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!"
CHAPTER X
AT VERSAILLES
It was just a week after Mr. Calvert's visit to the hotel d'Azay and the affair of the rue St. Antoine, that the day arrived for the consummation of that great event toward which all France, nay, all Europe, had been looking for months past.
With a sudden burst and glory of sunshine and warm air the long, hard winter had given way to the spring of that year of 1789. By the end of April the green grass and flowering shrubs looked as if summer had come, and the cruel cold of but a few weeks back was all but forgotten. And with the quickening pulse of nature the agitation and restless activity among all classes had increased. The whole kingdom of France was astir with the excitement of the rapidly approaching convocation of the States-General. Paris read daily in the columns of the Moniteur the names of the newly elected deputies, and by the 1st of May those deputies were thronging her streets.
D'Azay, Lafayette, Necker, Duport, Lameth, and many others, who saw their ardent wishes materializing, were quite beside themselves with delight, and prophesied the happiest things for France. Madame d'Azay, being of the court party, held widely differing views from those of her nephew, and was out of all conceit with this political ferment, while as for Adrienne, she looked upon the opening of the States-General and the grand reception of the King on the 2d of May as splendid pageants merely, to which she would be glad to lend her presence and the lustre of her beauty. Indeed, it is safe to say that for nearly every individual in that restless kingdom of France the States-General held a different meaning, a different hope, a different fear. Fortunate it was for all alike, that none could see the ending of that terrible business about to be set afoot.
In all the brilliant weather of that spring of 1789, no fairer day dawned than that great day of Monday, the 4th of May. By earliest morning the whole world of Paris seemed to be taking its way to Versailles. Mr. Jefferson, having presented Calvert with the billet reserved for Mr. Short (the secretary being absent at The Hague), and Mr. Morris being provided for through the courtesy of the Duchesse d'Orléans, the three gentlemen left the Legation at six in the morning in Mr. Jefferson's coach. The grand route to Versailles was thronged with carriages and vehicles of every description, and the dust, heat, and confusion were indescribable. On their arrival, which was about eight o'clock, being hungry and thirsty, the gentlemen repaired to a café, where they had an indifferent breakfast at a table d'hôte, about which were seated several gloomy-looking members of the tiers. After the hasty meal they made their way as quickly as possible to the hôtel of Madame de Tessé in the rue Dauphine, where they were awaited.
Madame de Tessé, Monsieur de Lafayette's aunt, was, as Mr. Morris laughingly styled her, "a republican of the first feather," and it was with the most enthusiastic pleasure that she welcomed the Ambassador from the United States and his two friends on that day which she believed held such happy auguries for the future of her country. A numerous company had already assembled at her invitation and were viewing the ever-increasing crowds in the streets from the great stone balcony draped with silken banners and rich velvet hangings. The British Ambassador and the Ambassadress, Lady Sutherland (whom Calvert had the honor of meeting for the first time), were there, as was Madame de Montmorin, Madame de Staël, and Madame de St. André, looking radiant in the brilliant morning sunshine. As Mr. Calvert bent over her hand he thought to himself that she might have sat for a portrait of Aurora's self, so fresh and beautiful did she look. The sun struck her dark hair (over which she wore no covering) to burnished brightness, the violet eyes sparkled with animation, and her complexion had the freshness and delicacy of some exquisite flower.
"I am glad you are here, Monsieur l'Americain, on this great day for France, one of the most momentous, one of the happiest in all her history. You see I have not forgotten your fondness for history!" and she shot him an amused glance.
"I am glad, too, Madame," replied Calvert, seating himself beside her. "'Tis one of the most momentous days in France's history, as you say, but one of the happiest?—I don't know," and he looked dubiously at the thronged streets, for he was of Mr. Morris's way of thinking, and, try as he might, he could not bring himself to look upon the course of affairs with the optimism Mr. Jefferson felt.
"Are you going to be gloomy on this beautiful day?" demanded Adrienne, impatiently. "Aren't the very heavens giving us a sign that they approve of this event? Mr. Jefferson is the only one of you who appreciates this great occasion—even Mr. Morris, who is usually so agreeable, seems to be out of spirits," and she glanced toward that gentleman where he sat between Madame de Montmorin and Madame de Flahaut, who had just arrived with Beaufort. Mr. Morris, hearing his name spoken, arose and went over to Madame de St. André.
"Are you saying evil things about me to Mr. Calvert, my dear young lady?" he asked, bowing with that charming show of deference which he always paid a pretty woman and which in part atoned for the cynical expression in his keen eyes.
"But yes," returned Adrienne, laughing. "I was saying that you wore a displeased air almost as if you envied France her good fortune of to-day!"
"You mistake me," said Mr. Morris, warmly. "I have France's interest and happiness greatly at heart. The generous wish which a free people must form to disseminate freedom, the grateful emotion which rejoices in the happiness of a benefactor, and a strong personal interest as well in the liberty as in the power of this country, all conspire to make us far from indifferent spectators," and he glanced at Calvert as though certain of having expressed the young man's sentiments as well as his own. "The leaders here are our friends, many of them have imbibed their principles in America, and all have been fired by our example. If I wear an anxious air 'tis because I am not sure that that example can be safely imitated in this country, that those principles can be safely inculcated here, that this people, once having thrown off the yoke of absolute dependence on and obedience to kingly power, will not confound license with liberty. But enough of this," he said, smiling. "May I ask why the Duchess is not of the company?"
"Because she is even more pessimistic about the results of to-day's work than yourself, Mr. Morris, and has shut herself up in Paris, refusing to be present at the opening of the States-General even as a spectator. She portends all sorts of disasters to France, but for the life of me I can't see what can happen without the King's authority, and surely so good a king will let no harm happen to his country. As for myself, I could bless the States-General for having furnished so gala an occasion! Paris has been deadly stupid for months with all this talk of politics and elections and constitutions going on. I am glad it is all over and we have reached the beginning of the end. Is it not a magnificent spectacle?" she asked.
"'Tis so, truly," assented Mr. Morris, with a curious smile, and leaning over the balustrade to get a better view of the street.
Versailles was indeed resplendent on that beautiful morning of the 4th of May, in honor of the procession and religious services to be held as a sort of prelude to the formal opening of the States-General the following day. From the Church of Our Lady to the Church of Saint Louis, where M. de la Farre, Archevêque of Nancy, was to celebrate mass, the streets through which the procession was to pass were one mass of silken banners and the richest stuffs depending from every window, every balcony. Crown tapestries lined the way in double row, and flowers in profusion were strewn along the streets. Vast throngs surged backward and forward, held in check by the soldiers of the splendid Maison du Roi and the Swiss troops, while every balcony, every window, every roof-top, every possible place of vantage was filled to overflowing with eager spectators. As the morning sun struck upon the magnificent decorations, on the ladies and cavaliers, as brilliantly arrayed as though for the opera or ball, on the gorgeous uniforms of the Guards, the scene was one of indescribable splendor and color.
A sudden silence fell upon the vast concourse of people as Mr. Morris leaned over the balcony, and in an instant the head of the procession came into view. In front were borne the banners of the Church of Our, Lady and Saint Louis, followed by the parish clergy, and then in two close ranks walked the five hundred deputies of the tiers état in their sombre black garments and three-cornered hats. The silence which had so suddenly descended upon the great company was as suddenly broken at sight of the tiers, and a deafening shout saluted them. This, in turn, was quelled, and a curious quiet reigned again as the deputies from the nobles made their appearance in their rich dress, with cloak gold-faced, white silk stockings, and beplumed hat.
"You would have to walk with the tiers were you of the procession, Monsieur Calvert," said Madame de St. André, mischievously, glancing from the young man's sober habit to the brilliant dress of the nobles as they filed past.
"Surely! I would be a very raven among those splendid birds of paradise," said the young man, a trifle scornfully.
"They are very great gentlemen," returned Adrienne, tossing her head. "See, there is Monsieur le Duc d'Orléans himself leading the noblesse," and she courtesied low, as did the rest of the company, when he looked toward the balcony and bowed.
So that was Monsieur le Duc d'Orléans, the King's cousin, the King's enemy, as many already knew, the wildest, the most dissolute of all the wild, dissolute youth of Paris, the boon companion of the Duke of York, the destroyer of the unfortunate Prince de Lamballes, the hero of a thousand chroniques scandaleuses of the day! As for Calvert, he thought that in spite of the splendid appearance of the royal personage he had never seen a human countenance so repulsive and so depraved. The brutal, languid eye looked out at him from a face whose unwholesome complexion, heavy jaw, and sensual mouth sent a thrill of sickening disgust through him. As he gazed at the retreating figure of the Duke, which, in ifs heaviness and lethargy, bore the mark of excesses as unmistakably as did the coarsened face, all the disgraceful stories, the rumors, the anecdotes which he had ever heard concerning this dissipated young prince—for his reputation was only too well known even in America—flashed through his mind.
"And this is one of your great gentlemen?" asked Calvert, looking, not without some sadness, at the haughty beauty beside him, still flushed and smiling at the notice bestowed upon her by Monsieur d'Orléans.
"His Highness the Duc d'Orléans is one of the greatest personages in the kingdom, sir! Tis said, perhaps, that he has been guilty of some indiscretions"—she hesitated, biting her lip, and coloring slightly beneath Calvert's calm gaze—"but surely something must be pardoned to one of his exalted rank; to one who is incapable of any cowardice, of any baseness."
"Since he is of such exalted rank, it seems strange, Madame, that he should walk so far ahead of his order as almost to seem to mingle with the tiers," replied Calvert, quietly. "But I am glad to have such a good report of the Duke, as there are those who have been mistaken enough to doubt his bravery at Ouessant, and, merely to look at him, I confess that I saw many a humble deputy of the tiers who looked, even in his plebeian dress, more the nobleman than he."
"Ah, Monsieur," returned Madame de St. André, contemptuously, "I see that you are indeed a republican enragé and hate us for our fine feathers and rank of birth as cordially as these people who applaud the tiers and remain silent before the deputies of the nobles."
"Indeed, you misjudge me, Madame," says Calvert, who could scarce restrain a smile at the lofty manner of the beautiful girl, "as you misjudge the crowd, for 'tis applauding someone among the noblesse now," and he stood up and looked over the balcony rail to better see the cause of the shout which had suddenly gone up. "'Tis for Monsieur de Lafayette, I think. See, he is walking yonder, with d'Azay on one side of him and Noailles on the other."
Adrienne leaned over the balustrade, and looked down at her brother and Monsieur de Lafayette, who saw her at the same instant. Smiling and bowing, she flung a handful of roses, which she had carried all morning, at the gentlemen, who uncovered and waved her their thanks. As they did so, a sudden blare of trumpets and strains of martial music burst forth, and the black-robed deputies of the clergy appeared, separated into two files by the band of royal musicians.
"'Tis like a play, n'est ce pas?" said Adrienne, gayly, to Mr. Morris, who had again come up, having been dismissed by Madame de Flahaut on the arrival of Monsieur de Curt.
"No, 'tis but the prologue," corrected Mr. Morris, "and the play itself is like enough to be a tragedy, I think," he added, in a low voice, to Calvert.
"And here are the King and Queen at last," cried Madame de St. André, as a great cheering went up. Every eye in that vast throng was riveted upon the King, who now appeared, preceded by the Archbishop of Paris carrying the Holy Sacrament under a great canopy, the four corners of which were held by the Dukes of Angoulême and Berry and the King's two brothers, Monsieur and the Comte d'Artois. Near the Holy Sacrament marched the cardinals, bishops, and archbishops elected to the States-General, and in the throng Calvert quickly and easily detected by his halting step his acquaintance, the Bishop of Autun. About His Majesty walked the high officers of the crown, and the enthusiasm of Madame de Staël, which had been on the increase every instant, reached a climax when she recognized Monsieur Necker, conspicuous by his size and bearing, among the entourage of Louis, and, when she courtesied, the obeisance seemed intended more for her father than her King.
"You are wrong to rejoice so greatly," said Madame de Montmorin, laying a timid hand on Madame de Staël's arm, which trembled with excitement. She had scarce said a word the whole morning and had sat staring with troubled face at the magnificent pageant as it passed. "I feel sure that great disasters to France will follow this day's business."
Madame de Staël impatiently shook off the detaining hand. "'Tis the day of days," she cried, enthusiastically, "the day for which my father has labored so long, the day on which will be written the brightest page of French history."
"I verily believe she thinks the States-General are come together to the sole honor and glorification of Monsieur, Necker," whispered Mr. Morris, in an amused undertone, to Calvert. "But look yonder, to the right of the King! There go our friends of the Palais Royal, the young Duc de Chartres and Monsieur de Beaujolais! Tis strange the Duc d'Orléans is not near the King. He curries favor with the multitude by abandoning his sovereign on this crucial day and putting himself forward as an elected deputy of the States-General! And there to the left of His Majesty is the Queen with the princesses. Is she not beautiful, Ned?—though Beaufort tells me she has lost much of the brilliancy of her beauty in the last year. Indeed, she has an almost melancholy air,-but I think it is becoming, for otherwise she would be too haughty-looking."
"She has reason to look melancholy, Monsieur," said Madame de Montmorin, in a low tone, and with a glance of deep sympathy at the Queen, who sat rigid, palely smiling in her golden coach. "Did you not know that the Dauphin is very ill? 'Tis little talked about at court, for the Queen will not have the subject mentioned, but he has been ailing for a year past."
As she spoke, the carriage of the Queen passed close under the balcony, and at that instant a woman in the crowd, looking Her Majesty full in the face, cried out, shrilly, "Long live d'Orléans!" The pallid Queen sank back, as though struck, into the arms of the Princess de Lamballes, who rode beside her. But in an instant she was herself again, and sat haughtily erect, with a bitter smile curving her beautiful lips.
"A cruel blow!" said Mr. Morris, under his breath, to Calvert. "Her unhappiness was complete enough without that. Arrayed in those rich stuffs, with the flowers in her hair and bosom and with that inscrutable and melancholy expression on her beautiful face, she looks as might have looked some Athenian maiden decked for sacrifice. Indeed, all the noblesse have a curious air of fatality about them, or so it seems to me, and somehow look as if they were going to their doom. Take a good look at this splendid pageant, Ned! 'Tis the first time you have seen royalty, the first time you have seen the nobility in all the magnificence of ceremony. It may be the last."
Mr. Jefferson got up from his place beside Madame de Tessé and came over to where Calvert and Mr. Morris were standing.
"What do you think of the King and Queen?" he asked, in a low voice, laying his hand, in his customary affectionate manner, on Calvert's shoulder. "The King has a benevolent, open countenance, do you not think so?—but the Queen has a haughty, wayward look, and the imperious, unyielding spirit of her Austrian mother."
"She will need all the spirit of her whole family," broke in Mr. Morris, warmly, "if she is to bear up beneath such wanton insults as that just offered her."
"I fear that the hand of Heaven will weigh heavily on that selfish, proud, capricious sovereign, and that she will have to suffer many humiliations," replied Mr. Jefferson, coldly, for he disliked and distrusted Marie Antoinette profoundly, and always believed that she was largely responsible for the terrible disasters which overtook France, and that had Louis been free of her influence and machinations, he had been able to disentangle himself and his kingdom from the fatal coil into which they were drawn.
"As for myself, I can think only that she is a woman and in distress," said Mr. Morris, looking after the Queen's coach, which rolled slowly through the crowded street, making a glittering track of light where the noonday sun (for 'twas past twelve o'clock by that time) struck the golden panels. It was followed on one side by a long line of carriages containing the princesses of the blood royal and the ladies-in-waiting to Her Majesty, on the other by the procession of princes, dukes, and gentlemen of the King's household. It was close on one o'clock when the last gilded coach, the last splendid rider, followed by the rabble, who closed in and pushed on behind to the Church of Saint Louis, had passed beneath Madame de Tessé's balcony. Some of her guests, having billets for the church reserved for them, entered their carriages and drove thither; the others, being weary with the long wait and excitement of the morning, accepted their hostess's invitation to breakfast, content to hear later of the celebration of mass in the Church of Saint Louis. Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Morris, and Calvert were of this party, and, after having promised to be at Versailles early the next morning and to stay for the night at Madame de Tessé's so as to accompany the ladies to the King's reception, they set off for Paris toward four o'clock in the afternoon. As they were about leaving, Beaufort, who had attended mass, came in, tired and gloomy-looking, and told them that Monseigneur de la Farre had preached a political sermon which the deputies had the bad taste and hardihood to applaud in church and in the presence of His Majesty.
"How dare they so insult the King?" said Madame de St. André, pale with anger, to Calvert, who had come up to bid her adieu. "By the way, Mr. Jefferson tells me he is to present you to their Majesties to-morrow evening," she went on, recovering her composure and smiling somewhat. "I should like to see how an American salutes a king."
"Madame," said Mr. Calvert, quietly, "you forget that I have made my bow to General Washington."
It was not much past six o'clock the next morning when Mr. Calvert and Mr. Jefferson called, in the latter's carriage, for Mr. Morris in the rue de Richelieu, and once more set out for Versailles. As on the preceding day, the road was thronged with coaches, all making their way to the temporary capital. Madame de Flahaut (to whom Mr. Morris bowed very low, though he looked a little piqued when he saw Monsieur de Curt beside her) flashed by in her carriage as they neared Versailles, and a little later Madame de St. André, accompanied by Madame de Chastellux and Beaufort passed them, bowing and waving to the three gentlemen.
"If it were possible, I should say she looks more beautiful to-day than yesterday, eh, Ned?" said Mr. Morris, looking after Madame de St. André, and then giving Calvert a quizzical glance, under which the young man blushed hotly.
"By the way, I overheard your parting conversation yesterday, and I think you rather got the best of the haughty beauty," he went on, laughing. "I am not sure but that the unruffled serenity of your manner before the ladies advances you more in their estimation than does Mr. Jefferson's evident devotion to them all or my impartial compliments and gallantry. But beware! Madame de St. André is no woman if she does not try to retaliate for that retort of yours."
After stopping in the rue Dauphine for the billets, which Madame de Tessé had again been able to obtain for Mr. Morris through the interest of the Duchesse d'Orléans, the three gentlemen drove straight to the Salle des Menus Plaisirs, and, by nine o'clock, were seated in the great gallery reserved for visitors. They were fortunate enough to find themselves placed immediately behind Madame de Chastellux, Madame de St. André, and Madame de Flahaut, who had entered together and who were kind enough to point out for the benefit of Mr. Morris and Calvert many of the celebrities in the glittering assemblage. For, early as the hour was, the great balcony was already crowded, while the floor was slowly filling with the deputies ushered in one after the other by Monsieur de Brézé with the greatest ceremony. No more brilliant throng had ever come together in that spacious Salle des Menus Plaisirs, and assuredly on no more momentous occasion. As Mr. Calvert looked about him at the splendid scene, at the great semicircular hall, with its Ionic columns, at the balcony crowded with thousands of magnificently dressed courtiers and beautiful women, upon whose fair, painted faces and powdered hair the morning sun shone discreetly, its bright rays sifted through a silken awning covering the dome of the great room, at the throng of deputies sharply differentiated by positron and costume, at the empty throne set high above the tribune upon its dais of purple velvet strewn with the golden lilies of the Bourbons; as Mr. Calvert looked at all this—especially as he looked at the empty throne—a curious presentiment of the awful import of the occasion struck in upon him forcibly. Mr. Jefferson, who sat beside him, seemed to read his thought.
"I think this is like to live as one of the most famous scenes in history," he said. "We three are fortunate to be here to see it. Tis the birth-hour of a new nation, if I mistake not. For the first time in two centuries the King meets the three orders of his subjects. Who can foresee what will be the result?"
"I think it is safe to say that the King does not foresee the result, or there would be no meeting," said Mr. Morris, dryly.
"As pessimistic as ever, my dear sir!" retorted Mr. Jefferson, somewhat testily. "Ah, here comes Monsieur Necker."
As the Minister of Finance made his way in, preceded by Monsieur de Brézé, a loud cheer went up from every part of the hall. Even the sombre mass of the tiers roused themselves to enthusiasm, which was redoubled when Monsieur le Duc d'Orléans made his appearance with the clerical deputy from Crépy-en-Valois, who, he insisted, should enter before him.
"Tis like His Highness," whispered Mr. Morris to Calvert. "He is as thirsty for popularity as Lafayette himself."
Though he spoke in a low tone and in English, Madame de St. André overheard and understood him.
"You and Mr. Calvert seem to be in a conspiracy to malign His Royal
Highness," she said, turning around.
"No, no. If there is a conspirator in the case 'tis Monsieur d'Orléans himself," replied Mr. Morris, meaningly. To this Madame de St. André deigned no reply, and, shrugging her beautiful shoulders, turned her back once more to the gentlemen and her attention to the assemblage. Mr. Calvert, who sat directly behind her, could only see the pink ear and outline of the fair, displeased face thus turned away, but he thought she looked more imperiously lovely and more distant than the painted goddesses of the Olympian hierarchy who disported themselves, after the artist's fancy, upon the great dome of the hall.
"Madame," he said, leaning over the back of Madame de Chastellux's chair, "can you tell me who is that deputy of the tiers just making his way in? 'Tis the strangest and most terrible face I have ever seen," and he looked hard at the seamed, scarred visage, at the gloomy eyes, shining darkly in their great sockets, at the immense, burly figure of the man who was forcing his way contemptuously past the gallant Monsieur de Brézé to a seat among the commoners. As he looked, he was reminded in some fashion of the man Danton whom he had seen in the Café de l'Ecole the afternoon he had gone thither with Beaufort.
"It is Monsieur de Mirabeau," said Madame de Chastellux. "There is something terrible in his face, as you say, but there is genius, also, I think," she added.
"He has many talents and every vice, Madame," said Mr. Jefferson, coldly. "A genius if you will, but a man without honor, without probity, erratic, unscrupulous, mercenary, passionate. Cupidus alieni prodigus sui. Great as are his parts, he will never be able to serve his country, for no dependence can be placed in him. He cannot even further his own interests, for he is his own worst enemy. No association with such a character can be either profitable or permanent. Listen! he is being hissed!" It was true. A faint but perfectly audible murmur of disapprobation went up as Mirabeau took his place among the deputies. As the sound struck on his ear, he turned upon the throng like a lion at bay and glanced about him with eyes which literally seemed to shoot fire and before which all sounds of hatred trembled back into silence.
With conversation, with speculations as to whether the great question of voting par ordre or par tête would be settled by Monsieur Necker in his speech, what policy the King would follow, and with promenades in the great semicircular corridor running around the balcony, did the vast crowd while away the seemingly interminable wait before the court appeared. It was one o'clock when the heralds-at-arms, amid a profound silence, announced the approach of the King and Queen. As His Majesty made his appearance at the door, the silence was broken by tumultuous cries of "Long live the King!" Remembering that day and those prolonged demonstrations of loyalty and affection to His Majesty, Mr. Calvert always considered it the wonderfullest change his life ever saw when, six months later, he was a witness to the sullen animosity and insolence of the crowd toward its sovereign.
When the King had ascended the throne and seated himself (the princes of the blood royal who followed His Majesty being ranged upon the steps of the dais to his right and his ministers below and in front), there was another call from the heralds-at-arms, and Marie Antoinette, beautiful, pallid, and haughty-looking, appeared at the entrance, accompanied by the Princess Royal and the members of her immediate household. Amid a silence unbroken by a single acclamation the Queen took her seat on the King's left and two steps below him.
"Is there no Frenchman here who will raise his voice in greeting to his Queen?" said Mr. Morris, very audibly. But though many hear him, not a sound is made, and at the cruel silence the Queen, her haughtiness giving way for a moment, as it had the day before, wept.
"I could never bear to see beauty in distress. If I were a subject of the Queen she should have one loyal servitor, at least, to wish her well," said Mr. Morris, warmly, to Calvert.
The scene which, before the entrance of the royal party, had lacked its crowning touch, was now brilliant beyond description. To the right of the throne were ranged the princes of the Church, hardly less resplendent in their robes than the secular nobles facing them, while between, forming a perfect foil for this glowing mass of color and jewels, a sombre spot in the brilliant assemblage, the tiers sat facing their sovereign. It was ominous—or so it seemed to Mr. Calvert—that the tiers should thus divide the two orders naturally most closely allied, and should sit as if in opposition or menace over against their King. And it was to them that the King seemed to speak or rather to read his address, which had been carefully prepared for him and was intentionally so vague that it aroused but little enthusiasm; to them that Monsieur le Garde des Sceaux appealed without great effect; and it was, above all, to the tiers that Monsieur Necker, rising, addressed himself, receiving in turn their warmest plaudits.
So long and so frequently interrupted by applause was Necker's report that it was after four o'clock when the King rose to dismiss the Assembly. As he descended the steps the Queen came forward to his side, and, for the first time, a faint "Vive la Reine!" was heard. At the sound a quick blush of pleasure showed in her pallid cheeks and she courtesied low to the throng with such divine grace that the acclamations redoubled. To this the Queen courtesied yet lower, and, amid a very thunder of applause, the royal party left the hall, followed by the deputies and the struggling throng of visitors.
Fatigued by the long séance, the excitement, and the tediousness of Monsieur Necker's report, Mr. Jefferson hurried Mr. Calvert—Mr. Morris had been carried off by Madame de Flahaut, to the great discomfiture of Monsieur de Curt—into his coach and drove directly to Madame de Tessé's, where they found apartments ready for them for the night and where they could get some repose before dressing for dinner and the King's levee, at which Mr. Jefferson intended to present both Mr. Morris and Mr. Calvert to their Majesties.
CHAPTER XI
MR. CALVERT ATTENDS THE KING'S LEVEE
It had been the intention of the court to give but one levee—that to the deputies on the Saturday preceding the opening of the States-General, but so widespread and so profound had been the dissatisfaction among the tiers at the treatment they had received on that occasion at the hands of Monsieur de Brézé, that the King had hastily decided to hold another levee on the evening of the 5th of May, to which all the deputies were again invited and at which much of the formal and displeasing ceremony of the first reception was to be banished. At the first levee His Majesty had remained in state in the Salle d'Hercule, to which the deputies were admitted according to their rank, the noblesse and higher clergy passing in through the great state apartments, the tiers being introduced one after the other by a side entrance. The King now rightly determined to receive all in the great Salle des Glaces with as little formality as possible. But with that unhappy fatality which seemed to attend his every action, this resolution, which would have been productive of such good results at first, now seemed but a tardy and inefficient apology for courtly hauteur.
So fatigued was Madame de Tessé and her guests by the day's proceedings, that it was late when they set off from the rue Dauphine for the palace. Mr. Morris had the honor of driving alone with Madame de Tessé (Lafayette and d'Azay declining to attend this levee, having paid their respects to the King on Saturday), while Mr. Jefferson, whose coach had remained at Versailles, begged the pleasure of Madame de St. André's company for himself and Mr. Calvert. She came down the marble steps in her laces and gaze d'or, her dark hair unpowdered and unadorned save for a white rose, half-opened, held in the coil by a diamond buckle, and she looked so lovely and so much the grand princess that Mr. Jefferson could not forbear complimenting her as he handed her into the coach. As for Mr. Calvert, he stood by in silence, quite dazzled by her beauty. She took Mr. Jefferson's compliments and Calvert's silent admiration complacently and as though they were no more than her just due, and talked gayly and graciously enough with the minister, though she had scarce a word for the younger man, whom she treated in a fashion even more than usually imperious, and to which he submitted with his unvarying composure and good-nature.
In the Place d'Armes the crush of coaches was so great that the American Minister's carriage could move but slowly from that point into the Cour Royale, and 'twas with much difficulty that Mr. Jefferson and Calvert, finally alighting, forced a passage through the crowd for Madame de St. André. At the foot of the great Escalier des Ambassadeurs they found Madame de Tessé and Mr. Morris, who had just arrived. Mounting together, they passed through the state apartments of the King, upon the ceilings and panellings of which Mr. Calvert noted the ever recurring sun-disk, emblem of the Roi Soleil whose sun had set so ingloriously long before; through the Salle de la Guerre, from whose dome that same Sun-King, vanquished so easily by Death, hurled thunder-bolts of wrath before which Spain and Holland cowered in fear; until they at length came into the Galérie des Glaces, where their Majesties were to receive.
Not even the splendor of the Salle des Menus could rival for an instant the beauty of the vast hall, brilliantly lighted by great golden lustres set in double row up and down its length, in which Mr. Calvert now found himself. These lights burned themselves out in endless reflections in the seventeen great mirrors set between columns on one side of the hall. Opposite each of these mirrors was a window of equal proportions giving upon the magnificent gardens and terraces. The vaulted ceiling of this great gallery was dedicated, in a series of paintings by Lebrun, to the glorification of Louis XIV, from the moment when, on the death of Mazarin, in 1661, he took up the reins of government ('twas the theme of the great central fresco, Le Roi gouverne par lui-même, wherein, according to the fashion of the day, the very Olympian deities were subject to the princes of France, and Mercury announced this kingly resolve to the other powers of Europe) to the peace of Nymwegen, which closed that unjust and inglorious war with Holland. Lebrun, being a courtier as well as an artist, had made these military operations under Turenne and Condé resemble prodigious success, and from The Passage of the Rhine to The Capture of Ghent, Louis was always the conqueror over the young Stadtholder, William of Orange.
These and many other details Mr. Calvert had time to note as he made a tour of the princely apartment in the train of Madame de St. André and Madame de Tessé. Their progress was necessarily slow, as the gallery was thronged with the deputies of the noblesse, the higher clergy, and the invited guests. But the members of the tiers, whose presence had been especially desired by His Majesty, were conspicuous by their absence. Here and there one saw a commoner in black coat and simple white tie, but he seemed to be separated from the rest of the splendid company by some invisible barrier, constrained, uneasy. Indeed, there was over the whole scene that same feeling of constraint, a sense of danger, and an air of apathy, too, that killed all gayety.
"If this is a fair sample, court balls must be but dreary affairs," said Mr. Morris to Calvert, in a low tone, as they moved slowly about. And yet, in spite of this indefinite but sensible pall over everything, the company was both numerous and brilliant. The ladies of the Queen's household and many others of the highest nobility were present, dazzling in jewels, powder, feathers, and richest court dresses. As for the gentlemen, they were as resplendent as the women in their satins and glittering orders and silver dress swords. Mr. Morris alone of all the company was without the dress sword, this concession having been granted him on account of his lameness and through the application of Mr. Jefferson.
"It is a grim jest to give a man an extra arm when he needs a leg, Mr. Jefferson. Can't you see to it that I am spared being made a monstrosity of?" Mr. Morris had said, whimsically. "I can hear Ségur or Beaufort now making some damned joke about the unequal distribution of my members," and Mr. Jefferson had made a formal request to the master of ceremonies to allow Mr. Morris to be presented to His Majesty without a sword. With that exception, however, he was in full court costume and stumped his way about the Galérie des Glaces with his accustomed savoir faire, attracting almost as much attention and interest as Mr. Jefferson. That gentleman, in his gray cloth, with some fine Mechlin lace at throat and wrists, and wearing only his order of the Cincinnati, overtopped all the other ambassadors in stately bearing, and looked more noble than did most of the marquises and counts and dukes in their brocades and powdered perukes and glittering decorations—or, at least, so thought Calvert, who was himself very good to look at in his white broadcloth and flowered satin waistcoat.
The slow progress of the party around the room was not entirely to Mr. Calvert's liking, for at each step Madame de St. André was forced to stop and speak to some eager courtier who presented himself, and, by the time they were half-way through the tour and opposite the Oeil de Beef, such a retinue was following the beauty that he found himself quite in the rear and completely separated from her.
"I feel like the remnant of a beleaguered army cut off from the base of supplies," said Mr. Morris, smiling at the young man. He and Mr. Jefferson had dropped behind, having given way to younger and more pressing claimants for Madame de St. André's favor. "Shall we make a masterly retreat while there is time?"
While he was yet speaking a sudden silence fell upon the company, and Monsieur de Brézé, throwing open the doors leading into the Gallery of Mirrors from Louis's council chamber, announced the King and Queen. Their Majesties entered immediately, attended at a respectful distance by a small retinue of gentlemen, among whom Calvert recognized the Duc de Broglie, Monsieur de la Luzerne, and Monsieur de Montmorin. At this near sight of the King—for he found himself directly opposite the door by which their Majesties entered—Mr. Calvert felt a shock of surprise. Surrounded by all the pomp and circumstance of a most imposing ceremonial and seen across the vast Salle des Menus, Louis XVI. had appeared to the young American kingly enough. But this large, awkward, good-natured-looking man who now made his way quietly and with a shambling gait into the brilliant room, crowded with the most splendid courtiers of Europe, had no trace of majesty about him, unless it was a certain look of benignity and kindliness that shone in the light-blue eyes. His dress of unexpected simplicity and the unaffected style of his whole deportment were unlocked for by Calvert. Indeed, but for the splendid decorations he wore and the humility of his courtiers, the young gentleman would have found it hard to believe himself in such exalted company, and thought privately that General Washington or Mr. Jefferson or many another great American whom he had known had a more commanding presence and a more noble countenance than this descendant of kings.
But if Louis XVI was awkward and unprepossessing he had the kindest manners in the world, and when Mr. Jefferson presented Mr. Calvert to His Majesty as "son jeune et bien-aimé secrétaire, qui avait servi dans la guerre de l'indépendence sous le drapeau de la France, commandé par Monsieur de Lafayette, pour qu'il avait un respect le plus profond et une amitié la plus vive," the young man was quite overcome by the graciousness of his reception and retained for the rest of his life a very lively impression of the King's kind treatment of him. He never had speech with that unhappy, but well-intentioned, ruler but once afterward, and very possibly 'twas as much the memory of the courtesy shown him as the wish to see justice done and royalty in distress succored that made him, on the occasion of his second interview, offer himself so ardently in the dangerous service of the King.
Perhaps it was the presence at his side of his beautiful consort that accentuated all of Louis's awkwardness. As Mr. Calvert bowed low before the Queen, Marie Antoinette, he thought to himself that surely there was no other princess in all Europe to compare with her, and but one beauty. Certain it was that she bore herself with a pride of race, a majesty, a divine grace that were peerless. It must have been some such queen as this who first inspired the artists with the idea of representing the princes of this earth as Olympic deities, for assuredly no goddess was ever more beautiful. Though care and grief and humiliation had already touched her, though there were fine lines around the proudly curving lips and an anxious shadow in the large eyes, her complexion was still transcendently brilliant, her figure still youthful and marvellously graceful, and there was that in her carriage and glance that attracted all eyes. She was dressed in a silver gauze embroidered in laurier roses so cunningly wrought that they looked as if fresh plucked and scattered over the lacy fabric. Her hair, which was worn simply—she had set the fashion for less extravagance in the style of head-dress—was piled up in lightly powdered coils, ornamented only with a feather and a star of brilliants.
"Ainsi, Monsieur, vous connaissez notre cher de Lafayette" (she hated and feared him) "et tout jeune que vous êtes vous avez déjà vu la guerre—la mort, la victorie, et la déroute!" She spoke with a certain sadness, and Calvert, bowing low again, and speaking only indifferent French in his agitation, told her that under Lafayette it had been "la mort et la victoire," but never defeat.
She glanced around the assemblage. "Monsieur de Lafayette is not come to-night," she said, coldly, to the young man, and then, with a sudden accession of interest, she went on: "We heard much of that America of yours from him when he returned from your war" ('twas she herself who had obtained his forgiveness from the King and a command for him in the Roi Dragons). "I think he loves it and your General Washington better than he does his own King and country," she said, smiling a little bitterly. "Is it, then, so beautiful a country?"
"Tis a very beautiful and a very grateful country, Your Majesty," replied Calvert. "America desires nothing so much as to do some service for Your Majesty in return for all the benefits and assistance France has rendered her."
"We are glad to know that she is grateful. Ingratitude is the last of vices," said the Queen, quietly, looking at the young man with a sombre light in her beautiful eyes. "But, indeed, we fear France hath given her something she can never repay," and she passed on with the King. Together they walked the length of the salon between the ranks of courtiers, after which they mingled freely and without formality with their guests. Though it was easy to see that the Queen was suffering, so charming and easy were her manners, so brilliant her very presence, that a new animation and gayety was diffused throughout the entire assemblage. Mr. Morris, whom she had also treated with the utmost graciousness, was enchanted with her.
"I think Venus herself was not more beautiful," he said, enthusiastically, to Calvert when Her Majesty had passed on. "'Tis no wonder the wits have dubbed the King Vulcan. And this is the paragon of beauty and grace whom her ungallant subjects chose to insult this morning! Have they no hearts, no senses to be charmed with her loveliness, her majesty, her sorrows? I think you and I, Ned, ought to be loyal servants of both the King and Queen, for surely royalty could not have been more courteous in its treatment of two untitled and unimportant gentlemen."
"Certainly their Majesties were most amiable," said Mr. Jefferson, dryly, "and your reception was as unlike the ungracious notice which King George took of Mr. Adams and myself in '86 at Buckingham Palace as possible. But, come, I want to show you a view of the gardens," he went on, pushing back the heavy drapery and drawing the two gentlemen into the embrasure of one of the great windows, from which a perfect view of the extensive park, the bosquets, the artificial lakes and tapis vert, the fountains and statues, was to be had. A thousand lanterns lighted up the scene, though they shone with but a yellow, ineffectual radiance in the moonlight, which rested in splendor on the grass and water, turning to milky whiteness the foam in the basins of the fountains and throwing long shadows on the close-clipped lawns and marble walks.
The three gentlemen gazed for some minutes in silence at the enchanting scene before them.
"'Tis a fitting-setting for the palace of a king," said Mr. Morris, at length.
"Yes—" returned Mr. Jefferson, slowly, "if 'tis ever fitting that a king should arrogate to his sole use the wealth, the toil, the bounty of an empire. I confess I never look at this stately palace, at these magnificent gardens, but I shudder to think of the hundred millions of francs this impoverished nation has been goaded into giving; of the thousands of lives lost in the building of these aqueducts; of the countless years and countless energy spent in devising and carrying out these schemes for royal aggrandizement and pleasure. We come here and gape and wonder at it all, and little think at what stupendous cost our senses are so gratified.
"'The man of wealth and pride
Takes up a space that many poor supplied—
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds;
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth
Has robb'd the neighboring fields of half their growth;
His seat, where solitary sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green;
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world supplies:
While thus the land adorn'd for pleasure—all
In barren splendor feebly waits the fall.'"
As Mr. Jefferson finished quoting the lines, the sound of voices and exclamations of astonishment came to the gentlemen from the other side of the curtain. Looking into the salon they saw Monsieur de St. Aulaire surrounded by a little group of ladies and gentlemen. He was speaking quite audibly, so that his words reached the astonished group in the embrasure of the window.
"'Tis the latest from the Club des Enragés—the King abdicates to-morrow!" He passed on amid a chorus of dismayed ejaculations.
"What is this?" said Mr. Jefferson, in alarm. "'Tis impossible that it should be true. Yonder I see Montmorin. I will ask him the meaning of this," and he passed hurriedly into the salon, leaving Mr. Morris and Calvert alone.
"'Tis some infernal deviltry of St. Aulaire's, I'll be bound," said Mr. Morris. "I think I will go, too, Ned," he said, after a minute's silence, "and see if I can't find Madame de Flahaut. She will know what this wild report amounts to. Oh, you need not stand there smiling at me with those serious eyes of yours, my young Sir Galahad! She's a very pretty and a very interesting woman, if a good deal of the intrigante, and as for me, I know excellently well how to take care of myself. I wonder if you do!" and with that he passed out, laughing and drawing the velvet curtains of the window together behind him.
Mr. Calvert, thus left alone, and being shut off from the great gallery by the drapery of the window, folded his arms, and, leaning against the open casement, gazed out at the beautiful scene before him. And as he looked up in the heavens at the moon shining with such effulgence on this scene of splendor, the thought came to him that she was shining on other and far different scenes, too—on the tides of the ocean and on the cold snows of the mountain-peaks; on squalor and wretchedness and agitation in the great city so near; and especially did he think of one tranquil and beloved spot across the sea, on which he had seen this self-same moon shining with as serene a radiance many, many times. The sounds of laughter and animated talk, the click of silver swords, the strains of music from the musicians in the gallery above the OEil de Beef came faintly to him. Suddenly he was aware that the curtains had been lifted, and turning around, he saw Madame de St. André standing in the light, one hand pulling back the velvet hangings, and, behind her, Monsieur de Beaufort and St. Aulaire.
"I am come to congratulate you, Monsieur," she said, smiling, and coming into the embrasure of the window, followed by the two gentlemen—it was so deep that the four could stand at ease in it, even when the curtains had been dropped. "I am come to congratulate you! Your courtesy to the King was perfection itself. I was over against the OEil de Beef and could see very well what passed. I am sure had His Majesty been General Washington himself you could not have excelled it. You must know, gentlemen," she said, laughing maliciously and turning to St. Aulaire and Beaufort, "you must know that when I expressed my great desire to see how an American would salute a king, Monsieur told me that I need have no fear, as he had paid his respects to General Washington!"
"Monsieur does not mean to compare General Washington with His Majesty
Louis XVI, does he?" drawled St. Aulaire, insolently.
"No, Monsieur—no," says Calvert, turning to the nobleman, who was leaning negligently against the ledge of the window. "There can be no comparison. Who, indeed, can be compared with him?" he breaks out suddenly. "There is none like him. None so wise or courageous or truly royal. How can the kings of this world, born in the purple, who, through no act, nor powers, nor fitness of their own, reign over their people; how can they be compared to one who, by the greatness of his talents, the soundness of his judgment, the firmness of his will, the tenderness of his heart, the overtopping majesty of his whole nature, hath raised himself so gloriously above his fellows? To one, the kingly estate is but a gift blindly bestowed; to the other, 'tis the divine right of excelling merit. The one is ruler by sufferance; the other, by acclamation. And do you think, Madame," he goes on, turning to Adrienne, "that that ruler who has been elevated to his greatness by the choice of a people would betray that confidence, abandon that trust, as Monsieur de St. Aulaire has just announced that the King of France is about to do? Surely General Washington would not. Ah, Madame! Could you but see him; but see the noble calm of his countenance, the commanding eye, the consummate majesty of his presence, you would say with me, 'there is no king like him!'"
As Calvert finished his impassioned eulogy of his great commander, there was a slight stir near him and, looking around, he beheld the King draw back the heavy curtains and, standing in the flood of light, look quietly into the embrasure of the window. Behind him was Mr. Jefferson, pale and concerned-looking, but with a glow of ill-concealed pride on his countenance at the patriotic words he had just heard uttered. On either side of His Majesty stood Monsieur le Due de Broglie and Monsieur de Montmorin, white with anger and consternation. As the King stepped forward, Madame de St. André sank almost to the ground in a deep courtesy, while Beaufort and St. Aulaire dropped on their knees before him. Calvert alone retained his composure and stood before the King, pale, with folded arms.
For an instant there was a profound silence, and then Louis, drawing himself up to his full height and looking around upon the stricken company, turned to Calvert with so much benignity in his gaze and mien that the young American was startled and awed. He never forgot that unexpected graciousness nor ceased to feel grateful for it.
"Monsieur," said the King, and there was a thrill of deep feeling in his voice, "believe me, whatever failings crowned monarchs may have, they at least know how to value such deep devotion as you give your uncrowned ruler. Tis as you say—this kingly estate is thrust upon us; it is not of our seeking, perhaps it would not be of our choosing; how much more grateful to us, then, is the loyalty and the love of those over whom we find ourselves involuntarily placed and who must of their own free wills give us their faith and service or else withhold them entirely! Gentlemen, proud as I am of my kingdom and my subjects, I still find it in my heart to envy General Washington! And yet, have I not as loyal subjects?" He turned and looked at the company about him. At his glance a hundred cries of "Vive le roi!" were heard, and there was a sharp ring of silver swords as they leaped from their sheaths and were held aloft. The King stood smiling and triumphant. Seeing him thus, with his courtiers about him, who could dream that the 6th of October was but a few months off!
"Ah, gentlemen, I am no 'king by trade,' as our cousin of Austria hath called himself. At this moment I feel that I am indeed your King." The tumult of applause which followed these words was suddenly stilled as the King lifted his hand and pointed to St. Aulaire.
"But, Monsieur," says Louis, a sombre expression clouding the triumph in his face as he looked hard at St. Aulaire, "what is the meaning of this speech of yours to which Monsieur Calvert makes reference?"
"Nom de diable!" whispered St. Aulaire to Calvert, deathly pale and almost ready to faint from consternation. "You have ruined me!" He managed to make a step forward and sank down before the King, who glowered at him.
"'Twas but a plaisanterie, Your Majesty!" and if such a jest, with a king for the butt, seems incredible, let one remember that already Louis had been refused his cour plénière and the Queen lampooned and hissed at the theatre.
"Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire, we have heard before of your plaisanteries," said Louis, his light-blue eyes flashing more wrathfully than one could have believed possible, the red heels of his shoes clicking together, and his heavy figure bent forward menacingly, "but this audacity passes belief. The court of Louis the Sixteenth needs no jester. For a season you can be spared attendance upon us. Your estates in Brittany doubtless need your presence. This unpardonable levity, Monsieur," he went on, severely, "contrasts strangely with the attitude and language of this American subject," and he bowed slightly to Calvert as he turned away.
St. Aulaire, pallid with consternation, stretched out an imploring hand to the King. "Your Majesty," he said, "'twas but a thoughtless jest, too idle to be believed or repeated. Will Your Majesty not deign to remember that St. Aulaire's life and sword have been ever at Your Majesty's service?"
As the prostrate nobleman began to speak, the King hesitated, turned back, and looked perplexedly at him. As he gazed, a look of indecision, of distaste and weariness, crept into his countenance. All the passion, dignity, and just anger which had lit it up faded away. The brief revelation of majesty was quenched, and the customary commonplace, vacant, good-natured expression held sway once more.
"Rise, Monsieur de St. Aulaire," he said, wearily. "We forgive you this unfortunate plaisanterie, since its execrable taste carries with it its own worst punishment. But be careful, sir, how you offend again!" With a last glance of warning, which, however, had lost its severity, the King turned away, followed by the Due de Broglie, and, seeking the Queen, their Majesties retired very shortly.
With the Queen's withdrawal, all the zest and animation of the function disappeared, too, and Mr. Calvert, wearying of the brilliant company, determined to leave the scene and stroll through the gardens. He descended by the Grand Escalier des Ambassadeurs, up which he had come, and, passing out through the Marble Court, quickly found himself on the broad terrace beneath the windows of the Gallery of Mirrors. From this, marble steps led down to a beautiful parterre, below which the Fountain of Latona played in the white moonlight. Standing on the terrace, Calvert could see the marble nymph through the mist of spray flung upon her from the hideous gaping mouths of the gilded frogs lying along the edge of the basin. 'Twas the story of Jupiter's wrath against the Lyceans which the sculptor had told, and Calvert remembered it out of his Ovid. Beyond this lovely fountain the green level of the tapis vert fell away to the great Bassin d'Appollon, where the sun-god disported himself among his Tritons, the foamy tops of the great jets of water blown from their shell-trumpets rising high in the air and scattered into spray by the night wind.
It was a scene not to be forgotten, and Mr. Calvert stood gazing at it a long while—at the softly playing fountains and the sombre bosquets and the sculptured groups on every hand, showing faintly in the moonlight. Fauns and satyrs peeped from the dense foliage. Here there showed a Venus sculptured in some Ionian isle before ever Caesar and his cohorts had pressed the soil of Gallia beneath their Roman sandals; there, a Ganymede or a Ceres or a Minerva gleamed wan and beautiful; beneath an ilex-tree a Bacchus leaned lightly on his marble thyrsus. It seemed as if all the hierarchy of Olympus had descended to dwell in this royal pleasure-ground at the bidding of the Roi Soleil.
Filled with the unrivalled beauty of the scene, Calvert at length turned away and, passing down the great flight of marble steps leading to the Orangery, slowly made his way into the park. The shadows were so dense here that the statues looked ghostly in the dim light. Now and then he could hear a low laugh and catch the flutter of a silken gown along the shadowy walks, or the glint of a stray moonbeam on a silver sword. He strolled about, scarcely knowing whither, guided by the sound of splashing water, and coming upon many a beautiful spot in his solitary ramble, among them that famous Bosquet de la Reine where the scoundrelly, frightened Rohan had sworn the Queen had stooped to him. He passed by the place, all unconscious of its unhappy history, and so on down a broad pathway toward the tapis vert.