Calvert of Strathore Part 5

Perhaps it was the changing light, or perhaps it was the shadow from his uplifted hand on which he lightly leaned his head, that made his eyes seem dark and troubled, and quite unlike their usual serene selves. As Mr. Jefferson looked at the young man an uneasy thought took shape in his mind that that face's cheerful expression had altered since it had entered his doors, that the shadow of a change had somehow come upon it.

"A word more," said Calvert again, resting his foot upon one of the burnished andirons, and removing his gaze from the flickering fire to Mr. Jefferson's attentive face. "I believe that not in my letters, and a.s.suredly not since getting here, have I thanked you gratefully enough for summoning me to you. 'Tis such an honor and a pleasure to be with you, to work for you, that I cannot express myself as I would like, sir.

Indeed, I have long years of kindnesses, of interest, of affectionate concern for my welfare, to thank you for. I do not think you can ever know what all that means to one so entirely alone as I am and have been almost since I could remember. 'Tis only in the last few years," he went on, hurriedly, and lowering his hand still more over his serious eyes, "that I have entirely realized what it is to be without kindred. I have to thank you and a few other kind friends that the knowledge has been so long withheld from me."

Mr. Jefferson looked at the young figure, with its unusual air of sadness, bending over the firelight. Rising, he went over to him and laid his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"There can be no question of thanks between us, Ned," he said at length, simply. "I love you as though you were my son, and it is the greatest pleasure to have you with me." And, indeed, it seemed so and as if he could not do enough for his young secretary. And that night, when the quiet dinner was over and they were ready to retire, he himself lighted Calvert to his bed-chamber and left him with such an affectionate good-night that the young man felt happier and more at home in that strange house in Paris than though he had been at Strath.o.r.e itself, with no three thousand miles of vexed ocean between himself and Virginia.

CHAPTER VI

MR. CALVERT MEETS OLD AND NEW FRIENDS

The day after Calvert's arrival was a long and busy one for him. He was closeted from morning until night with Mr. Jefferson, who explained to him the many private affairs awaiting transaction, as well as much of the important official business of the Legation. It was also necessary that he should be thoroughly au courant with the political outlook of the times and the entire state of European affairs, and in those s.h.i.+fting, troublesome days it was no easy matter to thoroughly understand the drift of events. Russia was the cynosure of all eyes at that moment, and on her throne sat the most ambitious, the most daring, the most brilliant, and the most successful queen the world has ever seen. Catharine's designs upon Turkey, in which she was abetted by Austria's Emperor, Joseph, threatened to disrupt Europe and caused Chatham's son to look with anxious eyes toward the East, while strengthening his hold in Holland. Poland, desperate, and struggling vainly to keep her place among European nations, was but a plaything in the hands of the Empress, aided by Prussia, who realized only too well that her own prosperity demanded the destruction of the weaker state. In the North, Gustavus ruled in isolated splendor, now lending his aid to some one of the warring continental powers, now arraying himself against the combatants to preserve some semblance of a balance of power.

Calvert threw himself with enthusiasm into his work, delighted to be able to lighten the immense labors of Mr. Jefferson (who, to tell the truth, was always overworked and underpaid), and happy to think he was of service to one who had always shown such kindness to him. So interested and energetic was the young man that Mr. Jefferson had much difficulty in getting him to lay aside his papers and make himself ready for the reception of the evening. Indeed, when, after dressing quickly, he descended to the great drawing-room, which looked quite splendid, with its mult.i.tude of wax lights and gilded mirrors, he found it already filled with a company more splendid than any he had ever before seen. As he approached, he noticed that Mr. Jefferson was conversing with a large gentleman of pompous appearance, to whom he had just presented Mr.

Morris, and to whom he presented Calvert in turn as "Monsieur Necker."

'Twas with a good deal of curiosity and disappointment that Calvert saw for the first time the Minister of Finance, the greatest power for the moment in France. He was a large, heavy man, whose countenance, with its high, retreating forehead, chin of unusual length, vivid brown eyes and elevated eyebrows, was intelligent, but did not even hint at genius.

There was about him an air of fatigue and laboriousness which suggested the hard-working and successful business man rather than a great statesman and financier, and the courtly richness of his embroidered velvet dress suited ill his commonplace figure. In his whole personality Calvert decided there was no suggestion of that n.o.bility of mind and nature which so distinguished Mr. Jefferson, nor of that keen mentality and easy elegance of manner so characteristic of Mr. Gouverneur Morris.

"His looks seem to say, 'I am the man,'" whispered that gentleman to Calvert as Monsieur Necker turned aside for an instant to speak with Mr.

Jefferson, and Calvert could not help smiling at the humorous and swift summing-up of the Minister's character and the merry twinkle in Mr.

Morris's eye. But whatever their opinion of his talents, Monsieur Necker's cordiality was above reproach, and it was with elaborate politeness that he presented the Americans to Madame Necker. She was a very handsome woman still, retaining traces of that beauty which had fired Gibbon in his youth, and was all amiability to the two strangers, whom she introduced to her daughter, Madame la Baronne de Stael-Holstein, wife of the amba.s.sador from Gustavus III. to the court of Louis XVI.

Madame de Stael stood with her back to the open fire, her hands clasped behind her, her brilliant black eyes flas.h.i.+ng upon the a.s.sembled company. Although she had accomplished nothing great ('twas before she wrote "Corinne" or "De l'Allemagne"), she was already famous for her appreciation of Monsieur Rousseau. Indeed, there was something so unusual, so forceful in this large, almost masculine woman, that Calvert was as much impressed with her as he had been disappointed in Monsieur Necker. It seemed as if the mediocre talents of the Minister of Finance had flamed into genius in this leonine creature who was as much her mother's inferior in looks as her father's superior in intelligence.

Mingled with this masculinity of mind and appearance was an egotism, a coquetry, a directness of thought and action that combined to make a curious personality. It was amusing to note with what a.s.siduity she showered her attentions on Mr. Morris, the man of the world, of whom she had heard much, and with what polite indifference she dismissed Calvert--though it is but doing her justice to say that later, tiring of her ineffectual efforts to interest Mr. Morris, she made the amende honorable and essayed her coquetries on the younger man, much to his embarra.s.sment. With a slight gesture of command she pointed Mr. Morris to a seat beside her on the divan upon which she had sunk.

"Ah! Monsieur," she said to him, with a languis.h.i.+ng glance out of her brilliant eyes and a smile that displayed a row of wonderfully white teeth, "Monsieur de Lafayette tells me that you are un homme d'esprit."

"Madame," returned Mr. Morris, bowing low--perhaps to conceal the ironical smile playing about his lips--"I do not feel myself worthy of such a compliment."

"Mais, si!" insisted Madame de Stael, with another glance, which did not and was not meant to conceal her newly awakened interest in the distinguished-looking American. "We hear that Monsieur has even written a book on the American Const.i.tution."

"Alas, no, Madame! 'Tis a libel, I a.s.sure you," returned Mr. Morris, this time laughing outright with the amus.e.m.e.nt he could no longer conceal. "I have but done my duty in helping to form the Const.i.tution."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Madame de Stael, and then lowering her voice slightly and dropping her coquettish manner for a serious air, "perhaps we shall have occasion to beg of Monsieur Morris some ideas la dessus.

There is nothing this poor, distracted France stands so much in need of as a const.i.tution. My father is a great man, on whom the King and country depend for everything" ("In my life I never saw such exuberant vanity," thought Mr. Morris to himself), "but even he must fail at times if not supported by a reasonable const.i.tution. You must come to see me, Monsieur, when we can be alone and discuss this. One who has helped to form his country's laws and has been wounded in her services," and she pointed with an eloquent, somewhat theatrical gesture to Mr. Morris's wooden stump, "cannot fail to be a good adviser."

"Oh, Madame, I must indeed cripple myself in your esteem now," says Mr.

Morris, laughing again heartily. "'Twas not in my country's service that I lost my leg--'twas but a runaway accident with two fiery little ponies in Philadelphia! But, indeed," he goes on, still laughing, "I do not miss it greatly, and can get around as easily as though I were a centipede and had a hundred good legs at my disposal!"

As for Calvert, he had been only too glad to make his escape on Madame de Stael's cool dismissal, and had retreated to the side of Madame Necker, who was kindness itself to the young man, pointing out the great celebrities of the Paris world who thronged the rooms, and presenting him to many of the most famous people of the day. Thither had come Monsieur le Marechal de Castries, Monsieur le Duc d'Aiguillon, Mr.

Arthur Young, the noted English traveller, His Grace the Duc de Penthievre, the richest and best n.o.ble of France, together with Monsieur de Montmorin, of the Foreign Affairs, and Monsieur de la Luzerne, Minister of Marine. Monsieur Houdon, the sculptor, was there, with a young poet named Andre Chenier, and later entered the daintily beautiful Madame de Sabran, followed by her devoted admirer, the Chevalier de Boufflers, abbe, soldier, diplomat, and courtier. Madame de Chastellux, the d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans's lady-in-waiting, whom Calvert had once met in America, was also making a tour of the salon, accompanied by that charming hedonist, Monsieur le Vicomte de Segur, than whom there was no wilder, lighter-headed youth in Paris, unless it was his bosom friend, Beaufort, who, catching sight of Calvert standing beside Madame Necker, straightway went over to him.

"As ever, the Squire of Elderly Dames," he whispered to Calvert, smiling mockingly. "Are you looking for d'Azay? Well, he has not arrived, nor Madame la Marquise, nor Madame la d.u.c.h.esse. Trust me for seeing them as soon as they come! In the meantime, my dear Calvert, there are some beauties here whom you must meet. Madame de Flahaut, for example. I shall ask Madame Necker's permission to take you to her. But wait," he said, with a little laugh, and, laying a hand on Calvert's arm, "we are forestalled! See, Mr. Morris is just being presented," and he motioned to where a beautiful young woman sat, before whom Mr. Morris was making a most profound bow. Calvert thought he had rarely seen a more lovely face, though there was a touch of artificiality about it, young as it was, which he did not admire. The soft, fair hair was thickly powdered, the cheeks rouged, and the whiteness of the chin and forehead enhanced by many patches. The eyes were intelligent, but restless and insincere, the mouth too small.

"'Twill have to be for another time, Calvert," said Beaufort, after an instant's pause, during which Mr. Morris installed himself beside the lady with the evident intention of staying. "'Tis plain that the beautiful Madame de Flahaut has thrown her spell over him, and 'twill not do to break it just yet. But by St. Denis!" he suddenly whispered to Calvert, "here comes d'Azay with the d.u.c.h.ess and Madame de St. Andre, attended as usual by St. Aulaire."

Calvert followed Beaufort's glance and saw entering the room his friend d'Azay, at whose side, slowly and proudly, walked an old woman. She bore herself with a n.o.bility of carriage Calvert had never seen equalled, and her face, wrinkled and powdered and painted though it was, was the face of one who had been beautiful and used to command. Her dark eyes were still brilliant and glittered humorously and shrewdly from beneath their bushy brows. The lean, veined neck, bedecked with diamonds, was still poised proudly on the bent shoulders. Her wrecked beauty was a perfect foil for the fresh loveliness of the young girl who, with a splendidly attired cavalier, followed closely behind her.

"Is she not a beauty?" said Beaufort, under his breath, to Calvert. With a start the young man recognized the original of the miniature that d'Azay had shown him that last evening at Monticello, so many years ago.

It is to be doubted whether, in the interim, Calvert had bestowed a thought upon the beautiful French girl, but as he looked at the deep blue eyes s.h.i.+ning divinely beneath the straight brows, at the crimson mouth, with its determined but lovely curves, at the cloud of dark hair about the white brow, it suddenly seemed to him as if the picture had never been out of his mind. "The La.s.s with the Delicate Air" was before him, but changed. The look of girlish immaturity was gone--replaced by an imperious decision of manner. A haughty, almost wayward, expression was on the smiling face--a look of dawning worldliness and caprice.

'Twas as if the thought which had once pa.s.sed through Calvert's mind had come true--that countenance which had been capable of developing into n.o.ble loveliness or hardening into unpleasing, though striking, beauty, had somehow chosen the latter way. The spiritual beauty seemed now in eclipse and only the earthly, physical beauty remained.

Calvert had opportunity to note these subtle changes which time had wrought in the original of the miniature while Mr. Jefferson bent low over the withered, beringed hand of the old d.u.c.h.ess, and he waited his turn to be presented to the ladies. The ceremony over, he and d'Azay greeted each other as old friends and comrades-in-arms are wont to do.

They had scarce time to exchange a word, however, as Monsieur de Segur, coming up hurriedly, carried d'Azay and Beaufort away to where a group of young men were waiting for the last news of the elections. Already politics were ousting every other topic of conversation in the salon.

As for Madame de St. Andre, she did not at all imitate her brother's warmth of manner toward Calvert. He was conscious of an almost contemptuous iciness in her greeting, and that mentally she was unfavorably comparing him, the simply dressed, serious young American before her, with the splendid courtiers who crowded around. Certain it was that she was much more gracious in manner to Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire, who had accompanied her into the salon and still remained at her side. It was the first time that Calvert had seen St. Aulaire, and, remembering Beaufort's words about him, a sudden pang shot through his breast as he saw the young girl turn aside with him to make a tour of the rooms. For, in truth, Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire was the epitome of all that was most licentious, most unworthy, most brilliant in the Old Order, and was known throughout the kingdom by reputation--or, more properly speaking, by lack of it. But in spite of his long life of dissipation and adventure (he had campaigned with the Swiss Guards at thirteen, and, though he was much past forty, looked like a man of scarce thirty), there was still such an unrivalled grace in all he said and did, such an heroic lightness and gallantry in all he dared--and he dared everything--that he seemed to be eternally young and incomparably charming. It was with a new-born and deep disgust that Calvert noted the attentions of this man, whose life he disdained to think of, to the beautiful girl beside him. And it seemed to him that she took a wayward pleasure in charming him, though she kept him at a distance by a sort of imperious coquetry that was not to be presumed upon.

Calvert turned from his almost melancholy contemplation of the young girl to the old d.u.c.h.esse d'Azay standing beside him and talking volubly to Mr. Jefferson.

"And have your friends newly arrived from America brought you news from our old friend, Dr. Franklin, Monsieur?" she asks, in her grand manner.

"Ah, I wish we might see him again! I think there was never an amba.s.sador so popular with us--snuff-boxes with his face upon them, miniatures, fans! I was present when he was crowned with laurel. We had thought it impossible to replace him, Monsieur, until you arrived!"

"Ah, Madame, I did not come to replace him," corrected Mr. Jefferson, making his best bow, and which was very courtly and deferential, indeed, "not to replace him--no one can do that--only to succeed him."

"Bien, bien, Monsieur," cried the d.u.c.h.ess, tapping her fan against her long, thin fingers and breaking out into an appreciative little cackle.

"Monsieur understands our language" (they were both speaking French) "quite as well as that paragon of wit and erudition, Dr. Franklin himself. Ah! what a man," she went on, musingly; "'twas he who gave the d.u.c.h.esse de Bourbon a lesson in chess! She put her king in _prise_ and Monsieur Franklin promptly took it! 'But we do not take kings so,' cried Her Grace, furiously, for you may be sure she was greatly put out. 'We do in America,' said the Doctor, calmly." And she broke out laughing again in her thin, cracked voice at the recollection of the discomfiture of her archrival, the old d.u.c.h.esse de Bourbon. "Truly that America of yours must be a wonderful place."

"Ah, Madame," said Mr. Jefferson--and there was a note of sadness in his voice--"I think there is no land like it, no rivers so broad and deep, no woods so green and wild, no soil so fertile, no climate so delightful. I wish I might show you but one garden-spot of it--my Virginia--to prove to you, Madame, that I do not exaggerate when I sing my country's praises. The Duc de la Rochefoucault-Liancourt promises to visit me at Monticello within the next few years. Cannot I persuade you, Madame, to come, too?"

"Ah, Monsieur, 'twould give me infinite pleasure, but I shall never leave my France--although"--and here she lowered her voice and shrugged her lean shoulders contemptuously--"did I listen to but one-half of what I hear prophesied in these revolutionary salons, to but one-half of what I hear openly discussed at the card-tables, I might accept your invitation as a refuge! But I have no fear for my King. I am not shaking with apprehension at the turn affairs are taking, like that poor-spirited little Madame de Montmorin, whose husband knows no more about foreign affairs than does my coachman, but I wish with all my heart, Monsieur, that you had kept your revolution chez vous! 'Tis a fever, this revolution of yours, and our young men return from the war and spread the contagion. They clamor for new rights, for a.s.semblies, for States-Generals--'twas that fever-stricken young Lafayette himself who demanded that, and, instead of being in attendance at court, as a young n.o.ble should be, he is buried in Auvergne, trying to get himself elected to his own States-General! Bah! what will it all come to?" She fastened her keen, bright eyes on Mr. Jefferson's face and spoke with indomitable energy and haughtiness. "The n.o.blesse is all-powerful. We have everything--why should we cry for something more? As for the commons, they don't know what is good for them and they have all they deserve. At any rate they will not get anything more. These contentions, these revolts of the lower orders"--she stopped, for at that instant the young Vicomte de Segur came up and, making a profound bow, offered his arm to the d.u.c.h.ess.

"Madame," he said, "the d.u.c.h.esse de Chastellux begs that you will join her at a table of whist." He paused a moment, and then, with a languid shrug of his shoulders and a whimsical smile, "Your Grace was speaking of the discontent of the lower orders? They are very unreasonable--these lower orders--they spoil one's Paris so!"

Calvert was about to follow the two figures into the crowd, when suddenly he heard his name called softly, and, turning, found himself beside St. Aulaire and Madame de St. Andre. She was looking at him, her eyes and lips smiling mockingly. Calvert met her gaze calmly and fully.

They stood thus, looking at each other, courteously on Calvert's part, curiously, almost challengingly, on the young girl's. It was Madame de St. Andre who broke the silence. When she spoke, her voice was exquisitely sweet and low, and her eyes became kind, and the artificial smile faded from her lips. Looking at her so, Calvert could scarce believe that it was the same arrogant beauty who had regarded him so haughtily but a moment before. 'Twas as if she had let fall from her face, for a moment, some lovely but hateful mask, which she could resume instantly at will.

"Mr. Calvert," she said, "I hope my brother has had a chance to talk with you. He is most anxious to see you." As she spoke, Calvert thought he had never heard anything so beautiful as the sound of those clear, French words, each one as sweet and distinct as the carillon of a silver bell.

"Alas, no, Madame! We have exchanged but a dozen words. 'Tis almost five years since we last talked together. That was at Monticello, where, indeed, I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance--in miniature!"

He bowed and smiled as he noted her look of surprise. "And where---"

"And where," interrupted Beaufort, who at that instant joined them and who had overheard Calvert's last words, "d'Azay promised to introduce Mr. Calvert to you as an American savage!"

"Indeed, my brother spoke to me on the subject," returned Madame de St.

Andre, laughing outright at the recollection (and if each word she spoke was like the sound of a silver bell, her laugh was like a whole chime of them). "I had looked for something quite different," she went on, in a mock-disappointed tone, and with an amused glance at Beaufort. "Perhaps paint and feathers and a--a--what is the name, Monsieur? a--tomahawk to kill with! Ah! Monsieur"--here she sighed in a delightfully droll way and swept Calvert a courtesy--"as an American you are a great disappointment!"

"I am inexpressibly grieved to be the cause of any disappointment to you, Madame," replied Calvert, calmly. "But as for paint and feathers, surely they can be no novelties to you," and here he looked meaningly around at the bedaubed, bedecked ladies of fas.h.i.+on (though 'tis but fair to say that the young beauty before him disdained the use of furbelows or cosmetics, as well she might with such a brilliant complexion); "and as for tomahawks--the ladies of this country need no more deadly weapons than their own bright glances. But truly, Madame, did you expect to see a young savage?"

"I was hoping to," she said, demurely. "'Twould have been more interesting than--than--" And here she stopped as if in seeming embarra.s.sment and loss for words. "Is not America full of them?" she asked, innocently.

"a.s.suredly, Madame, as you must know, since they have so often been your allies!"

As Calvert spoke, all the amus.e.m.e.nt and good-nature died out of Madame de St. Andre's face, and she resumed her mask, becoming again the haughty and distant young beauty.