THE AMERICANS ARE MADE WELCOME IN PARIS
As Mr. Morris had predicted, Calvert's skill in skating and the accident
to Monsieur de St. Aulaire became the topic of conversation in all
salons. Accounts of the young American's success on the ice came like a
breath of fresh air into the stagnant gossip of the drawing-rooms, and
were repeated until the affair had become a notable exploit, and Mr.
Calvert could have posed as a conquering hero had he cared to profit by
his small adventure. But the young gentleman was not only entirely
indifferent to such success, but scarcely cognizant of it, for he was
greatly occupied, and threw himself so heartily into his work that Mr.
Jefferson could never sufficiently congratulate himself on having with
him so efficient and willing a secretary. There was an enormous amount
of business to be attended to at the Legation, and not even a copying
clerk or an accountant to aid in dispatching it. Indeed, the labor put
upon our foreign representatives was wellnigh inconceivable, and could
those who cavilled at Dr. Franklin's lax business methods but have
imagined the tenth of what he had to attend to, they would have been
heartily ashamed of their complaints. Many of the enterprises which the
good Doctor had begun and left at loose ends, Mr. Jefferson found
himself obliged to go on with and finish as satisfactorily as was
possible. Besides which there were constant communications on an
infinity of subjects to be made to our representatives in London and in
Madrid and to our chargés d'affaires at Brussels and The Hague; money
loans negotiated, bonds executed, important creditors at Paris appeased,
and numberless schemes for financial aid to be devised and floated. In
all of these affairs Mr. Calvert had his share, so that the young
gentleman had but small leisure for that social intercourse into which
Mr. Morris entered with such zest and perfect success.
Introduced by Mr. Jefferson and the letters he had brought with him, in
an incredibly short time Mr. Morris was known and admired in every salon
in Paris, and he stumped his way through them with that admirable savoir
faire and sturdy self-respect, dashed with a wholesome conceit, which
made him assure Calvert one day that he "had never felt embarrassment or
a sense of inferiority in any company in which he had ever found
himself." It was soon evident that of all the salons of Paris where he
was made welcome, the one most to his taste was that of the charming
Madame de Flahaut; but wherever he went in that aristocratic society
which claimed social preeminence over all others, this untitled
gentleman from a new, almost unknown, country, was easily and quickly
one of the most brilliant members. Utterly unawed by the splendid
company in which he found himself, he valued it at its true worth and
was keenly and amusingly observant of its pretensions, its shams, its
flippancy, its instability, its charm. Soon he had become as great a
favorite as Mr. Jefferson himself, though winning his enviable position
by qualities the very opposite of that gentleman's. Mr. Morris rivalled
the Parisians themselves in caustic wit, perfect manners, and the
thousand and one social graces of the time, while Mr. Jefferson
captivated all by his democratic manners and entire indifference to
social conventionality, much as the incomparable Dr. Franklin (whose
originality and address in society were indeed _sui generis_ and quite
unrivalled) had before him.
But Mr. Morris was possessed of greater qualities than those necessary
to make him shine in the vapid, corrupt society of the fashionable
world. He was a brilliant, yet sound, thinker, and his earnest
convictions, his practical statesmanship, and his shrewd business
abilities were quickly appreciated. Indeed, it was difficult to tell
whether ladies of fashion or troubled statesmen found him most
satisfactory. He could rhyme a delicate compliment for the one or draw
up a plan to aid France's crippled revenues for the other, with equal
dexterity. His opinion was sought upon the weightiest matters, and,
being unfettered by official obligations, as was Mr. Jefferson, he was
free to give it, and soon became associated with some of the greatest
gentlemen in the kingdom and intimately identified with many schemes for
the strengthening of the monarchy. For Mr. Morris, while a most ardent
republican in his own country, was a royalist in France, convinced that
a people, used from time immemorial to an almost despotic government,
extremely licentious, and by nature volatile, were utterly unfitted for
a republic. In many of the drawing-rooms where indiscriminate and
dangerous republicanism was so freely advocated, he was held to be trop
aristocrate. With amazing good-humor and keenness he attacked the closet
philosophers and knocked over their feeble arguments like tenpins,
urgently proclaiming that it was the duty and best policy for every son
of France to hold up the king's hands and strengthen his authority. It
was almost amusing to note the consternation his views caused among
those who, knowing him to be a republican of republicans, a citizen of
that country which had so lately and so gloriously won its civil
liberty, had expected far different things from him. Indeed, he ran foul
of many of the noblesse, with whom 'twas the fashion to be republicans
of the first feather, and of none more completely than Monsieur le
Marquis de Lafayette.
Monsieur de Lafayette, who had got himself elected from the noblesse in
Auvergne, had come back to town in March and was a frequent caller at
the Legation, having there a warm friend and ally in Mr. Jefferson. He
was unaffectedly glad to see Calvert after such a lapse of time and to
meet again Mr. Morris, whom he had also known in America. His admiration
and respect for Mr. Morris's qualities were very great, and it was
therefore with no little mortification and uneasiness that he noted that
gentleman's disapprobation of the trend of public affairs and his own
course of action. Indeed, Mr. Morris was seriously alarmed lest the
glory which the young Marquis had won in America should be dimmed by his
career in his own country. Believing in his high-mindedness and
patriotism, he yet questioned his political astuteness and his ability
to guide the forces which he had so powerfully helped to set in motion
by his call for the States-General. Fully alive to his great qualities,
he yet deplored a certain indecision of character and an evident thirst
for fame.
Something of all this Mr. Morris expressed to Mr. Jefferson and Mr.
Calvert one evening when the Marquis had retired after an hour's
animated conversation on the all-engrossing subject of politics, during
which he had given the three gentlemen an account of his campaign in
Auvergne. But Mr. Jefferson, being in entire sympathy with Lafayette's
ideas, could not agree at all with Mr. Morris's estimate of him and
would listen to no strictures on him, except, indeed, the imputation of
ambition, which Mr. Jefferson acknowledged amounted to "a canine thirst
for fame," as he himself wrote General Washington. Though Mr. Jefferson
and Mr. Morris differed so widely respecting the Marquis's genius, Mr.
Morris still clung to his opinion, so that Madame de Lafayette, with
wifely jealousy and feminine intuition, perceiving something of his
mental attitude toward her husband, received him but coldly when he
called with Calvert to pay his respects at the hôtel on the Quai du
Louvre. So marked was the disapproval of her manner, that Mr. Morris,
being both amused and annoyed, could not forbear recounting his
reception to Mr. Jefferson, who enjoyed a good laugh at his expense
and, as it seemed to Calvert, took a certain satisfaction in his rebuff.
"She gave me the tips of her fingers to kiss," said Mr. Morris,
laughing, "gazing over my head the while and smiling at this young
gentleman, on whom she lavished every attention, though she had never a
word for me!" and he sighed in mock distress and looked affectionately
at Mr. Calvert. He had become very fond of the young gentleman in the
few weeks they had been together in Paris, and was always anxious to
introduce him to his acquaintances, of whom he already had an
astonishing number. Mr. Jefferson, being busily occupied with public
matters, insisted on Mr. Calvert's accepting Mr. Morris's good offices
and, with his invariable kindness and thoughtfulness, made it appear,
indeed, that the young gentleman was aiding him by thus assuming some of
his social duties. He was secretly much gratified and pleased by the
accounts which Mr. Morris gave of his successes.
"Why, 'tis almost indecent the way the women spoil him," that gentleman
declared, laughingly, to Mr. Jefferson as they sat alone over their wine
one evening after dinner at the Legation, Calvert having retired to
finish the copying of some important letters to be despatched to Mr.
Short, who was at Amsterdam. "Elles s'en raffolent, but Ned, incredible
as it may seem, is far from being grateful for such a doubtful blessing!
His stoical indifference and unvarying courtesy to the fair sex are
genuine and sublime and pique the women incredibly. Indeed, 'tis almost
more than I can stand without laughing," went on Mr. Morris, "to see the
manly forbearance with which he treats the advances of some of these
grandes dames, who think nothing of taking the initiative in a
love-affair. Tis as rare as it is admirable here in Paris! Upon my word
I thought he would have taken to his heels yesterday when we called on
Madame de Flahaut, who, being at her toilet, invited us to her
dressing-room! He left me to stump upstairs alone and receive a good
rating from the Countess for not having kept him. He makes me feel very
old and sinful," went on Mr. Morris, after a pause, and smiling ruefully
at Mr. Jefferson on the other side of the table, "and I ought to dislike
the boy heartily for it. But, in faith, I can't, and am beginning to be
as fond of him as you yourself are."
"And, after all, he ought not to make us feel old," rejoined Mr.
Jefferson, smiling, too. "For in spite of his youth there is nothing of
immaturity in his character. 'Tis as firm and well-rounded as though he
were fifty."
"I think he calls for a toast," says Mr. Morris, laughing, and filling
up the glasses: "To an Old Head on Young Shoulders!"
In the early part of March, Mr. Short being still on his travels, and
vexatious questions having arisen in connection with the Dutch loans,
Mr. Jefferson determined to intrust their settlement to Calvert, and,
accordingly, the young man set out for Amsterdam with scarce a day's
notice of his journey. His embassy concerned the refusal of our bankers
in Amsterdam (into whose hands Congress had placed all monies) to pay
bills for the redemption of our captives, and the medals which Mr.
Jefferson had contracted should be struck off for the foreign officers
who had engaged in the revolution. This refusal placed the American
Minister in a most embarrassing position. To his demands the Holland
bankers replied that Congress had appropriated the money in their charge
solely to the payment of the interest on the Dutch loan through the year
1790. As a failure to pay the interest on the loan would have been fatal
to the credit and standing of the infant republic in the eyes of Europe,
it was evident to Mr. Jefferson that a new loan would have to be set
going to defray the new debts. This delicate and difficult project (for
our credit was none of the best and the old loan had not all been taken
up) he intrusted to Calvert, and so quickly and satisfactorily did the
young man execute his commission that he was back again in Paris by the
end of the month with reports highly gratifying to the American
Minister.
"You have a better head for finances than even Mr. Hamilton, whose
opinions are so much quoted in Congress," says Mr. Jefferson, with a
smile. "I think no one could have conducted these affairs to a better
issue. It has always been my opinion that your peculiar talents lay in
the direction of finances, and now I am persuaded of it."
So delighted was Mr. Jefferson with Calvert's performance that he
recounted the successful embassy to Mr. Morris, whose good opinion of
Calvert was greatly increased, and, having always had a liking for the
young man, he took occasion to see more than ever of him. He insisted on
Calvert's accompanying him frequently into the great world of Paris
where he himself was so welcome, and where, indeed, the young man's
presence was also demanded on all sides--even by royalty itself in the
person of Madame la Duchesse d'Orléans, whose acquaintance Mr. Morris
had made in the apartments of Madame de Chastellux in the Palais Royal.
Although accustomed to the company of the highest nobility, Mr. Morris
was somewhat uncertain whether he would get along well with royalty, and
would not have pursued the acquaintance begun by chance in Madame de
Chastellux's salon had not the Duchess expressed her pleasure in his
society in most unequivocal terms. Satiated with flattery, bored by the
narrow circle in which she was forced to move, profoundly humiliated by
the neglect and viciousness of her husband, she was charmed by the wit,
independence, and true courtesy of the brilliant American. A daughter of
the old Duc de Penthièvre, the embodiment of everything good in the
ancien régime, the Duchess of Orléans was, herself, a woman of rare good
sense, beauty, and tact, all of which appealed strongly to Mr. Morris,
so that the acquaintance begun so graciously on her part and so
dubiously on his, soon ripened into real friendship.
"I never see her but I feel a throb of pity for her," declared Mr.
Morris to Calvert. "'Twas a malignant fate that made her the wife of so
dissolute a prince. She is very handsome--handsome enough to punish the
duke for his irregularities, and she has, I think, the most beautiful
arm in all Europe--of which she is properly vain! But what is a little
vanity among so many virtues?--for she is eminently virtuous, though not
averse, I think, to seeking some consolation for her profound
melancholy, for--as she has confided to me--she feels 'le besoin d'être
aimé,'" and he smiled a little cynically, as men of the world are wont
to smile at the confession of feminine weaknesses. As for Mr. Calvert,
that confession brought no smile to his lips, and, though he said
nothing, he felt a sudden rush of pity for the unhappy lady, neglected
and unloved despite her great position. After all, duchesses are but
women and must love and suffer and be content or miserable like common
mortals, and men should be the last to blame them for that divine
necessity of their beings--that of loving and being loved.
"She has heard much of you, Ned," went on Mr. Morris, "from Madame de
Chastellux, from Lafayette, and lately from myself, and has expressed
her desire to see you. I need not tell you that such a wish is a command
and so you must even go and pay your respects to royalty, my boy," and
he laughed as he clapped the young man on the shoulder.
That very evening Mr. Morris carried him off to the Palais Royal to the
apartments of Madame de Chastellux, where he despatched a message to the
Duchess to the effect that "Monsieur Morris, accompagné par Monsieur
Calvert, visitent Madame la Duchesse d'Orléans chez Madame de
Chastellux." After a few moments of waiting one of the Duchess's men
came with the request that Madame de Chastellux should bring the two
gentlemen to her apartments.
They found Her Royal Highness there surrounded by a small company. At
her side was the Vicomte de Ségur, who was essaying by the witty sallies
and delightful drolleries for which he was so famous to bring a smile to
her lips; but, although the rest of the company was convulsed by his
brilliant nonsense, the Duchess's pale face did not lose its serious
expression until Mr. Morris, followed by Calvert, entered the room.
Then, indeed, a smile of pleasure lighted up her countenance, and it was
with a most gracious cordiality that she welcomed both gentlemen.
"So this is your young compatriote, Monsieur, who vanquished Monsieur de
St. Aulaire on the ice!" she said, looking at Mr. Morris and laughing
with a certain malicious satisfaction. She extended to Calvert the
famously beautiful hand and arm, from which the soft, black lace fell
away, revealing its exquisite roundness and whiteness and over which Mr.
Morris bent low in salutation. "We have heard of your prowess au
patinage, Monsieur," she continued, glancing at Calvert, and then,
without waiting for a reply, much to the young man's relief, who was
somewhat embarrassed by so direct a compliment and, in truth, utterly
weary of the whole subject, of which he heard continually, she turned
and spoke to two young gentlemen half-concealed in the deep embrasure of
a window. At her call they both came forward, the eldest, the Duc de
Chartres, who might have been sixteen years of age, laying down a violin
on which he had been playing softly, and the younger, Monsieur de
Beaujolais, who could not have been over thirteen, closing the book he
had been reading.
"Mes fils," says the Duchess, softly, and smiling at Mr. Morris and
Calvert with a sort of melancholy pride shining in her dark eyes. In
truth, the young princes were good to look at, especially the little
Monsieur de Beaujolais, who had a most animated and pleasing
countenance. As they stood one on each side of their mother they made a
pretty group. Perhaps 'twas the remembrance of that picture in after
years which warmed Mr. Morris's heart to the exile in distress over the
seas and made him a generous friend despite the royal ingratitude.
"So she has saved something out of the wreck of her life," thought Mr.
Calvert, pityingly, looking at the two youths. "'Tis doubly fortunate
that they in nowise resemble their ignoble father," and he thought with
disgust of that dissolute nobleman of whom he had heard so much. While
these thoughts were passing through his mind the Duchess was speaking
earnestly, to Mr. Morris.
"I ask your advice, Monsieur," she said, dismissing with a smile the two
young gentlemen, who retired once more to their place at the window.
"You, who seem to know so well how to breed heroes in your own country,
can surely tell me how to bring up my sons to be an honor to their
race!"
"Your Highness," returned Mr. Morris, after an instant's hesitation,
and deeply moved at such a mark of esteem, "for Monsieur le Duc de
Chartres, who, in the inscrutable workings of Providence, may one day be
king"--the Duchess started and turned pale--"there is but one course to
follow, one education open. But for Monsieur de Beaujolais, why should
he not lend his talents to business enterprises, to great commercial
undertakings which make for the prosperity and stability of a country as
surely as even its army or navy? Thus also will he create happiness for
himself, because, if idle, at five and twenty, having enjoyed all that
rank and fortune can give him, he will be unhappy from not knowing what
to do with himself."
In spite of the democratic simplicity of the idea, the Duchess seemed
impressed and listened attentively to Mr. Morris, who was about to
explain more at length the advantages of such a career for the young
prince, when the conversation was interrupted by the lackey at the door
announcing the arrival of Madame la Comtesse de Flahaut.
At the name the Duchess threw a meaning look at Mr. Morris.
"Enfin! J'ai fait venir Madame de Flahaut ce soir. N'est ce pas que je
suis aimable?" she said, laughing, and speaking rapidly.
Mr. Morris bowed low before Madame la Duchesse, succeeding perfectly in
conveying by a look his appreciation without committing himself to
anything more serious.
"And did Your Royal Highness also send for a substitute in case I prove
wearying to Madame la Comtesse?" he asked, smiling, as he caught sight
of a gentleman who had followed Madame de Flahaut into the room and who
wore the ecclesiastical dress of a bishop. Perhaps what most attracted
Mr. Morris's notice was that he seemed a man of about his own age and,
like himself, lame. "Who is it?" he asked, in a low voice, as the two
approached.
"Monsieur de Talleyrand-Périgord, Bishop of Autun, who, I understand, is
in danger of losing his place in the affections of Madame on account of
Monsieur Morris," returned the Duchess, hurriedly, and glancing
mischievously, though keenly, at Mr. Morris's face, which, however,
preserved its expression of impassivity.
"Ah! place aux évêques!" murmured Mr. Morris, quietly.
Salutations and the presentation of Mr. Morris and Mr. Calvert having
been made, the Bishop of Autun turned to the Duchess.
"Your Highness," he said, "I have come to beg a dinner."
"And we have brought our bread with us, that we may be sure of our
welcome!" cried out Madame de Flahaut, with a little laugh. And indeed
they had, for wheat was so scarce in Paris that it was the fashion for
ladies and gentlemen to send their servants with bread when dining out.
"Monsieur l'évêque knows he is always welcome," said the Duchess,
gently, and smiling at Madame de Flahaut. "Once our guest, always our
guest."
In a little while the tutor of the young princes came in and took away
his charges, and the company sat down to supper. It was one of Her
Highness's little soupers intimes, which she gave each Thursday, and
upon which Monsieur le Duc d'Orléans and his wild companions never
intruded. Though the company was small it was very gay, and it would
have been hard to say who contributed most to the wit and sparkle of the
talk which went on ceaselessly--Mr. Morris, Monsieur le Vicomte de
Segur, or Monsieur de Boufflers, who, as usual, was present in the train
of the beautiful Madame de Sabran. As for Mr. Morris, he was in the
highest spirits and devoted himself with gallant courtesy to Madame la
Duchesse d'Orléans, on whose left he sat, much to the evident pique of
Madame de Flahaut. With that wonderful adaptability which made him at
ease in any society in which he found himself, he adjusted himself to
the company of the evening, and, being perfectly master of the French
language, could not only understand the light talk and persiflage, but
even led in the conversation.
As for Mr. Calvert, having none of that adaptability possessed in so
large a share by Mr. Morris, he felt himself out of his element,
uninterested and therefore uninteresting, and he listened with inward
irritation to the loose anecdotes, the piquant allusions, the coarse
gossip, so freely bandied about. It was with something akin to a feeling
of relief that he heard his name spoken and turned to find the keen,
restless eyes of Monsieur de Talleyrand, beside whom he was seated,
fixed upon him.
"Monsieur is not interested in the conversation?" he asked, and, though
there was a mocking smile on the thin lips, there was also a kindly look
in the brilliant eyes.
Calvert blushed hotly at being so easily found out by this worldly
looking prelate. Monsieur de Talleyrand shrugged his shoulders. "'Tis a
good sign, I think," and he looked still more kindly at Calvert. "You
have been brought up amid simpler, purer surroundings, Mr. Calvert," he
said, suddenly leaning over toward the young man and speaking in tones
so low as to be drowned in the noisy conversation. "I envy you your good
fortune," he went on. "I envy you your inability to fit yourself into
any niche, to adjust yourself to any surroundings, as your friend
Monsieur Morris, for example, seems to have the faculty of doing. See,
he is even making verses to Madame la Duchesse!"
Calvert looked over at Mr. Morris and saw him tear from his table-book a
leaf upon which he had been writing and, with a bow, offer it to the
Duchess.
"Are we not to hear Monsieur's verses?" demands Monsieur de Talleyrand,
languidly, after a moment's silence, during which Her Highness had
regarded the lines with a puzzled air, and smiling faintly.
"These are in English--I shall have to get Madame de Chastellux to
translate them for me some day," and she folded the paper as if to put
it away, but there arose such exclamations of disappointment, such
gentle entreaties not to be denied the pleasure of hearing the verses,
that she yielded to the clamor and signalled Madame de Chastellux her
permission to have them read aloud. Amid a discreet silence, broken only
by little murmurs of appreciation and perfumed applause, the lady of
honor read the lines, translating them as she read:
"If Beauty so sweet in all gentleness drest,
In loveliness, virtue arrayed;
By the graces adorned, by the muses carest,
By lofty ambition obeyed;
Ah! who shall escape from the gold-painted dart,
When Orléans touches the bow?
Who the softness resist of that sensible heart
Where love and benevolence glow?
Thus we dream of the Gods who with bounty supreme
Our humble petitions accord,
Our love they excite, and command our esteem
Tho' only at distance adored."
There was a ripple of applause, somewhat languid and perfunctory on the
part of the gentlemen, vivacious and prolonged on the part of the
ladies, as Madame de Chastellux finished. To Mr. Calvert the scene was a
little ridiculous, the interest of the company, like the sentiment of
the verses, somewhat artificial, and Mr. Morris's role of versifier to
Madame la Duchesse decidedly beneath that gentleman's talents.
Monsieur de Talleyrand laughed softly. "'Other places--other customs,'"
he said, and again reading Calvert's thoughts so accurately that that
young gentleman scarce knew whether to be most astonished or indignant.
It would most likely have been the latter had not a certain
friendliness in the Bishop's glance disarmed his anger. "Mr. Morris is
fortunate," he went on, quietly. "See--he has pleased everyone except
Madame de Flahaut."
'Twas indeed as he had said, and, amid the applause and compliments,
only Madame de Flahaut sat silent and evidently piqued, her pretty face
wearing an expression of bored indifference. But even while Monsieur de
Talleyrand spoke, Mr. Morris, bending toward her, addressed some remark
to her and in an instant she was all animation and charm, exerting for
his benefit every fascination of which she was mistress, and showing him
by glance and voice how greatly she prized his attentions. For a moment
Mr. Calvert sat silent, contemplating the little play going on before
his eyes, when, suddenly remembering the words of the Duchesse
d'Orléans, he turned and looked at Monsieur de Talleyrand. Such a
softening change had come over the cynical, impassive countenance, so
wistful a look into the keen, dark eyes bent upon Madame de Flahaut, as
caused a feeling of pity in the young man's heart for this brilliant,
unhappy, unrighteous servant of the Church.
"So Mr. Calvert has read my secret, as I read his," said Monsieur de
Talleyrand, slowly, and returning the gaze which Calvert had absently
fastened upon him while revolving these thoughts. Suddenly he began
speaking rapidly, as if impelled thereto by some inward force, and, in a
low but passionately intense voice, heard only by Mr. Calvert:
"We are the sport of fate in this country more than in any other, I
think," he said. "I might have been a young man like yourself, as noble,
good, and true as yourself--oh, do not look astonished! 'Tis one of my
acknowledged talents--the reading of character--I, like yourself, might
have fought and loved with honor but that I am lame, and why was I
lame?" he went on, bitterly. "Because I never knew a mother's love or
care, because, when a baby, being sent from my home--and under that roof
I have never spent a night since--I fell and injured my foot, and the
woman in whose charge I had been put, being afraid to tell my parents of
my mishap, the hurt was allowed to go uncorrected until 'twas too late.
And so, being lame and unfit for a soldier's career, I was thrust into
the Church, _nolens volens_. Monsieur Calvert," he said, smiling
seriously, "when you hear Mr. Jefferson criticising the Bishop
of Autun--for I know he thinks but slightingly of the
ecclesiastic--recollect that 'twas the disappointed ambition and the
unrelenting commands of Charles Maurice Talleyrand's parents which made
him what he is! We are all like that," he went on, moodily. "Look at de
Ligne--he was married by his father at twenty to a young girl whom he
had never seen until a week before the wedding. And Madame de
Flahaut--at fifteen she was sacrificed to a man of fifty-five, who
scarcely notices her existence!" He glanced across the table and again
the power of love touched and softened his face for an instant. He
rose--for the supper was finished and the company beginning to move--and
laid his hand for an instant on Calvert's broad young shoulder. "Mr.
Calvert," he said, half-mockingly, half-seriously, "do not be too hard
upon us! There are some excuses to be made. In your country all things
are new--your laws, your habits, your civilization are yet plastic. See
that you mould them well! 'Tis too late here--we are as the generations
have made us. 'Other places--other customs!'" and he went off limping.
To his dying day Mr. Calvert never forgot the fascination, the open
frankness of Monsieur de Talleyrand's manner on that occasion, nor the
look of sadness and suffering in his eyes. When he heard him in after
years accused of shameless veniality, of trickery, lying, duplicity,
even murder, he always remembered that impulsive revelation--never
repeated--of a warped, unhappy childhood, of a perverted destiny.
Mr. Morris came to him later as he stood leaning against the wall behind
the chair of Madame de Chastellux.
"How goes it, Ned?" he asked, half-laughing and stifling a yawn. "As for
myself, I am getting confoundedly bored. I can't think of any more
verses, so the ladies find me insipid, and they are beginning to talk
politics, of which they know nothing, so I find them ridiculous. They
are already deep in the discussion of the Abbé Siéyès's brochure,
'Qu'est-ce que le Tiers État,' and Madame de Flahaut declares that his
writings and opinions will form a new epoch in politics as those of
Newton in physics! Can fatuity go farther? And yet she is the cleverest
woman I have met in France. The men are as ignorant as the women,
except that scoundrel of a bishop, who, like myself, is bored by the
incessant talk of politics and has just assured me that no one has an
idea of the charm of life who has not lived before this year of 1789. I
can easily believe it. But perhaps he told you the same thing--I saw you
two talking together at supper."
"Yes," said Calvert, "we were talking, but not of politics or the charm
of life. He was very interesting and unexpectedly friendly," he added,
with some emotion, for he was still under Monsieur de Talleyrand's
spell.
"I would have thought him the last man to interest you, my young
Bayard," returned Mr. Morris, with some surprise. "He appears to me to
be a sly, cunning, ambitious man. I know not why conclusions so
disadvantageous to him are formed in my mind, but so it is. I cannot
help it."
Mr. Calvert could not repress a smile, for it occurred to him that it
was more than possible that Monsieur de Talleyrand's well-known devotion
to Madame de Flahaut (whom it was evident Mr. Morris admired greatly,
though he so stoutly denied it) might have prejudiced his opinion of the
Bishop. Mr. Morris was quick to note the smile and to divine its cause.
"No, no, my dear Ned," he said, laughing, "'tis not Monsieur de
Talleyrand's connection with Madame de Flahaut which makes me speak of
him after this fashion. Indeed, there is but a Platonic friendship
between the fair lady and myself," and, still laughing, Mr. Morris
turned away from Calvert and stumped his way back to the side of the
lady of his Platonic affections, where he remained until the company
broke up.
As for Mr. Calvert, in spite of Mr. Morris's predilections, he was of
the opinion that of the two--the unchurchly bishop and the pretty
intrigante--Monsieur de Talleyrand was the more admirable character.
Indeed, he had disliked and distrusted Madame de Flahaut from the first
time of meeting her, and, to do the lady justice, she had disliked Mr.
Calvert just as heartily and could never be got to believe that he was
anything but a most unintelligent and uninteresting young man, convinced
that his taciturnity and unruffled serenity before her charms were the
signs of crass stupidity.
If Mr. Calvert found the pretty and vivacious Comtesse de Flahaut little
to his taste, the society of which she was a type offended him still
more. It had taken him but a short time to realize what shams, what
hollowness, what corruption existed beneath the brilliant and gay
surface. Amiability, charm, wit, grace were to be found everywhere in
their perfection, but nowhere was truth, or sincerity, or real pleasure.
All things were perverted. Constancy was only to be found in
inconstancy. Gossip and rumor left no frailty undiscovered, no
reputation unsmirched. Religion was scoffed at, love was caricatured.
All about him Calvert saw young nobles, each the slave of some
particular goddess, bowing down and doing duty like the humblest menial,
now caressed, now ill-treated, but always at beck and call, always
obedient. It was the fashion, and no courtier resented this treatment,
which served both to reduce the men to the rank of puppets and to render
incredibly capricious the beauties who found themselves so powerful. All
the virility of Calvert's nature, all his new-world independence and his
sense of honor, was revolted by such a state of things. As he looked
around the company, there was not a man or woman to be seen of whom he
had not already heard some risque story or covert insinuation, and,
though he was no strait-laced Puritan, a sort of disdain for these
effeminate courtiers and a horror of these beautiful women took
possession of him.
"Decidedly," he thought to himself, "I am not fitted for this society,"
and so, somewhat out of conceit with his surroundings, and the Duchess
having withdrawn, he bade good-night to the company without waiting for
Mr. Morris, and took himself and his disturbed thoughts back to the
Legation.