IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT
As she entered the room, there rose to meet her a tall gentleman,
who stood gravely regarding her. At sight of him she paused,
embarrassed. No figure was more familiar in Washington, yet none
was less to be expected here. There was no mistaking the large
frame, the high brow, the dark and piercing eye, the costume--that
of another day. Involuntarily, although her first impression
(based upon other meetings with distinguished men) was one more of
apprehension than of pleasure, she swept him a deep curtsy. With
the grace of a courtier he extended a hand and led her to a chair.
"You know me, Madam?" he demanded, in a deep and bell-like voice.
"I know you, as well. I am delighted, I am honored, to announce
that I come to you as a messenger."
"It is an honor that you come in any capacity, Sir. To what may I
attribute so kind a visit, to one so unimportant?"
"No, no, my dear Countess. We rate you very high. It is the wish
of a certain gentleman to have you attend a little meeting which
will not welcome many out of all this city. It is informal and
unofficial, my dear lady, but all those who will be there will be
glad to have your attendance. It was thought well for me to drop
in to interrogate your pleasure in the matter."
"It is a command, Sir! Very well, at what time, then?"
"If it should please you, it would delight me to accompany you at
once, my dear lady! My carriage is waiting now."
Josephine St. Auban did not lack decision upon her own part.
Something told her that no danger this time lurked for her.
"Pardon me for just one moment then, Sir," she answered. A few
moments later she returned, better prepared for the occasion with
just a touch to her toilet; and with a paper or two which with some
instinct she hastily snatched up from her desk. These latter she
hurriedly crowded into her little reticule. They took the carriage
and soon were passing through the streets toward the most public
portion of the city of Washington.
They entered wide grounds, and drew up before a stately building
which lay well back from the street. Entering, they passed through
a narrow hall, thence into a greater room, fitted with wide panels
decorated with many portraits of men great in the history of this
country. There was a long table in this room, and about it--some
of them not wholly visible in the rather dim light--there were
several gentlemen. As her tall escort entered with a word of
announcement, all of these rose, grave and silent, and courteously
bowed to her. There approached from the head of the room a tall,
handsome and urbane gentleman, who came and took her hand. He,
some of these others, she could not fail to know. She had come
hither without query or comment, and she stood silent and waiting
now, but her heart was racing, her color faintly rising in spite of
all her efforts to be calm.
[Illustration: They entered wide grounds.]
"My dear lady," he began, in a voice whose low, modulated tones
scarce could fail to please any ear, "I thank you for your presence
here. Will you not be seated? It is a very great honor that you
give us, and all of these gentlemen appreciate it."
Josephine St. Auban curtsied and, remaining silent and wondering,
assumed the seat assigned her, at the right hand of the tall and
grave gentleman who had escorted her hither, and who now
courteously handed her to her place.
"We meet absolutely without formality, my dear Madam," went on the
tall and kindly man who had greeted her. "What goes on here is
entirely unofficial and, as I need not say, it is altogether
private; as you will remember."
"You will perhaps pardon my diffidence at such a time and place,
Sir," she began, at last. "It is difficult for me to understand
what small merit, or large error, of mine should bring me here."
"Madam, we wish that your abilities were smaller," smiled the tall
gentleman. "That is the very thing of which we wish to speak. It is
your activities which have seemed to us matters of concern--indeed,
of kindly inquiry, if you do not mind. These gentlemen, I think, I
do not need to introduce. We are all of us interested in the peace
and dignity of this country."
"Have I done anything against either?" asked she.
"Ah, you have courage to be direct! In answer, I must say that we
would like to ask regarding a few things which seem to be within
your own knowledge. You, of course, are not unaware of the popular
discontent which exists on this or the other side of the great
political question in America to-day. We are advised that you
yourself have been a traveler in our western districts; and it
seemed to us likely that you might be possessed of information
regarding matters there of which we get only more interested, more
purely partisan, reports."
"That is not impossible," was her guarded reply. "It is true, I
have talked with some in that part of the country."
"You were witness of the anxiety of our attempt to keep war and the
talk of it far in the background,--our desire to preserve the
present state of peace."
"Assuredly. But, Sirs, you will forgive me,--I do not believe
peace will last. I thought so, until this very day. In my belief,
now, there will be war. It can not be averted."
"We are glad to hear the belief of all, on all sides," was the
courteous rejoinder. "We ourselves hope the compromise to be more
nearly final. Perhaps you as well as others hold to the so-called
doctrine of the 'higher law'? Perhaps you found your politics in
Rousseau's _Nouvelle Heloise_, rather than in the more sober words
of our own Constitution?" His eyes were quizzical, yet not unkind.
"Certain doctrines seem to endure," was her stout answer, kindling.
"I am but a woman, yet I take it that anything that I can say will
have no value unless it shall be sincere. To me, this calm is
something which can not endure."
"There at least do not lack others who are of that belief. But
why?"
"They told me in the West that the South has over three million
slaves. They told me that the labor of more than seven million
persons, black and white, is controlled by less than a third of a
million men; and of all that third of a million, less than eight
thousand practically represent the owners of these blacks, who do
not vote. Gentlemen, I have been interested in the cause of
democracy in Europe--I do not deny it--yet it seems to me an
oligarchy and not a democracy which exists in the American South.
The conflict between an oligarchy and a natural democracy is ages
old. It does not die. It seems to me that there is the end of all
compromise--in the renewed struggle of men, all over the world, to
set up an actual government of their own,--not an oligarchy, not a
monarchy, not of property and wealth, but of actual democracy. It
must come, here, some day."
"It is unusual, my dear lady, to find one of your sex disposed to
philosophy so deep and clear as your own. You please us. Will you
go on?"
"Sir, your courtesy gives me additional courage,". was her answer.
"You have asked me for my beliefs--and I do not deny that I have
some of my own, some I have sought to put in practice. To me,
another phase of this question lies in something which the South
itself seems not to have remembered. The South figures that the
cost of a laboring man, a slave, is perhaps a thousand or fifteen
hundred dollars. The South pays the cost of rearing that man. Any
nation pays the cost of bringing up a human being. Yet, within
this very year, Europe has sent into the North and into the West a
third of a million of men _already_ reared, already _paid_ for.
Sir, you ask me what will be the result of this discontent, the
result of this compromise. It seems to me plainly written in those
two facts--industrial, not political facts. The 'finality' of this
compromise, its final issue, will be established by conditions with
which laws or their enforcement have little to do. Yet statesmen
try to solve such a question by politics. I myself at one time
thought it could endure--but only if all the blacks were bought,
paid for and deported, to make room for those who come at no cost
to us. I thought for a time it could be done. I have tried to do
it. I have failed. I do not think others will follow in my
attempt."
"We have not undervalued, Madam, either the brilliance or the
profundity of your own active intellect! What you say is of
interest. We already have followed with profound interest your
efforts. Your words here justify our concern in meeting you. This
is perhaps the first time in our history when a woman has been
asked to meet those most concerned in even so informal an
assemblage as this, at precisely this place."
There were gravity and dignity in his words. The majesty of a
government, the dignity of even the simplest and most democratic
form of government, the unified needs, the concentrated wish of
many millions expressed in the persons of a few,--these are the
things which can not fail to impress even the most ignorant and
insensitive as deeply as the most extravagant pageantry of the
proudest monarchy. They did not fail to impress Josephine St.
Auban, brilliant and audacious thinker though she was, and used to
the pomp of Old World courts. At once she felt almost a sense of
fright, of terror. The silence of these other gentlemen, so able
to hold their peace, came to her mind with the impress of some
mighty power. She half shrank back into her chair.
"Madam, you have no need of fear," broke in the deep voice of the
gentleman who had escorted her thither, and who now observed her
perturbation. "We shall not harm you--I think not even criticize
you seriously. Our wish is wholly for your own good."
"Assuredly," resumed the first speaker. "That is the wish of all
my friends here. But let us come now to the point. Madam, to be
frank with you, you have, as we just have said, been much concerned
of late with attempts at the colonization and deportation of
negroes from this country. You at least have not hesitated to
undertake a work which has daunted the imagination of our ablest
minds. Precisely such was once my own plan. My counselors
dissuaded me. I lacked your courage."
"There seemed no other way," she broke in hurriedly, her
convictions conquering her timidity. "I wanted so much to do
something--not alone for these blacks--but something for the good
of America, the good of the world. And I failed, to-day."
"The work of the Colonization Society has gone on for many years,"
gently insisted the first speaker, raising a hand, "and made it no
serious complications. Your own work has been much bolder, and, to
be frank, there _have_ been complications. Oh, we do not criticize
you. On the contrary, we have asked your presence here that we
might understandingly converse on these things to which you have
given so much attention."
"If I have erred," she ventured, "it has been done within the
limitations of human wisdom; yet my convictions were absolutely
sincere--at least I may assure you of so much. I have not wished
to break any law, to violate convictions on either side. I only
wanted to do some good in the world."
"We are quite sure, my dear lady, that the sentiments of your mind
are precisely those of our own. But perhaps you may be less aware
than ourselves of complications which may rise. Our friend who
sits by you has found occasion to write again in unmeasured terms
to the representatives of Austria. We are advised of your
affiliations with the Hungarian movement--in short, we are perhaps
better advised of your movements than you yourself are aware. We
know of these blacks which have been purchased and deported by your
agents, but we also know that large numbers of slaves have been
enticed away from their owners, that whole plantations have been
robbed of their labor, and this under the protection--indeed, under
the very _name_--of this attempt which you have set on foot. Has
this been done by your knowledge, Madam? I anticipate your answer.
I am sure that it has not."
"No! No!" she rejoined. "Assuredly, no! That is a matter entirely
without my knowledge. You shock me unspeakably by this news. I
have not heard of it. I should be loath to believe it! I have
spent my own funds in this matter, and I have told my own agents to
do nothing in the slightest contravention of the laws."
"None the less, these things have been done, my dear lady. They
have awakened the greatest feeling in the South--a feeling of
animosity which extends even to the free colonies of blacks which
have been established. The relations between the two great
sections of this country are already strained sufficiently. We
deprecate, indeed we fear, anything which may cause a conflict, an
outbreak of sectional feeling."
"Gentlemen, you must believe me," she replied, firmly and with
dignity, "I have been as ignorant as I am innocent of any such
deeds on the part of my agents. While I do not agree that any
human being can be the property of another, I will waive that
point; and I have given no aid to any undertaking which
contemplated taking from any man what he _himself_ considered to be
his property, and what the laws of the land accorded him as his
property. My undertaking was simply intended as a solution of
_all_ those difficulties--for both sides, and justly--"
"Madam, I rejoice to hear those words,--rejoice beyond measure!
They accord entirely with the opinion we have formed of you."
"Then you have watched me!--I have been--"
"This is a simple and democratic country, Madam," was the quiet
answer, although perhaps there might have been the trace of a smile
on the close-set mouth of the speaker. "We do not spy on any one.
Your acts have been quite within public knowledge. You yourself
have not sought to leave them secret. Should these facts surprise
you?"
"They almost terrify me. What have I done!"
"There is no need of apprehension on your part. Let us assure you
of that at once. We are glad that you, whom we recognize as the
moving spirit in this deportation enterprise, have not sanctioned
certain of the acts of your agents. There was one--a former army
officer--with whom there labored a revolutionist, a German,
recently from Europe. Is it not so?"
"It is true," she assented. "They were my chief agents. But as
for that officer, this country has none more eager to offer his
sword to the flag when the time shall come. I am sure it is but
his zeal which has caused offense. I would plead for his
reinstatement. He may have been indiscreet."
"We shall listen to what you say. But in addition to these, there
was a former slave girl, who has been somewhat prominent in
meetings which these two have carried on in different parts of the
country. In the words of the southern press, this girl has been
used as a decoy."
"Lily!" exclaimed Josephine. "It must have been she! Yes, I had
such a person in my employ--in very humble capacity. But, Sir, I
assure you I have not seen her for more than two months. I had
supposed her busy with these others on the lecture platform."
"She is not now so engaged," interrupted a voice from the shadows
on the other side of the table.
"Then she has been arrested?" demanded Josephine.
"That is not the term; yet it is true that she sailed on one of
your own colonization ships last week. Her fortune will lie
elsewhere hereafter. It was her own wish."
A sudden sense of helplessness smote upon Josephine St. Auban.
Here, even in this republic, were great and silent powers with
which the individual needed to contend. Absorbed for the time in
that which was nearest her heart, she had forgotten her own
fortunes. Now she suddenly half rose for the first time.
"But, gentlemen," said she, as she held out in her hand some papers
which crackled in her trembling grasp,--"after all, we are at cross
purposes. This is not necessary. My own work is at an end,
already! This very morning it came to an end, and for ever. Will
you not look at these?"
[Illustration: "My own work is at an end."]
"How do you mean, Madam?" The tall grave man near by turned upon
her his beetling brows, his piercing dark eyes. "Your work was
worthy of approval in many ways. What has happened that it should
cease?"
"This!" she said, handing to him the papers which she held. "I
have a report to-day from my agents in Europe. Gentlemen, since I
must mention these things,--I have been possessor of a fortune in
my own name which might have been called considerable. I had
estates in France and in Austria. This advises me that my estates
have been confiscated by the governments in both countries--they
got word there, in some way--"
"It was Hulsemann!" ejaculated the dark man, as to himself.
"Austria's man here!"
She went on: "If I am not welcome in this country, whither shall I
go? I am an exile as I stand before you. I am a widow. I have no
living kin. Moreover, I am an exile, impoverished, as I stand. My
fortune has been dissipated--honestly so, gentlemen; but since it
is gone, my powers are at an end. If I have displeased you, I
shall do so no longer. Here are my proofs."
She placed her papers in the hand of her escort, the nearest of
these grave and silent men. A nod from the leader at the head of
the table caused this tall and dark gentleman to rise and seek a
place closer to the window in order that he might find better light
for reading. His glasses upon his nose, he scanned the papers
gravely. A sudden smile broke out upon his face, so that he passed
a hand across his face to force it back into its usual lines of
gravity.
"Gentlemen," said he, at length, solemnly, "this lady has been kind
to come to meet us, and you all are witness that her dealings have
been perfectly frank and sincere. I confess, however, I am
somewhat puzzled over this document which she has given me. I
presume we may well mark it 'Exhibit A.' If you do not mind, I
will read it to you."
Slowly, deliberately, employing all the tones of his deep and
sonorous voice, which before then had thrilled audiences of
thousands in every portion of his country, he read; his face
studiously turned away that he might not see the dismayed gestures
of the woman who had handed him these papers:
"MY DEAR MADAME:
"I take in hand my pen to tell you how life goes
with us in this locality. The business of Hector is
improved one half this year. We have green blinds
on all sides of the house, and a vine that grows also.
The mother of Hector is kind to me. We have
abundance and peace at this place. But, Madame,
that which it is which I write you, there is come but
now the baby of Hector and myself Jeanne. In all
this locality there is no baby like this. Madame, we
have said to name it for yourself, Josephine St. Auban
Jeanne Marie Fournier. Moreover, Madame, it is
advise that for a baby so remarkable a godmother is
necessary. I take my pen in hand to inquire of
madame whether in the kindness of her heart madame
could come to see us and be present at this christening
of this child most extraordinary. I have the assurance
also of Hector that the remarkable qualities of this
baby will warrant the presence of madame. A reply
_poste restante_, address on St. Genevieve in Missouri,
will arrive to your faithful and obedient servant,
"JEANNE."
Before this singular document had been half concluded there were
sounds of shifting chairs, bursts of stifled laughter. The tall
grave man nevertheless went on, solemnly finishing this
communication. As for Josephine, she had shrunk back in her chair,
knowing not which way to turn.
"Sirs," concluded the gentleman who now occupied the floor, "while
I do not find full confirmation herein of all the statements this
lady has made to us, I do discover this document to be not without
interest. At its close, I find in a different handwriting--Madam,
may I guess it to be your own?--the addendum--let me see,--Ah, yes,
it says merely two words: '_The darling_!'"
He approached, and laid just the lightest, gentlest hand upon the
shoulder of the disturbed woman, who sat speechless, her face
suffused. "Your documents are regular, Madam," he said kindly.
"As for this other, which perhaps was the one you intended me to
read, that is private matter. It is not necessary even for myself
to read it. There will be no further exhibits in this case. I am
sure that I voice the feeling of every gentleman present here
however, Madam, if I say that although we have not curiosity as to
the terms of this communication, we have deep regret over its
advices to you. If your fortunes have been ruined, they have been
ruined in a cause in which a kind heart and an active brain were
deeply enlisted. You have our regrets."
"Sir!" He turned now toward the tall gentleman who sat silent at
the head of the table. "I am sure there is no further need for
this lady's attendance here. For my own part, I thank her. She
has offered us no remedy, I fear. In turn, there seems none we can
extend to her."
"Wait a moment!" interrupted a voice from the opposite side of the
table.
The leader shifted in his seat as he turned toward Josephine St.
Auban. "This is the gentleman from Kentucky," he said. "We
usually find his words of interest. Tarry, then, for just a moment
longer."
A tall figure was visible in the half light, as the clear voice of
the gentleman so described went on.
"Sir, and gentlemen, there is no Kentuckian,--no, nor any man from
any other state here present--who could suffer this matter to
conclude just as it is now. This is not all. This matter but
begins. We have invited to attend us a lady whose activities we
considered dangerous,--that is the plain truth of it, and we all
know it, and she may know it. Instead of that, we find here with
us now a woman in distress. Which of us would have the courage to
endure with equal equanimity that which she faces now? It has
already been said here that we have been not unmindful of the plans
of this lady, not wholly unacquainted with her history. We know
that although a revolutionist at heart, an alien on our shores, her
purposes have been clean, have been noble. Would to God we had
more such in our own country! But now, in a plan which has proved
wholly futile before her time, which would prove futile after it,
even though backed by the wealth of a nation,--she has failed, not
to our ruin, but to her own.
"It is not without my knowledge that this lady at one time,
according to popular report, was asked to undertake a journey which
later resulted, in considerable personal inconvenience, not to say
indignity, to herself. Is there no way, gentlemen, in which,
especially in consideration of her present material circumstances,
this government--I mean to say this country--can make some amends
for that?"
"Madam," began the leader at the head of the table, "I did not
predict wrongly regarding our friend from Kentucky; but in reply to
him, I myself must say, as I have already said, we are but a simple
republic,--all our acts must be open and known. What special fund,
my dear sir,"--this to the speaker, who still retained his
position,--"in what manner, indeed, could this be arranged?"
"In the easiest way in the world," rejoined the Kentuckian. "This
lady, whatever be her nationality, is at heart much identified with
the cause of Hungary, which she has been so good as to confuse with
our own cause here in America. Her idea is to advance democracy--and
to advance pure nationalism. Very well. We have already invited
Louis Kossuth to come to America as the guest of this country. Even
now one of the vessels of our navy is approaching his port of exile
in Turkey to carry him hither. In the entertainment of Louis Kossuth
large sums of money will be--and it is proper that they should
be--expended. The people demand it. The dignity of this nation must
be maintained. Popular approval will meet the proper expenditures
for any such entertainment.
"Now then, gentlemen,"--and he raised an argumentative
forefinger,--"there must be committees of entertainment; there must
be those able to interpret, those competent to arrange large plans,
and to do so courteously, with dignity." He bowed toward the
somewhat dejected figure of the only woman present, who scarce
ventured to raise her eyes to his, startled as she was by the
sudden turn of events,
"Now, Sir, we all understand this is wholly unofficial and
informal; we understand that there is no special fund which could
be devoted to any such purpose as I have suggested--unless it were
precisely this fund for the Kossuth entertainment! Gentlemen, it
is not the part of a host to set a limit upon the visit of a guest.
It is my belief that Kossuth will remain on these shores for at
least _ten years_, and that he will need entertainment for each of
those ten years at least!" A gentle applause met this speech. The
speaker himself smiled as he went on.
"For a competent committee head, charged with the duty of making
that entertainment gracious and dignified and worthy alike of the
Old World and the New, I should think that an annual expenditure
of, say, eight thousand or ten thousand dollars, would not be
inadequate! If this lady, whose kind heart and brilliant mind, as
our honored friend has said, both have been shown before us
to-day,--if she would agree,--if she would _accept_,--some such
provision as this from this fund, I am entirely clear in my own
mind as to both the wisdom and the absolute propriety of extending
this offer to her!"
He sat down. Laughter and applause met his remarks. Thus, and
gallantly, did Kentucky make amends.
"Madam," at length interrogated the tall man at the head of the
table, bending upon her his gaze, as did all these other grave
figures present,--"provided this matter might be arranged, would it
be within your pleasure to accept some such remuneration as that,
for services which should be given quite within your wishes? I
need not say," he added, turning his gaze along each side of the
long table, "that this is something which, _in view of all
circumstances_, to me also seems quite within dignity, decency and
absolute public propriety."
But Josephine St. Auban could make no reply. Her face was hidden
in her hands, and only her heaving shoulders showed the sudden
emotion which had swept upon her overstrained soul. At last she
felt a gentle hand touch hers. She raised her head as, one after
another, these men approached, each extending his hand to her and
bowing in salutation. Presently the room was deserted.
In the hall the gentleman from Kentucky passed his arm within that
of a tall man, obviously from the North.
"I have just got word within the week of the arrival of a daughter
at my own home out in Kentucky," said he. "I am in a position to
understand all and several the statements in Exhibit A, my dear
Sir! 'The darling!'
"But what a woman,--what a woman!" he went on meditatively. "Sir,
if I were a single man, as I am a married man, I should offer to
her, upon the spot, a union, now and for ever, one and inseparable!"