again, and it was with a sort of horror that he thought
of this dissolute nobleman having even spoken with Madame de St. André.
Was this beautiful girl born under some unlucky star that she should
have to know and associate with such creatures? Calvert had only met her
the night before, and already he had seen her twice with a man whose
very presence was contaminating. 'Twas almost with the fear of finding
some visible sign of that debasing influence upon the fair face beside
him that he turned and looked at Madame de St. André. It would have been
impossible for anyone to have looked more innocently charming. The court
beauty was in eclipse, and in her place was a radiant, gracious young
girl. Perhaps it was the short, fur-trimmed dress she wore and the small
cap with its tuft of heron plumes, a fashion lately set by the Princess
de Lamballe, which gave her that childish air. Or, more possibly, it was
the unaccustomed look of embarrassment upon her face and a half-laughing
petulance as of a naughty child caught in mischief.
"Good-day, Monsieur l'Americain," she said, gayly, smiling into the
serious face Calvert turned toward her. "Will you forgive me for
pressing you into service in so offhand a manner?--but perhaps you were
looking for me?"
"No, Madame," returned Calvert, calmly, as they skated slowly toward the
Quai des Tuileries, "but 'tis a pleasure to be of service to you."
A cloud gathered on Madame de St. André's brow at this honest and
somewhat uncomplimentary reply, but suddenly the humor of the situation
seemed to strike her and she burst out laughing.
"Are you always so truthful, Monsieur Calvert, and do American ladies
absolve you from making pretty speeches? If so, I warn you you must
change or you will not succeed with the ladies of Louis's court."
"Ah, Madame! I am no courtier--nor, indeed, do I care to be," said
Calvert, quietly.
"Worse and worse!" cried Madame de St. André, still laughing. "But even
though you disclaim all effort to find me, or wish to be agreeable when
found, yet I will still confess that you arrived most opportunely.
Monsieur de St. Aulaire grows fatiguing," she went on, with a pettish
shrug of her shoulders. "He is as prodigal of compliments as you are
chary of them."
Calvert looked at the young girl beside him.
"He dares to compliment you! A compliment from Monsieur de St. Aulaire
can be nothing less than an insult," he said, gravely.
Madame de St. André lifted her eyes quickly to Calvert's face and,
noting the ill-concealed disgust and quiet scorn written there, blushed
scarlet and regarded him haughtily.
"Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire is one of the greatest gentlemen in
Europe--and--and anyone whom he distinguishes by his attentions must
feel honored."
"Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire is one of the greatest roués in
Europe," corrected Calvert, calmly, "and anyone whom he distinguishes by
his attentions ought to feel disgraced."
Madame de St. André was speechless in sheer amazement and indignation.
Though she had been annoyed, even frightened by the nobleman's ardent
manner and words, she was now eager to defend him from Calvert's attack.
She knew him to be in the right, and the rising admiration for his quiet
dignity and courage, which she could not repress, only added to her
petulance and desire to be revenged on him. It is so with all
women--they hate to be put in the wrong, even when the doing so means
protection to themselves. And so it was wellnigh intolerable to the
spoiled beauty, who had never been used to the lightest contradiction,
that this calm young American should so openly show his disapproval of
her.
"I will pass by your reproof of myself, Monsieur," she said at length,
haughtily; her eyes flashing and a deep blush mantling her brow, "but I
cannot consent to listen in silence to your condemnation of a personage
whose talents and rank should protect him from your sarcasms."
"Rank, Madame!" burst out Mr. Calvert at these words. "I never knew
before that morality or immorality, loyalty or treason, honor or
dishonor had aught to do with rank! In our country 'tis not so. A king's
word can make of the meanest scoundrel a duke, a marquis, but an honest
man holds his rank by a power greater than any king's." He bent upon her
such a compelling gaze that she was forced to turn and look at him.
Before Calvert's flashing eyes and manly, honest indignation her own
anger died out and an unwilling admiration took its place. She blushed
again deeply and bit her lips. This young American, with his noble
face, his simplicity of manner and democratic scorn of her rank and
pretensions, had not only accused, but silenced her. At any rate he
should not see that he had impressed her! She laughed lightly.
"What a noble sentiment, Monsieur! Did you find it in one of Monsieur
Rousseau's books?"
"No, Madame, it was not in the works of the famous Monsieur Rousseau
that I found the expression of that sentiment," replied Calvert,
hesitating slightly. "'Tis the theme of a little song by a young man
named Robert Burns, who writes the sweetest poetry in the world, I
think. He is a friend and protege of Dr. Witherspoon, of the College of
Princeton, who never tires of reading his verses to us. I wish I could
give you some idea of the beauty and power of the poem," and he began to
translate "For a' that, and a' that" into the best French at his
command, smiling every now and then at the strange substitutes for
Burns's Scotch which he was forced to employ and at the curious
metamorphosis of the poem into French prose. But he managed to infuse
the spirit and sentiment of the original into his offhand translation,
and Madame de St. André listened attentively.
"I would like to hear more of your poet," she said, gently, when Calvert
had finished speaking. "I do not remember to have heard Monsieur Chenier
speak of him or the Abbé Délille, either. The Abbé is often good enough
to read poetry to us in my aunt's drawing-room, but 'tis usually his
own," and she laughed mischievously. "The poor gentleman makes a great
fuss about it, too. He must have his dish of tea at his elbow and the
shades all drawn, with only the firelight or a single candle to read by,
and when we are all quaking with fear at the darkness and solemn
silence, he begins to recite, and imagines that 'tis his verses which
have so moved us!" and she laughed merrily again. "You shall come and
read to us from your young Scotch poet and snatch the Abbé's laurels
from him! Indeed, my aunt has already conceived a great liking for you,
Monsieur, so she told me last night on her way from Madame Necker's, and
intends to urge upon Mr. Jefferson to bring you to see her immediately."
She smiled at Calvert so graciously and with such unaffected good-humor
that he looked at her with delight and wonder at the change come over
her. Once more the mask was down. All the haughtiness and capricious
anger had faded away, and Calvert thought he had never beheld a creature
so charming and so beautiful. Her dark eyes shone like stars in a wintry
sky, and, though the air was frosty, the roses bloomed in her cheeks. As
he looked at her there was a troubled smile on his lips and he felt a
sudden quickening of his pulse. A curious sense of remoteness from her
impressed itself upon him. He looked around at the unfamiliar scene, at
the towering palace walls on his right, at the crowds of spectators on
the river's edge, at the brilliant throng of skaters, at the great stone
bridge spanning the frozen river over which people were forever passing
to and fro, some hurriedly, some with leisure to lean over the parapet
for a moment to watch the unaccustomed revelry below. And as he looked,
another scene, which he had so lately left, rose before him. In fancy he
could see the broad and shining Potomac, on its banks the stately old
colonial house with its colonnaded wings, something after the fashion of
General Washington's mansion at near-by Mount Vernon, the green lawns
stretching away from the portico and the fragrant depths of the woods
beyond. A voice recalled him from his abstraction. It was that of
Monsieur de St. Aulaire, who, as they neared the crowded terrace of the
Tuileries gardens, emerged from a group of skaters and, approaching
Calvert and Madame de St. André, made a profound bow before the latter.
"Is Madame de St. André to show favor to none but Monsieur Calvert?" he
asks, in a low voice that had an accent of mockery in it as he bent over
the young girl's hand.
"'Tis no favor that I show Monsieur Calvert," she replied, smiling.
"'Tis a privilege to skate with so perfect a master of the art."
"I shall be most happy to take a lesson from Monsieur later in the
afternoon," returned St. Aulaire, courteously, but with a disagreeable
smile playing about his mouth. "In the meantime, if Monsieur will but
resign you for a time--" He stopped and shrugged his shoulders slightly.
Calvert moved from his place beside Madame de St. André.
As he made his way toward the shore, intending to remove his skates and
find Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Morris, d'Azay and Beaufort came up and urged
upon him to join them. Both were good skaters, but the young American
excelled them in a certain lightness and grace, and the three friends,
as they circled about, trying a dozen difficult and showy manoeuvres on
the ice, attracted much attention. It was after half an hour of the
vigorous exercise and as Mr. Calvert stopped for an instant to take
breath and pay his respects to Madame de Flahaut, who had ventured upon
the ice in a chair-sleigh surrounded by her admirers, that Monsieur de
St. Aulaire again presented himself before him.
"I have come for my lesson, Monsieur," he said to Calvert, bowing after
his incomparably graceful fashion, which Calvert (who had never before
wasted thought upon such things) suddenly found himself envying, and
with the disagreeable smile still upon his lips.
"I am no skating-master, Monsieur," returned the young man, quietly, and
with as good grace as he was master of, "but I shall be happy to have a
turn upon the ice with you," and with that he moved off, leaving St.
Aulaire to stay or follow as he chose. He chose to follow and skated
rapidly after Calvert with no very benevolent look on his handsome,
dissipated face. Although he was by far the best skater among the French
gentlemen who thronged the ice, and although it was little short of a
marvel that he should be so active at his age, he was scarcely a match
for the younger man either in lightness or quickness of movement. And
although his splendid dress and jewels so overshadowed Mr. Calvert's
quiet appearance, he was conscious of being excelled before the crowd
of spectators by the agility and sure young strength of the American.
Piqued and disgusted at the thought, the habitual half-mocking
good-humor of his manner gave way to sullen, repressed irritation.
Knowing his world so well, he was sure of the interest and curiosity
Calvert's performance would arouse, and longed to convert his little
triumph into a defeat. Being accustomed to doing everything he undertook
a little better, a little more gracefully, with a little more éclat than
anyone else, he suddenly began to hate this young man who had beaten him
at his own game and for whom he had felt an aversion from the first
moment of seeing him.
He tried to bethink himself of some plan of lowering his enemy's colors.
In his younger days he had been a notable athlete, excelling in vaulting
and jumping, and suddenly an idea occurred to him which he thought would
result in mortification to Mr. Calvert and success to himself. So great
was the interest in the skating of the two gentlemen that the greater
part of the crowd had retired beyond a little ledge of roughened ice and
snow which cut the improvised arena into two nearly equal parts from
where they could conveniently see Monsieur de St. Aulaire and Mr.
Calvert as they skated about. This rift in the smoothness of the ice was
some fifteen feet wide and extended far out from the shore, so that
those wishing to pass beyond it had to skate out around its end and so
get to the other side. Monsieur de St. Aulaire came up close to it, and,
as he did so, he suddenly called out to Calvert:
"Let us try the other side, Monsieur, and, as it is too far to go
around this, suppose we jump it," and he laughed as he noted Calvert's
look of surprise at his proposition.
"As you wish, Monsieur," assented Calvert, though somewhat dubiously, as
he noted the breadth of the roughened surface, and mentally calculated
that to miss the clear jump by a hair's-breadth would ensure a hard,
perhaps dangerous, fall. 'Twas no easy jump under ordinary
circumstances; weighted down by skates the difficulty would be vastly
increased.
"Tis too wide for a standing jump, Monsieur," said St. Aulaire, looking
alternately at Calvert and the rift of broken, jagged ice, and laughing
recklessly. "We will have to run for it!" And without more words the two
gentlemen skated rapidly back for twenty yards and then came forward
with tremendous velocity, _pari passu_, and, both jumping at the same
instant, landed on the far side of the ledge, scattering the applauding
spectators right and left as they drove in among them, unable for an
instant to stop the swiftness of their progress.
"Well done, Monsieur!" called out St. Aulaire, as he wheeled beside
Calvert, who had succeeded in checking his impetus. He was smiling, but
there was a dark look in his eyes. "Well done, but 'twas too easy--a
very school-boy's trick! We must try something a little more difficult
to test our agility upon the ice--unless, indeed, Monsieur has had
enough?" and he looked at Calvert insultingly full in the face. "The
eyes of the world are upon us--" and he waved his hand mockingly toward
the throng of spectators on the terrace where the ladies were applauding
with gloved hands and the men tapping the frozen ground with canes and
swords. From where he stood Calvert could see Mr. Jefferson looking at
him and Mr. Morris sitting beside Madame de Flahaut and Madame de St.
André, who had left the ice and joined the onlookers.
"It has never been my custom or my desire, Monsieur, to furnish
amusement for the crowd," said Calvert, returning St. Aulaire's insolent
look, "but I should be very sorry to stand in the way of your doing so
by declining to act as a foil to your prowess. If there is anything else
I can do for you--?" and he bowed and smiled tranquilly at Monsieur de
St. Aulaire, who blushed darkly with vexation at the way in which the
young man had turned his attack.
"Monsieur is too modest," he said, suavely, controlling himself, and
then, calling one of the attendants who was busy near-by sweeping the
snow cut by the skates from the ice, he instructed the fellow to bring
one of the chairs which had been taken from the palace to the terrace
for the convenience of those who had not had their servants bring them.
In a few moments the man returned with a large chair whose deep seat and
long arms just suited the purposes of Monsieur de St. Aulaire. Under his
direction the man placed it sidewise upon the stratum of broken,
irregular ice and snow, the crowd looking on with curiosity at the
unusual proceedings.
"By the example and with the approbation of Monsieur le Duc d'Orléans,
Monsieur," said St. Aulaire, turning gravely to Calvert, "we do all
things a l'Anglaise--for the moment. You, who, after all, are English,
will doubtless recognize many of your customs, manners, and sports among
us--always supposing Paris is fortunate enough to keep you," and here he
smiled deprecatingly and shook his head as if afraid such good fortune
could not be true. "I have just conceived the idea of having a
steeple-chase on the ice. 'Tis but a poor little hurdle," and he
shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, "but 'twill have to do. We will
take fifty yards start, Monsieur, and clear the fauteuil, rough ice and
all!"
He broke out again in his mocking laugh, and, sculling rapidly backward,
soon put the distance between him and the improvised barrier. Calvert
turned and followed, not without some inward disgust at the trap laid
for him, although outwardly he wore the quiet air habitual to him, and,
in spite of his disgust, he could not help but admire the reckless
courage and activity which would dare such a thing, for 'twas evident
now that the jump had not only to be dangerously long but high also, and
any failure to clear the chair and broken ice would inevitably result in
a ludicrous, probably serious mishap.
"'Tis evident that we cannot both jump at the same time," says Monsieur
de St. Aulaire, courteously. "Shall we try for the honor?" and he drew a
coin from his pocket and lightly tossed it upward. 'Twas the fashion in
Paris to decide everything by the fall of a coin. "C'est à vous,
Monsieur," he says, looking at the gold piece _as_ it lay face upward
in his palm, and he laughed lightly again as if not displeased with his
luck. As for Calvert, he was no less pleased, for he suddenly felt
impatient and eager for the trial. He gave a glance at the fastenings of
his skates and then, sweeping around to the starting-place, he skated
slowly at first but with ever-increasing speed. As he reached the gilt
chair he paused for the infinitesimal part of a second as a horse does
at a hurdle, and then, with one clean spring, was over safely. As he
slid along the smooth ice, unable to check his impetus, he could hear
the applause of the spectators on the shore and the exclamations and
laughter of the ladies. Suddenly he bethought him of St. Aulaire. He
turned quickly and was just in time to see St. Aulaire start off. There
was a gallant recklessness in his bearing, but Calvert noted that his
movements seemed heavy, though his pace accelerated greatly as he neared
the improvised hurdle. Indeed, he was coming too fast, and, as he
reached the unlucky fauteuil, he was going with such speed that he could
neither calculate the length of the jump nor raise himself sufficiently
for it, and it was with a little cry of horror that Calvert and the
onlookers saw the Baron essay it and fall short, catching his skates in
the arm of the chair and crashing down heavily upon the ice. In an
instant Calvert had reached him. Monsieur de St. Aulaire was lying quite
still and unconscious, with a thin stream of blood trickling from a
scalp wound on the temple, which had struck a splinter of ice. In a few
minutes, after much chafing of his hands and head, he opened his eyes,
and Calvert and the crowd who had quickly surrounded the two were
relieved to see that the injury had not been serious. A dozen fine
handkerchiefs were torn up, and Calvert bound the wounded temple and
helped him, still half-stunned, to rise. The fresh air revived him
somewhat, and, Madame de Segur's coachman running up at this moment to
tell him that his mistress's carriage was at his disposal, he was helped
to it, and, amid the sympathetic murmurs of the crowd, was sent off to
his apartments in the Palais Royal.
"A thousand pardons for causing you so much trouble, Monsieur," he said,
turning to Calvert, with one foot on the step of the carriage. "I shall
not forget this afternoon," and he bowed with his accustomed grace,
looking incomparably handsome in spite of his pallor and weakness and
the bandage about his forehead, and Calvert could not help but admire
the courtly ease of his manner, though he saw, too, the evil smile on
his lips and the ugly look in his eye. As he turned away he caught sight
of Madame de St. André, who stood looking after the carriage with an
expression of anxiety on her face, which Calvert noticed had lost its
rosy color and was now quite pale. He would have gone to her to reassure
her concerning Monsieur de St. Aulaire's safety, but when he went toward
her she pretended not to see him, and quickly joined Madame d'Azay and
the Maréchal de Segur.
The company broke up soon after the accident to Monsieur de St. Aulaire,
and in a few minutes Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Morris, and Calvert were in
their carriage on the way to the Legation, where Mr. Morris was engaged
to dine that evening.
"I thought you had told me that Mr. Calvert was quite indifferent to the
fair sex," says Mr. Morris, laughing, and speaking to Mr. Jefferson, but
with a side glance at the young man. "If so, he takes a strange way of
proving it. He will be the most-talked-of, and therefore the most
envied, man in Paris to-morrow," and he began to laugh again.
"Was jumping in the curriculum at the College of Princeton?" asks Mr.
Jefferson, laughing, too.
"But beware of St. Aulaire," said Mr. Morris, suddenly becoming grave
and laying a kindly hand on Calvert's shoulder. "I misjudge him if he
will take even a fair defeat at sport in the right spirit. Look out for
him, Ned--he will not play fair and he will not forget a grudge, or I am
greatly deceived in him."
But it was not of Monsieur le Baron's possible revenge or even of his
cracked head that Mr. Calvert thought, but of his unrivalled gallantry
of bearing and his splendid appearance. And that night when he retired
to his own room he practised St. Aulaire's graceful bow before the long
cheval glass, though with most indifferent success, it must be
confessed.
"'Tis no use," he said at length to the sober reflection in the glass,
and he threw himself into a chair and burst out laughing at his own
folly. "I am only a simple American gentleman, and Monsieur de St.
Aulaire's manners are too elaborate for such. Perhaps 'tis his splendid
dress and decorations which give such éclat to his every movement. At
any rate I see that I shall have to content myself with my own quiet
fashions. And why, indeed, am I suddenly dissatisfied with them?--why
wish to change them?"
But though he sat for some time staring into the fire he did not attempt
to answer his own queries, and, after a little, he blew out the candles
and resolutely addressed himself to sleep.