THE SHADOW CABINET
"All very well, gentlemen! All very well!" repeated the man who
sat at the head of the table. "I do not deny anything you say.
None the less, the question remains, what were we to do with this
woman, since she was here? I confess my own relief at this message
from our agent, Captain Carlisle, telling of her temporary
disappearance."
As he spoke, he half pushed back his chair, as though in impatience
or agitation over the problem which evidently occupied his mind. A
man above medium height, somewhat spare in habit of body, of
handsome features and distinguished presence, although with hair
now slightly thinned by advancing years, he seemed, if not by
natural right, at least by accorded authority, the leader in this
company with whose members he was not unwilling to take counsel.
Those who sat before him were his counselors, chosen by himself, in
manner ratified by law and custom. They made, as with propriety
may be stated, a remarkable body of men. It were less seemly
openly to determine their names and their station, since they were
public men, and since, as presently appeared, they now were engaged
on business of such nature as might not be placed in full upon
public records.
At least it may be stated that this meeting was held in the autumn
of the year 1850, and in one of the great public buildings of the
city of Washington. Apparently it was more private than official
in its nature, and apparently it now had lasted for some time. The
hour was late. Darkness presently must enshroud the room. Even
now the shadows fell heavy upon the lofty portraits, the rich
furnishings, the mixed assemblage of somewhat hodgepodge
decorations. Twice an ancient colored man had appeared at the door
with lighted taper, as though to offer better illumination, but
each time the master of the place had waved him away, as though
unwilling to have present a witness even so humble as he. Through
the door, thus half opened, there might have been seen in the hall
two silent and motionless figures, standing guard.
Obviously the persons here present were of importance. It was
equally obvious that they sought no intrusion. Why, then, in a
meeting so private and so serious, should there come a remark upon
a topic certainly not a matter of state in the usual acceptance of
the term? Why should the leader have been concerned over the
slight matter of a woman's late presence here in Washington?
As though to question his associates, the speaker turned his glance
down the long table, where sat figures, indistinct in the gathering
gloom. At his right hand, half in shadow, there showed the bold
outlines of a leonine head set upon broad shoulders. Under
cavernous brows, dark eyes looked out with seriousness. Half
revealed as it was, here was a countenance fairly fit to be called
godlike. That this presence was animated with a brain whose
decision had value, might have been learned from the flitting gaze
of the leader which, cast now on this or the other, returned always
to this man at the right. There were seven gentlemen of them in
all, and of these all were clad in the costume of the day, save
this one, who retained the fashion of an earlier time. His coat
might have come from the Revolution, its color possibly the blue of
an earlier day. The trousers fitted close to massive and shapely
limbs, and the long waistcoat, not of a modish silk, was buff in
color, such as might one time have been worn by Washington himself.
This man, these men, distinguished in every line, might have been
statesmen of an earlier day than that of Calhoun, Clay and Benton.
Yet the year of 1850, that time when forced and formal peace began
to mask the attitude of sections already arrayed for a later war,
might have been called as important as any in our history.
The ranks of these men at the table, too, might have been called
arranged as though by some shrewd compromise. Even a careless eye
or ear might have declared both sections, North and South, to have
been represented here. Grave men they were, and accustomed to
think, and they reflected, thus early in Millard Fillmore's
administration, the evenly balanced political powers of the time.
The headlong haste of both sections was in the year 1850 halted for
a time by the sage counsels of such leaders as Clay, in the South,
even Webster, in the North. The South claimed, after the close of
the Mexican War and the accession of the enormous Spanish
territories to the southwest, that the accepted line of compromise
established in 1820, by which slavery might not pass north of the
parallel of latitude thirty-six degrees, thirty minutes, should be
extended westward quite to the Pacific Ocean. She grumbled that,
although she had helped fight for and pay for this territory, she
could not control it, and could not move into it legally the slaves
which then made the most valued part of a southern man's property.
As against this feeling, the united politicians had thrown to the
hot-headed Southerners a sop in the form of the Fugitive Slave Act.
The right for a southern owner to follow and claim his slave in any
northern state was granted under the Constitution of the United
States. Under the compromise of 1850, it was extended and
confirmed.
The abolitionists of the North rose in arms against this part of
the great compromise measure; a law which, though constitutional,
seemed to them nefarious and infamous. The leaders in Congress,
both Whig and Democrat, feared now, therefore, nothing in the world
so much as the outbreak of a new political party, which might
disorganize this nicely adjusted compromise, put an end to what all
politicians were fond of calling the "finality" of the arrangement,
and so bring on, if not an encounter of armed forces, if not a
rupture of the Union, at least what to them seemed almost as bad,
the disintegration of the two great parties of the day, the Whigs
and Democrats.
If compromise showed in this meeting of men from different
sections, it was, therefore, but a matter in tune with the time.
Party was at that day not a matter of geography. There existed
then, however, as there exists to-day, the great dividing line
between those who are in and those who are out. Obviously now,
although they represented different sections of the country, these
men likewise represented the party which, under the adjusted vote
of the day, could be called fortunate enough to dwell within the
gates of Washington and not in the outer darkness of political
defeat.
The dark-browed man at the leader's right presently began to speak.
His voice, deep and clear as that of a great bronze bell, was slow
and deliberate, as fittingly voicing an accurate mind.
"Sir," he said, "this matter is one deserving our most careful
study, trivial though at first blush it would seem. As to the
danger of this woman's machinations here, there is no question. A
match may produce convulsion, explosion, disaster, when applied to
a powder magazine. As you know, this country dwells continually
above an awful magazine. At any time there may be an explosion
which will mean ruin not only for our party but our country. The
Free Soil party, twice defeated, does not down. There is a
nationalist movement now going forward which ignores the
Constitution itself. With you, I dread any talk, any act, of our
own or another nation, which shall even indirectly inflame the
northern resentment against the fugitive law."
"On that, we are perfectly agreed, sir," began the original
speaker, "and then--"
"But then, sir, we come to the question of the removal of this
unwelcome person. She herself is a fugitive from no law. She has
broken no law of this land or of this District. She has a right to
dwell here under our laws, so long as she shall obey them, and
there is no law of this District, nor this republic, nor of any
state, any monarchy, not even any law of nations, which could be
invoked to dismiss her from a capital where, though unwelcome, she
has a right to remain. I may be unwelcome to you, you to me,
either of us to any man; yet, having done no treason, so long as we
pay our debts and observe the law, no man may raise hand or voice
against us."
"Quite right!" broke in the leader again. "But let us look simply
at the gravity of it. They say it is treason not only against our
own country but against a foreign power which this woman is
fomenting. The Austrian attache, Mr. Hulsemann, is altogether
rabid over the matter. He said to me privately--"
"Then most improperly!" broke in the tall dark man.
"Improperly, but none the less, insistently, he said that his
government will not tolerate her reception here. He charges her
with machinations in Europe, under cover of President Taylor's
embassy of investigation into Hungarian affairs. He declares that
Russia and Austria are one in their plans. That, I fear, means
also England, as matters now stand in Europe."
"But, sir," broke in the vibrant voice of a gentleman who sat at
the left of the speaker, concealed in the shadow cast by the heavy
window drapings, "what is our concern over that? It is our boast
that this is a free country. As for England, we have taken her
measure, once in full, a second time at least in part; and as for
Austria or Russia, what have we to do with their territorial
designs? Did they force us to fight, why, then, we might fight,
and with proper reason."
"True again, sir!" said the leader, recognizing the force of the
murmur which greeted this outburst. "It is not any of these powers
that I fear. They might bluster, and still not fight; and indeed
they lack any rational cause for war. But what I fear, what all of
us fear, gentlemen, is the danger here, inside our own walls,
inside our own country."
Silence again fell on all. They looked about them, as though even
in this dimly lighted room they felt the presence of that ominous
shadow which lay over all the land--the menace of a divided country.
"That is the dread of all of us," went on the leader. "The war
with Mexico showed us where England stands. She proved herself
once more our ancient enemy, showed that her chief desire is to
break this republic. Before that war, and after it, she has
cultivated a friendship with the South. Why? Now let the
abolitionist bring on this outbreak which he covets, let the North
and South fly at each other's throats, let the contending powers of
Europe cross the seas to quarrel over the spoils of our own
destruction--and what then will be left of this republic? And yet,
if this compromise between North and South be broken as all Europe
desires, and as all the North threatens, precisely those matters
will come hurrying upon us. And they will find us divided,
incapable of resistance. That is the volcano, the magazine, over
which we dwell continually. It passes politics, and puts us as
patriots upon the question of the endurance of our republic.
"And I tell you now, gentlemen," he concluded, "as you know very
well yourselves, that this woman, here in Washington, would hold
the match ready to apply to that magazine. Which of you does not
see its glimmering? Which of you doubts her readiness? There was
not twenty-four hours to argue the matter of her--her temporary
absence. We'd have had Austria all about our ears, otherwise.
Gentlemen, I am mild as any, and most of any I am sworn to obey the
laws, and to guarantee the safeguards of the Constitution; but I
say to you--" and here his hand came down with an emphasis unusual
in his nature--"law or no law, Constitution or no Constitution, an
exigency existed under which she had to leave Washington, and that
upon that very night."
"But where is she now?" ventured another voice. "This young army
captain simply says in his report that he left her on the _Mount
Vernon_ packet, en route down the Ohio. Where is she now; and how
long before she will be back here, match in hand?"
"It is the old, old case of Eve!" sighed one, who leaned a bony arm
upon the walnut, and who spoke in the soft accents which proclaimed
him of the South. "Woman! It is only the old Garden over again.
Trouble, thy name is Woman!"
"And specifically, its name is Josephine, Countess St. Auban!"
drawled another, opposite. A smile went around among these grave
and dignified men; indeed, a light laugh sounded somewhere in the
shadow. The face of the leader relaxed, though not sufficiently to
allow light comment. The dark man at the right spoke.
"The great Napoleon was right," said he. "He never ceased to prove
how much he dreaded woman at any juncture of public affairs.
Indeed, he said that all the public places of the government should
be closed to them, that they should be set apart and distinguished
from the managers of affairs."
"And so do we say it!" broke in the leader. "With all my heart, I
say it."
The tall man bowed, "It was the idea of Napoleon that woman should
be distinguished always by a veil and gown, a uniform of
unworthiness and of danger. True, Napoleon based his ideas on his
studies in the Orient. Us he accused of treating woman much too
well. He declared woman, by virtue of her birth, to be made as
man's inferior and his slave, and would tolerate no other
construction of the relation of the sexes. According to Napoleon,
women tyrannize over us Americans, whereas we should tyrannize over
them. It was plain, in his conception, that the main province of
woman is in making fools of men."
"In some ways, Napoleon was a thoughtful man," remarked, a voice to
the left; and once more a half subdued smile went around.
"I yield to no man in my admiration for the fair sex--" began the
tall, dark man. The smile broke into open laughter. The leader
rapped sharply on the table edge, frowning. The tall man bowed
once more, as he resumed.
"--but, viewed from the standpoint, of our diplomacy, the matter here
is simple. Last week, at the reception where the representatives of
Austria were present this woman appeared, properly introduced,
properly invited, it is true, but wholly unwelcome socially, in
certain quarters. The attache and his wife left the roof, and made
plain to their host their reasons for doing so."
"Yes, and it was public shame that they should take such action.
The woman had the right of her host's protection, for she was there
by invitation!" Thus the bony man in the shadows.
Again the leader rapped on the table. "Gentlemen, gentlemen!" he
began, not wholly humorously. "Let us have a care. Let us at
least not divide into factions here. We all of us, I trust, can
remember the case of Peggy O'Neil, who split Washington asunder not
so long ago. She was the wife of one of President Jackson's
cabinet members, yet when she appeared upon a ball-room floor, all
the ladies left it. It was Jackson and Eaton against the world.
That same situation to-day, granted certain conditions, might mean
a war which would disrupt this Union. In fact, I consider
Josephine St. Auban to-day more dangerous than Mrs. Eaton at her
worst."
"But we have just heard what rights we have before the law, sir,"
ventured a hesitating, drawling voice, which had earlier been
heard. "How can we take cognizance of private insult given by a
foreign power in only quasi-public capacity? I conceive it to be
somewhat difficult, no matter what the reception in the society of
Washington, to eject this woman from the city of Washington itself;
or at least, very likely difficult to keep her ejected, as you say,
sir."
"Where should she go?" demanded yet another voice. "And why should
she not come back?"
Impatiently, the leader replied: "Where? I do not know. I do not
_want_ to know. I _must_ not know! Good God, must we not bear
ourselves in mind?"
"Then, sir, in case of her sudden return, you ask an agent?" said a
keen, clear, and incisive voice, which had not yet been heard.
"Gentlemen, shall we cast lots for the honor of watching the
Countess St. Auban in case of her undesired return?"
The grim demand brought out a hasty protest from a timid soul: "To
that, I would not agree." A sort of shuffle, a stir, a shifting in
seats seemed to take place all about the table.
"Very well, then," went on the clear voice, "let us employ
euphemism in terms and softness in methods. If we may not again
kidnap the lady, why may we not bribe her?"
"It could not be done," broke in the dark man toward the head of
the table. "If I know the facts, this woman could not be bought
for any ransom. She has both station and wealth accorded her, so
the story goes, for some service of her family in the affairs of
France. But she will none of monarchies. She turned democrat,
revolutionist, in France, and on the hotter stage of Hungary--and
so finally sought this new world to conquer. She is no artless
miss, but a woman of the world, brilliant and daring, with ideas of
her own about a world-democracy. She is perhaps devout, or
penitent!"
"Nay, let us go softly," came the rejoinder from the shadows.
"Woman is man's monarch only part of the time. We need some man
who is a nice judge of psychological moments and nicely suited
methods. We stand, all of us, for the compromise of 1850. That
compromise is not yet complete. The question of this unwelcome
lady still remains to be adjusted. Were Mr. Clay not quite so old,
I might suggest his name for this last and most crucial endeavor of
a long and troublous life!"
"By the Eternal Jove!" broke in the dark man at the right, shaking
off the half-moodiness which had seemed to possess him. "When it
comes to wheedling, age is no such bar. I call to mind one man who
could side with Old Hickory in the case of Mrs. Peggy Eaton. I
mean him whom we call the Old Fox of the North."
"He was a widower, even then, and hence immune," smiled the man
across the table. "Now he is many years older."
"Yet, none the less a widower, and all the more an adjuster of nice
matters. He has proven himself a politician. It was his accident
and not his fault not to remain with us in our party! Yet I happen
to know that though once defeated for the presidency and twice for
the nomination, he remains true to his Free Soil beliefs. It has
just occurred to me, since our friend from Kentucky mentions it,
that could we by some fair means, some legal means--some means of
adjustment and compromise, if you please, gentlemen,--place this
young lady under the personal care of this able exponent of the
_suaviter in modo_, and induce him to conduct her, preferably to
some unknown point beyond the Atlantic Ocean, there to lose her
permanently, we should perhaps be doing our country a service, and
would also be relieving this administration of one of its gravest
concerns. Best of all, we should be using a fox for a cat's-paw,
something which has not often been done."
The matter-of-fact man who presided straightened his shoulders as
though with relief at some sign of action; yet he did not relax his
insistent gravity sufficiently to join the smile that followed this
sally.
"Let us be sure, gentlemen, of one thing at a time," he resumed.
"As we come to this final measure suggested by our friend from
Kentucky, I am at a loss how further to proceed. What we do can
not be made public. We can not sign a joint note asking this
distinguished gentleman to act as our intermediary."
"At the time of the ratification of the Constitution by the
convention of 1787," began the dark man who had earlier spoken,
"there arose a difficulty as to the unanimity of those signing. At
the suggestion of Doctor Franklin and Mr. Gouverneur Morris, there
was a clause added which stated that the Constitution was signed
'_as by the states actually present_,' this leaving the individual
signers not personally responsible! I suggest therefore, sir, that
we should evade the personal responsibility of this did you put it
to the vote of the _states_ represented here."
"I rely upon the loyalty and the unanimity of my family," replied
the leader, with more firmness than was wont. "Gentlemen, are we
then agreed? Does Massachusetts consent? Is Virginia with us? Is
New York agreeable? Does Kentucky also agree?"
There was no murmur of dissent, and the leader, half rising,
concluded;
"Gentlemen, we agreed four days ago that the Countess St. Auban
should leave Washington not later than that night. We are now
agreed that, in case of her return, she shall if possible be placed
under the charge, not of any responsible figure of _our_ party, but
of a gentleman distinguished in the councils of an _opposing_
party, whose abolitionist beliefs coincide somewhat with her own.
Let us hope they will both get them to Missouri, the debating
ground, the center of the political battle-field to-day. But,
Missouri or Hungary, Kentucky or France, let us hope that one or
both of them shall pass from our horizon.
"There remains but one question, as earlier suggested by Kentucky:
if we agree upon New York as our agent, who shall be our emissary
to New York, and how shall he accomplish our purpose with that
gentleman? Shall we decide it by the usual procedure of
parliamentary custom? Do you allow the--the Chair--" he smiled as
he bowed before them--"to appoint this committee of one? I suppose
you agree that the smaller the committee and the more secret the
committee's action, the better for us all?"
There was silence to this. A moment's hesitation, and the speaker
announced his decision. "The gentleman from Kentucky is appointed
to execute this task for the people of the United States. Let us
hope he never will have need to serve."
It cost the self-control of some to remain silent at this, and the
courage of the remaining member also to preserve the silence which
meant his acceptance of a task so difficult and distasteful.
"Sir," hastily went on the original speaker, "our thanks are due to
you. We shall limit you with no instructions. All the money
required by you as agent, or required by your agent, shall of
course be forthcoming, and you shall quietly have also the
assistance of all the secret service, if so desired. None of us
must know what has become of the Countess St. Auban, now or later.
You have heard me. Gentlemen, we adjourn."
He stepped now to the door, and admitted the ancient colored man,
with his lights. The curtains were drawn, shutting out even the
twilight gloom. And now the lights blazed up, illuminating an
historic stage.
The chief of the deliberations now became the host, and motioned
his guests to the corner of the apartments where stood a long
sideboard of dark mahogany, bearing different crystal decanters.
Himself refraining, as did one or two others, he passed glasses,
motioned to the ancient colored man, and, raising his own hand,
proposed them a toast.
"Gentlemen,--the Union!"
They bowed to him ceremoniously, each in his way, with reverence,
touching lips to his glass. As they parted, one for a moment stood
alone, the dark man who had sat at the speaker's right. For a
moment he paused, as though absorbed, as finally he set down his
glass, gazing steadily forward as though striving to read what lay
in the future.
"The Union!" he whispered, almost to himself.
It might have been the voice, as it was the thought of all those
who, now passing, brought to a close this extraordinary meeting.
The Union!