IN WHICH MR. CALVERT'S GOOD INTENTIONS MISCARRY
It was in the midst of such society that Calvert encountered Madame de
St. André repeatedly during the remainder of the winter and early
spring. And though she was as imperious and capricious as possible,
followed about by a dozen admirers (of whom poor Beaufort was one of the
most constant); though she was as thoughtless, as pleasure-loving as any
of that thoughtless, pleasure-loving society in which she moved; though
she had a hundred faults easy to be seen, yet, in Calvert's opinion,
there was still a saving grace about her, a fragrant youthfulness, a
purity and splendor that coarsened and cheapened all who were brought
into comparison with her. When she sat beside the old Duchesse d'Azay at
the Opéra or Comédie, he had no eyes for la Saint-Huberti or Contat, and
thought that she outshone all the beauties both on the stage and in the
brilliant audience. Usually, however, he was content to admire her at a
distance and rarely left the box which he occupied with Mr. Jefferson
and Mr. Morris to pay his respects to her and Madame d'Azay. For while
Adrienne attracted him, he was yet conscious that it was best for him
not to be drawn into the circle of her fascinations, and, although he
made a thousand excuses for her caprice and coquetry, he had no
intention of becoming the victim of either. Indeed, he had already
experienced somewhat of her caprice and had found it little to his
liking. Since the afternoon on which they had skated together she had
never again treated him in so unaffected and friendly a fashion. A
hundred times had she passed him at the opera or the play or in the
salons which they both frequented, with scarcely a nod or smile, and Mr.
Calvert was both offended and amused by such cavalier treatment and
haughty manners.
"She has the air of a princess royal and treats me as the meanest of her
subjects. 'Tis a good thing we Americans have cast off the yoke of
royalty," he thought to himself, with a smile. "And as for beauty--there
are a dozen belles in Virginia alone almost her equal in loveliness and
surely far sweeter, simpler, less spoiled. And yet--and yet--" and the
young man would find himself wondering what was that special charm by
virtue of which she triumphed over all others. He did not himself yet
know why it was that he excused her follies, found her the most
beautiful of all women, or fell into a sort of rage at seeing her in the
loose society of the day, with such men as St. Aulaire and a dozen
others of his kind in her train. But though unable to analyze her charm
he was yet vaguely conscious of its danger, and had it depended upon
himself he would have seen but little of her. This, however, was an
impossibility, as Mr. Jefferson was a constant visitor at the hôtel of
Madame d'Azay, who, true to her word, seemed to take the liveliest
interest in Mr. Calvert and commanded his presence in her salon
frequently. Indeed, the old Duchess was pleased to profess herself
charmed with the young American, and would have been delighted,
apparently, to see him at any and all hours, had his duties permitted
him so much leisure. Besides the cordial invitations of the dowager
Duchess to the hotel in the rue St. Honoré, there were others as
pressing from d'Azay himself, who, having secured his election in
Touraine, had returned to Paris. The young nobleman was frequently at
the American Legation in consultation with the Minister, whose opinions
and character excited his greatest admiration, and it was one of his
chiefest delights, when business was concluded, to carry Mr. Jefferson
and Calvert back to his aunt's drawing-room with him for a dish of tea
and an hour's conversation.
It was on one of those occasions that, having accompanied Mr. Jefferson
and d'Azay to the rue St. Honoré in the latter's coach (Mr. Morris
promising to look in later), Mr. Calvert had the opportunity of speaking
at length with Madame de St. André for the first time since the
afternoon on the ice. When the three gentlemen entered the drawing-room
a numerous company was already assembled, the older members of which
were busy with quinze and lansquenet in a card-room that opened out of
the salon, the younger ones standing or sitting about in groups and
listening to a song which Monsieur de St. Aulaire, who was at the
harpsichord, had just begun. It was Blondel's song from Grétry's
"Richard Coeur de Lion," about which all Paris was crazy and which Garat
sang nightly with a prodigious success at the Opéra. This aria Monsieur
de St. Aulaire essayed in faithful imitation of the great tenor's manner
and in a voice which showed traces of having once been beautiful, but
which age and excesses had now broken and rendered harsh and forced.
As Calvert saluted Adrienne, when the perfunctory applause which this
performance called forth had died away, he thought he had never seen her
look so lovely. She wore a dress of some soft water-green fabric shot
with threads of silver that fell away from her rounded throat and arms,
bringing the creamy fairness of her complexion (which, for the first
time, he saw enhanced by black patches) and the dusky brown of her hair
to a very perfection of beauty. She was standing by the harpsichord when
the gentlemen entered, but, on catching sight of Mr. Jefferson, she went
forward graciously, extending her hand, over which he bowed low in
admiration of that young beauty which, in his eyes, had no equal in
Paris.
There was another pair of eyes upon her which saw as Mr. Jefferson's
kindly ones did, but to them the young girl paid little attention, only
giving Mr. Calvert a brief courtesy as she went to salute her brother.
"Will you not make Mr. Jefferson a dish of tea, Adrienne?" asked d'Azay,
kissing her on both her fair cheeks. "And if we are to have music I beg
you will ask Calvert to sing for us, for he has the sweetest voice in
the world."
"What!" exclaimed the young girl, a little disdainfully. "Mr. Calvert
is a very prodigy of accomplishments!"
"Far from it!" returned Mr. Calvert, good-naturedly. "'Tis but a jest of
Henri's. Indeed, Madame, I am nothing of a musician."
"He may not be a musician, but he has a voice as beautiful as Garat's,
though I know 'tis heresy to compare anyone with that idol of Paris,"
said Beaufort, joining the group at that instant. "Dost thou remember
that pretty ballad that thou sangst at Monticello, Ned?" he asked,
turning to Calvert. "Indeed, Madame, I think 'twas of you he sang," he
added, smiling mischievously at Madame de St. André.
"What is this?" demanded Adrienne, imperiously. "Is this another jest?
But I must hear this song," she went on, impatiently, and with a touch
of curiosity.
"'Twas my favorite 'Lass with the Delicate Air,'" said Mr. Jefferson,
smiling. "You must sing it for us, Ned, and I will play for you as I
used to do." He took from its case a violin lying upon the harpsichord
and, leaning over it, he began softly the quaint accompaniment that
sustains so perfectly the whimsical melodies and surprising cadences of
Dr. Arne's ballad.
Though few of Mr. Calvert's audience could understand the sentiment of
his song, all listened with admiration to the voice, which still
retained much of its boyish sweetness and thrilling pathos. Amid the
applause which followed the conclusion of the song, Madame d'Azay left
the lansquenet table and appeared at the door of the salon.
"Charming," she cried. "But I don't know your English, so sing us
something in French, Monsieur, that I may applaud the sentiment as well
as the voice."
Mr. Calvert bowed with as good grace as he could, being secretly much
dissatisfied at having to thus exploit his small talent for the benefit
of the company, and, seating himself at the harpsichord, began a
plaintive little air in a minor key, to which he had fitted the words of
a song he had but lately read and greatly admired. Being, as he had
said, nothing of a musician, the delicate accompaniment of the song was
quite beyond him, but having a true ear for accord and a firm, light
touch, he improvised a not unpleasing melody that fitted perfectly the
poem. 'Twas the "Consolation" of Malherbe, and, as Calvert sang, the
tenderness and melancholy beauty of both words and music struck the
whole company into silence:
"'Mais elle était du monde où les plus belles choses
Ont le pire destin,
Et, rose, elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses--
L'espace d'un matin.
"La mort a des rigueurs à nulle autre pareilles,
On a beau la prier,
La cruelle qu'elle est se bouche les oreilles,
Et nous laisse crier.
"Le pauvre en sa cabane, où le chaume le couvre,
Est sujet à ses lois,
Et le garde qui veille aux barrières du Louvre
N'en défend pas nos rois.'"
"'Tis a gloomy song," whispered Beaufort to the young Vicomte de
Noailles, Lafayette's kinsman, and then, turning to Monsieur de St.
Aulaire, sulkily looking on at the scene and whom he hated both for his
devotion to Adrienne and because he was of the Orléans party, he said,
with languid maliciousness, "My dear Baron, a thousand pities that you
have taken no care of your voice! I can remember when it was such a one
as Monsieur Calvert's."
"You were ever a sad flatterer, my dear Beaufort," returned St. Aulaire,
one hand on the hilt of his silver dress sword, the other holding his
chapeau de bras. He regarded Beaufort for an instant with a sour smile,
and then turned and made his way to Calvert.
"Ah, Monsieur," he said, and his voice was suave, though there was a
mocking light in his eyes, "I see I have made a mistake. I had thought
you a past master in the art of skating, now I see that your true role
is that of the stage hero. You would become as spoilt a favorite as
Garat himself. The ladies all commit a thousand follies for him."
"Sir," returned Mr. Calvert, quietly, though he was white with
unaccustomed anger, "I see that you are one destined to make mistakes. I
am neither skating nor singing-master, nor clown nor coward. I am an
American gentleman, and, should anyone be inclined to doubt that fact, I
will convince him of it at the point of my sword--or with pistols, since
English customs are the mode here."
As Calvert looked at the handsome, dissipated face of the nobleman
before him a sudden gust of passion shook him that so insolent a
scoundrel should dare to speak to him in such fashion. And though he
retained all his self-control and outward composure, so strange a smile
played about his lip and so meaning an expression came into his eye as
caused no little surprise to St. Aulaire, who had entirely
underestimated the spirit that lay beneath so calm and boyish an
exterior. As he was about to reply to Calvert, Madame de St. André
approached. Making a low bow, and without a word, Monsieur de St.
Aulaire retired, leaving Calvert with the young girl.
"Come with me, sir," she said, smiling imperiously on the young man and
speaking rapidly. "I have many questions to ask you! You are full of
surprises, Monsieur, and I must have my curiosity satisfied. We have
many arrears of conversation to make up. Did you not promise to tell me
of General Washington, of America, of your young Scotch poet? But, first
of all, I must have a list of your accomplishments," and she laughed
musically. Calvert thought it was like seeing the sun break through the
clouds on a stormy day to see this sudden change to girlish gayety and
naturalness from her grand air of princess royal, and which, after all,
he reflected, she had something of a right to assume. Indeed, she bore
the name of one who had been a most distinguished officer of the King
and who had died in his service, and she was herself the descendant of a
long line of nobles who, if they had not all been benefactors of their
race, had, at least, never shirked the brunt of battle nor any service
in the royal cause. On her father's side she was sprung from that great
warrior, Jacques d'Azay, who fought side by side with Lafayette's
ancestor in the battle of Beaugé, when the brother of Harry of England
was defeated and slain. On her mother's side she came of the race of the
wise and powerful Duc de Sully, Henry of Navarre's able minister. One of
her great uncles had been a Grand Almoner of France, and another had
commanded one of the victorious battalions at Fontenoy under the
Maréchal Saxe. The portraits of some of these great gentlemen and of
many another of her illustrious ancestors hung upon the walls of the
salons and galleries of this mansion in the rue St. Honoré. The very
house bespoke the pride of race and generations of affluence, and was
only equalled in magnificence by the Noailles hôtel near by. As Mr.
Calvert looked about him at the splendor of this mansion, which had been
in the d'Azay family for near two centuries and a half; at the spacious
apartment with its shining marquetry floor, its marble columns
separating it from the great entrance hall; at the lofty ceiling,
decorated by the famous Lagrenée with a scene from Virgil ('twas the
meeting of Dido and Aeneas); at the brilliant company gathered
together--as Mr. Calvert looked at all this, he felt a thousand miles
removed from her in circumstance and sentiment, and thought to himself
that it was not strange that she, who had been accustomed to this
splendor since her birth, should treat an unassuming, untitled gentleman
from an almost unknown country, without fortune or distinction, with
supercilious indifference. Indeed, in his heart Mr. Calvert was of the
opinion that this dazzling creature's beauty alone was enough to place
her above princesses, and (thinking of the fresco on the ceiling) that
had Aeneas but met her instead of Queen Dido he had never abandoned her
as he did the Carthagenian.
Perhaps something of the ardor of his thoughts was reflected in his
expression, for it was with a somewhat embarrassed look that Adrienne
pointed to a low gilt chair beside her own.
"Will you be seated, sir? And now for your confession! But even before
that I must know why you come to see us so seldom. Were you provoked
because I rebelled at being taken to task that afternoon on the ice? But
see! Am I not good now?" and she threw him a demure glance of mock
humility that seemed to make her face more charming than ever.
"You are very beautiful," said Mr. Calvert, quietly.
"Tiens! You will be a courtier yet if you are not careful," returned
Adrienne, smiling divinely at the young man from beneath her dark
lashes.
"Tis no compliment, Madame, but the very truth."
"The truth," murmured the young girl, in some embarrassment at Calvert's
sincere, if detached, manner. "One hears it so seldom these days that
'tis difficult to recognize it! But if it was the truth I fear it was
not the whole truth, sir. I am sure I detected an uncomplimentary
arrière pensée in your speech!" and she laughed mockingly at the young
man, whose turn it was to be embarrassed. "I am very beautiful,
but--what, sir?"
"But you would be even more so without those patches, which may be
successful enhancements for lesser beauties but are beneath the uses of
Madame de St. André," returned Calvert, bravely, and joining in the
laugh which the young girl could not repress.
"Pshaw, sir! What an idea!" said Adrienne. "Am I then so amiable that
you dare take advantage of it to call me to account again? I am
beginning to think, sir, that I, who have been assured by so many
gentlemen to be perfection itself, must, after all, be a most faulty
creature since you find reason to reprove me constantly," and she threw
Calvert so bewildering a glance that that young gentleman found himself
unable to reply to her badinage.
"Besides, Monsieur," she went on, "you do not do justice to these
patches. Is it possible that there exists a gentleman so ignorant of
women and fashion as not to know the origin and uses of the mouche?
Come, sir, attend closely while I give you a lesson in beauty and
gallantry! These patches which you so disdain were once tiny plasters
stretched upon black velvet or silk for the cure of headache, and,
though no one was ever known to be so cured, 'twas easy for the illest
beauty to perceive that they made her complexion appear more brilliant
by contrast. The poets declared that Venus herself must have used them
and that they spoke the language of love; thus one on the lip meant the
'coquette,' on the nose the 'impertinent,' on the cheek the 'gallant,'
on the neck the 'scornful,' near the eye 'passionate,' on the forehead,
such as this one I wear, sir, the 'majestic.'" As she spoke, so rapidly
and archly did her mobile features express in their changes her varying
thought that Calvert sat entranced at her piquancy and daring. "And now,
Monsieur, have you no apology to make to these maligned patches?" and
she touched the tiny plaster upon her brow.
"A thousand, Madame," said Calvert, politely, "if you will still let me
be of my opinion that your beauty needs no such aid."
"So you would prevent my wearing so innocent a beautifier? You are more
of a Quaker than Dr. Franklin himself, whom I remember seeing here
often," said Adrienne, with a little laugh and a shrug. "I think he
liked all the ladies and would have continued to like them had they worn
rings in their noses! But as for you--'tis impossible to please you. No
wonder you Americans broke with the English! You are most difficile. But
I am sure that Mr. Jefferson or the witty Mr. Morris could have found a
handsomer reply than yours, Monsieur! Ah, here he is now," and she rose
as Mr. Morris entered the room and made his way to her side.
"At last I have the pleasure of saluting Madame de St. André!" he said,
very gallantly.
"You are late, sir. We had about given over seeing you this evening. Mr.
Jefferson and Mr. Calvert have been with us an hour."
"I envy them their good fortune, Madame! But--I have been detained."
"What a lame and insufficient excuse!" cried Adrienne, laughing. "'Tis
no better than one of Monsieur Calvert's compliments!"
"Ah, Madame," said Mr. Morris, recovering himself, "you must forgive us
and remember that you complete our mental overthrow already begun by the
dazzling brilliancy of the gayest capital in the world and the multitude
of attractions it offers. A man in your Paris, Madame, lives in a sort
of whirlwind which turns him around so fast that he can see nothing.
'Tis no wonder that the people of this metropolis are under the
necessity of pronouncing their definitive judgment from the first
glance, and, being thus habituated to shoot flying, they have what
sportsmen call a quick sight. They know a wit by his snuff-box, a man of
taste by his bow, and a statesman by the cut of his coat." As he
finished speaking there was a general movement at the card-tables, and
Madame d'Azay, accompanied by Mr. Jefferson, who had been looking on at
the game (for he never played), and followed by the company, entered the
drawing-room.
"Ah, Monsieur Morris!" she said, catching sight of that gentleman. "You
have a talent for being always à propos, Monsieur! We have just finished
our game and are ready to listen to the latest gossip, which, I am sure,
you have heard from that charming friend of yours, Madame de Flahaut."
"The Duchess has just won prodigiously at quinze from the Abbé Délille,
who hates damnably to lose," whispered Ségur to Calvert, "and, having
won, she stopped the game in the best of humors."
"Alas, Madame!" said Mr. Morris, in answer to the Duchess, "I have not
had the pleasure of seeing Madame de Flahaut, but am just from the Club
de Valois. As you can imagine to yourself, I heard nothing but politics
at the Club."
"Unfortunately, one does not have to go to the club to hear politics,"
replied Madame d'Azay, dryly. "It has required all my authority to
restrain these gentlemen this evening from discussing such subjects.
Indeed, I think Monsieur Jefferson and Monsieur de Lafayette, in spite
of my defense, which I now remove, have had a political debate," and she
snapped her bright eyes and nodded her withered old head severely at the
two gentlemen.
"_Peccavi_!" said the Marquis, bowing low. "I am the culprit, but
surely, Madame, you would not have me fail to listen to Mr. Jefferson's
counsels when I am so fortunate as to be offered them! He advises me,"
continued Monsieur de Lafayette, turning to Mr. Morris, "to burn my
instructions from the noblesse, which engage me absolutely to favor the
vote by orders and not by persons, and, should this produce an
irrevocable rupture with my electors, boldly to take my stand with the
tiers état. I have seen Necker to-day and he is as far as ever from a
solution of this great and first question which must come up before the
States-General. Indeed, there is but one rational solution, and I must
disregard my instructions in an endeavor to bring it about."
"I would advise you to resign your seat!" said Mr. Morris, bluntly. "You
have been elected by an order in whose principles you no longer
believe. Should you continue their representative your conscience will
be continually at war with your duty. Should you break away from your
constituency you will offer an example of insubordination and
lawlessness which may have the most deplorable results."
"I cannot agree with you, Mr. Morris," broke in Mr. Jefferson, warmly.
"In the desperate pass to which affairs are already come in this nation,
desperate remedies must be employed. Shall Monsieur de Lafayette deprive
the tiers état of his enthusiasm, his earnest convictions, his talents,
when, by an act of courage, entirely in accord with his conscience, he
can become one of them and can lead them to victory and to that fusion
with the other orders which is so vital to the usefulness, nay, to the
very life of the States-General?"
"In my opinion there is less need that Monsieur de Lafayette should lead
the tiers état--they will travel fast enough, I think," says Mr. Morris,
dryly--"than that he should stick to his own order, strengthening in
every way in his power this conservative element, which is the safeguard
of the nation. This annihilation of the distinctions of orders which you
speak of seems to me to be the last thing to be desired. Should the
nobles abandon their order and give over their privileges, what will act
as a check on the demands and encroachments of the commons? How far such
ultra-democratic tendencies may be right respecting mankind in general
is, I think, extremely problematical. With respect to this nation I am
sure it is wrong. I am frank but I am sincere when I say that I believe
you, Monsieur de Lafayette, and you, Monsieur d'Azay, to be too
republican for the genius of this country."
"Or, Monsieur Morris, trop aristocrate," said the Marquis, with a bitter
smile on his disturbed countenance, for his vanity, which was becoming
inordinate, could not brook unfriendly criticism.
"'Tis strange," said the Vicomte d'Azay, "to hear an American arguing
against those principles which have won for him so lately his freedom
and his glory! As for me, I think with Mr. Jefferson and the Marquis,
and, thinking so, I have sided with the people, which is, after all, the
nation."
"Yes," broke in Mr. Jefferson with animation and speaking to d'Azay,
"you have found the vital truth. 'Tis no king, but the sovereign people,
which is the state. It has been my firm belief that with a great people,
set in the path of civil and religious liberty, freedom and power in
their grasp, let the executive be as limited as may be, that nation will
still prosper. A strong people and a weak government make a great
nation."
"But who shall say that the French are a strong people?" demands Mr.
Morris, impetuously, and turning to the company. "You are lively,
imaginative, witty, charming, talented, but not substantial or
persevering. Inconstancy is mingled in your blood, marrow, and very
essence. Constancy is the phenomenon. The great mass of the common
people have no religion but their priests, no law but their superiors,
no morals but their interests. And how shall we expect a people to
suddenly become wise and self-governing who are ignorant of statecraft,
who have existed for centuries under a despotism? Never having felt the
results of a weak executive, they do not know the dangers of unlimited
power. No man is more republican in sentiment than I am, but I think it
no less than a crime to foist a republic upon a people in no way fitted
for it, and all those who abandon the King in this hour of danger, who
do not uphold his authority to the fullest extent, are participants in
that crime and are helping to bring on those events which I fear will
shortly convulse this country."
"Mr. Morris is no optimist either in regard to French character or the
progress of public affairs," said Lafayette, bitingly. "But I can assure
him that if the French are inconstant, ignorant, and immoral, they are
also energetic, lively, and easily aroused by noble examples. Moreover,
the public mind has been instructed lately to an astonishing point by
the political pamphlets issued in such numbers, and 'tis my opinion that
these facts will bring us, after no great lapse of time, to an adequate
representation and participation in public affairs, and that without the
convulsion which Mr. Morris so acutely dreads."
The company listened in silence with the intensest interest to this
animated conversation, the women following with as close attention as
the men (the Duchess nodding her approval of Mr. Morris's opinions from
time to time), and 'twas but a sample of the almost incredibly frank
political discussion taking place daily in all the notable salons of
Paris. As for Calvert, although he loved and honored Mr. Jefferson
before all men and held him as all but infallible, he could not but
agree with Mr. Morris's views as being the soundest and most practical.
Indeed, from that day Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Morris differed more and
more widely in their political faiths, but the nobility of Mr.
Jefferson's nature, the admirable tact of Mr. Morris, and, as much as
anything, the common affection they felt for Calvert, who would have
been inexpressibly pained by any breach between them, kept them upon
friendly terms.
Mr. Morris, conscious that he had spoken impetuously and perhaps with
too much warmth, made no reply to Monsieur de Lafayette's last words,
spoken with some animus, and in a few minutes made his way to Calvert.
"Come away, my boy," he said, in a low tone. "Come away! Lafayette, who
can still believe that mighty changes will take place in this kingdom
without a revolution, does not even know of this day's fearful business
in the rue St. Antoine. I had it from Boursac, who arrived at the Club
two hours ago with both windows of his carriage broken, the panels
splintered, and his coachman with a bloody cheek. He had tried to pass
through the faubourg, where two hundred of the rabble have been killed
by Besenval's Swiss Guards at the house of a paper merchant, Reveillon.
The villains have broke into his factory, demolished everything, drunk
his wines, and, accidentally, some poisonous acid used in his
laboratory, of which they have died a horrible death, and all because
the unfortunate merchant dared in the electoral assembly of Ste.
Marguerite to advocate reducing the wages of his men. I ordered my
coachman to drive by the faubourg, hoping to see for myself if the
affair had not been greatly exaggerated, but I was turned back by some
troops proceeding thither with two small cannon. 'Twas this which
detained me. Boursac says 'tis known for certain that the whole affair
has been instigated by the Duc d'Orléans. He passed in his coach among
the rioters, urging them on in their villany, and 'tis even said by some
that he was seen giving money to the mob. And this is the man whom the
King hesitates to banish! Perhaps, after all, boy, I did wrong to
counsel Lafayette and d'Azay to stand by a King who is weakness itself
and who knows not how to defend himself or his throne!"