I
No man has ever been able to write the history of the greater years of
a nation so as to include the minor incidents of interest. They pass
unnoted, although in some cases they may have had values influential
in determining the course of events. It chanced that I myself was an
actor in one of these lesser incidents, when second secretary to our
legation in France, during the summer of 1862. I may possibly
overestimate the ultimate importance of my adventure, for Mr. Adams,
our minister of the court of St. James, seems to have failed to
record it, or, at least, there is no allusion to it in his biography.
In the perplexing tangle of the diplomacy of the darker days of our
civil war, many strange stories must have passed unrecorded, but
surely none of those remembered and written were more singular than
the occurrences which disturbed the quiet of my uneventful official
life in the autumn of 1862.
At this time I had been in the legation two years, and was comfortably
lodged in pleasant apartments in the Rue Rivoli.
Somewhere about the beginning of July I had occasion to engage a new
servant, and of this it becomes needful to speak because the man I
took chanced to play a part in the little drama which at last involved
many more important people.
I had dismissed a stout Alsatian because of my certainty that, like
his predecessor, he was a spy in the employ of the imperial police.
There was little for him to learn; but to feel that I was watched,
and, once, that my desk had been searched, was disagreeable. This time
I meant to be on safer ground, and was inquiring for a suitable
servant when a lean, alert little man presented himself with a good
record as a valet in England and France. He was very neat and had a
humorous look which caught my fancy. His name was Alphonse Duret. We
agreed easily as to wages and that he was to act as valet, take care
of my salon, and serve as footman at need. Yes, he could come at once.
Upon this I said:
"A word more and I engage you." And then, sure that his reply would be
a confident negative, "Are you not a spy in the service of the
police?" To my amused surprise he said:
"Yes, but will monsieur permit me to explain?"
"Certainly."
"I was intended by my family to be a priest, but circumstances caused
me to make a change. It was not gay."
"Well, hardly."
"I was for a time a valet, but circumstances occurred--monsieur may
observe that I am frank. Later I was on the police force, but after
two years I fell ill and lost my place. When I was well again, I was
taken on as an observer. Monsieur permits me to describe it as an
observer?"
"A spy?" I said.
"I cannot contradict monsieur. I speak English--I learned it when I
was valet for Mr. Parker in London. That is why I am sent here. The
pay is of a minuteness. Circumstances make some addition desirable."
I perceived that circumstances appeared to play a large part in this
queer autobiography, and saved the necessity of undesirable fullness
of statement.
I said: "You appear to be frank, but are you to belong to me or to the
police? In your studies for the priesthood you may have heard that a
man cannot serve two masters."
His face became of a sudden what I venture to call luminous with the
pleasure an intelligent man has in finding an answer to a difficult
question.
He replied modestly: "A man has many masters. One of mine has used me
badly. I became ill from exposure in the service, but they refused to
take me back. If monsieur will trust me, there shall be but one real
master."
The man interested me. I said: "If I engage you, you will, I suppose,
desire to remain what you call an observer."
"Yes. Monsieur may be sure that either I or another will observe.
Since the unfortunate war in America, monsieur and all others of his
legation are watched."
"And generally every one else," I said. "Perhaps you, too, are
observed."
"Possibly. Monsieur may perceive that it is better I continue in the
pay of the police. It is hardly more than a _pourboire_, but it is
desirable. I have an old mother at Neuilly."
I had my doubts in regard to the existence of the mother--but it was
true, as I learned later.
"It seems to me," I said, "that you will have to report your
observations."
"Yes; I cannot avoid that. Monsieur may feel assured that I shall
communicate very important information to my lesser master,"--he
grinned,--"in fact, whatever monsieur pleases. If I follow and report
at times to the police where monsieur visits, I may be trusted to be
at need entirely untrustworthy and prudent. I do not smoke. Monsieur's
cigars are safe. If monsieur has absinthe about, I might--monsieur
permits me to be suggestive."
The man's gaiety, his intelligence, and his audacious frankness took
my fancy. I said: "There is nothing in my life, my man, which is not
free for all to know. I shall soon learn whether or not I may trust
you. If you are faithful you shall be rewarded. That is all." As I
spoke his pleasant face became grave.
"Monsieur shall not be disappointed." Nor was he. Alphonse proved to
be a devoted servant, a man with those respectful familiarities which
are rare except in French and Italian domestics. When once I asked him
how far his superiors had profited by his account of me, he put on a
queer, wry face and said circumstances had obliged him to become
inventive. He had been highly commended. It seemed as well to inquire
no further.