Читать книгу The Golden Bees - Daniel Henderson - Страница 12
ОглавлениеJEFFERSON TO NAPOLEON
Thomas Jefferson, a tall, mild-mannered man with red, freckled face and gray straggling hair, had shut himself off from visitors to the President's House to chat with his friend from Baltimore, William Patterson.
The President's dress was surprisingly informal. He wore a blue coat, a thick gray-colored hairy waistcoat, green velveteen breeches with pearl buttons, yarn stockings, and slippers down at the heels. Merry, the British Minister, might sneer at his garb as a concession to the democratical party, but the homely dress warmed William Patterson's heart and seemed to invite confidences. And so the story of Betsy's marriage came out.
"These young people," sighed the President, "how they do insist on burning their fingers! I suppose, my friend, that you think because I won what our country considers a victory over Napoleon in the Louisiana affair, I can triumph in this affair of hearts. That is a battlefield of a vastly different kind, and the weapons are all in Napoleon's hands. However, I am interested in this marriage: I have, in fact, at the solicitation of Mr. Robert Smith, your good friend, already written a letter in your daughter's behalf."
He left the room to obtain a copy of the note, and William Patterson was left to smoke his pipe and recall "the Louisiana affair," hoping that, in this unfamiliar realm of love, a like victory could be achieved.
The President returned.
"My letter was sent," he said, "to Mr. Livingston, our Minister to France, who has the readiest approach to Napoleon."
The father, duly impressed that his private affairs had become an international matter, read:
"Dear Sir:
"A report reaches us from Baltimore that Mr. Jerome Bonaparte, brother of the First Consul, was yesterday married to Miss Patterson, of that city. The effect of the measure on the mind of the First Consul is not for me to suppose; but as it might occur to him, prima facie, that the Executive of the United States ought to have prevented it, I have thought it advisable to mention the subject to you, that, if necessary, you may by explanations set that idea to rights.
"You know that by our laws all persons are free to enter into marriage if of twenty-one years of age, no one having a power to restrain it, not even their parents; and that under that age no one can prevent it but the parent or guardian. The lady is under age, and the parents, placed between her affections, which were strongly fixed, and the considerations opposing the measure, yielded with pain and anxiety to the former.
"Mr. Patterson is the president of the Bank of Baltimore, the wealthiest man in Maryland, perhaps in the United States, except Mr. Carroll; a man of great virtue and respectability; the mother is the sister of the lady of General Samuel Smith; and, consequently, the station of the family in society is with the first of the United States. These circumstances fix rank in a country where there are no hereditary titles."
"From my heart's depths, I thank you, Mr. Jefferson," said William Patterson. "Forgive me that I must let this personal matter interfere with your public labors."
"You need not apologize for the delightful—and, if I may say so, amazing—Betsy," the President replied. "The marriage has become a matter of State, and so it becomes my duty to help you conciliate the First Consul. Let me, however, send a word of advice to young Madame Bonaparte—a word I will repeat when she brings her husband to dine with me. It is, let her not place too high a value on the institutions of Europe.
"During the years I spent in France, I discovered the truth of Voltaire's observation, that 'every Frenchman must be either the hammer or the anvil.' There is no class in America that is not happier now than the people of France. There intrigues of love absorb the younger, intrigues of ambition the elder. Conjugal fidelity is regarded by them as something provincial and ridiculous; there is no such thing known among them as the domestic felicity which prevails in America."
"So I have had reason to suspect," said William Patterson. "I wish I had called on you for help when I was trying to persuade my girl not to enter upon this mad marriage."
*****
Betsy tossed her rebellious head when Mr. Patterson repeated to her a part of the President's advice.
"My affairs," she said, "are not worthy of an oration from our President. Mr. Jefferson is so pronounced a Republican that he has blinded himself to the color and romance of the courts of Europe. You will not find his daughters talking in such a strain. Why? Because they saw Europe with the eyes of youth. Don't worry, Father—my life with Jerome in France will be even more pleasant and brilliant than I anticipate."
*****
In spite of her indignation at the President, Betsy was delighted when General Turreau, the French Minister, brought word that the President had invited Jerome and her to dine with him.
Jerome went in full naval dress, princely in gold braid and gold decorations, to be greeted by a simplicity that amazed him.
Mr. Madison met them—a calm gentleman with a penetrating blue eye. Betsy, with Jerome as her pattern of masculine beauty, tried not to show her horror of the Secretary of State's bald spot and protuberant stomach.
Escorted by the courteous Madison, the pair sought the President first in the hall of audience. The room was empty.
"Strange," murmured Mr. Madison, "but we'll probably find him in his study."
There the President was found, standing in slippers—his coat and pantaloons indicating to the young Frenchman's eye the carelessness of the scholar rather than the dignity of the statesman.
However, despite the plainness of this reception, the President's eye kindled as he chatted with the vivacious Betsy and the ardent stripling beside her. It delighted Jerome to have Mr. Jefferson converse fluently with him in French and to continue through dinner the conversation brilliantly begun.
At the dinner—served at four o'clock—the Bonapartes found the Virginia fashion of "Come one, come all, come again, keep coming and bring your friends," was observed, though the President could ill afford such lavish, unceasing hospitality.
The meal was served in a long dining-room, and the Bonapartes found a dozen guests besides themselves—congressmen, foreign notables, cabinet officers and their wives, plain and distinguished Americans and soft-voiced Virginia neighbors.
It amused Betsy to observe that a complaint against Jefferson's hospitality which she had heard the British Minister make was true. When dinner was announced, no escorts were assigned to the ladies. Mr. Jefferson took in Betsy and Mr. Madison took in the lady next to him, but the rest of the guests were left to shift for themselves.
At candle-lighting time came a late guest—a diminutive gentleman who was introduced by Mr. Madison as "Mr. Thomas Moore of Ireland, author of 'Odes to Anacreon'!"
The gentleman at Betsy's left had been forced to depart, and the newcomer dropped into the vacant seat and with an eagerness scarcely polite, emptied a wine-glass and passed his plate to a servant.
Moore's odes were unknown in America; he had not yet published the songs that brought him world fame. It was excusable that the company did not yield the poet the deference his proud, impetuous nature sought.
Betsy viewed him at first rather haughtily, but, discovering in him a fresh source of tidings concerning Europe, began to draw him out.
"Don't ask me for news of the isles, sweet miss," Moore said between mouthfuls. "It's from Bermuda I've come. Thank God, I'm delivered from that place, and have a deputy to perform my duties as Registrar of the Court of the Admiralty! Will you be insulted if I say that I go home after traveling through your country greatly disabused of democratic visions that haunted my youth?"
"Far from it," laughed Betsy. "Let me whisper to you—at the President's table—that I wish the Georges were still ruling this land!"
"Egad!" he remarked. "You're as lovely a rebel as you are a clever one. I should like to transplant so beautiful a flower as you, and see you blooming in an old English garden!"
"That may happen," said Betsy, "but probably the garden will be France!"
In low tones Moore spoke his vexation at the western world:
"I am completely disappointed in every flattering expectation I formed of your country. When I was first introduced to your President, he greeted me in slippers and Connemara stockings. Your unpolished society represses my hope of the future greatness of America. An illiberal zeal embitters your conversation. The Democrats exhibit vulgarity and rudeness that is imitated by the Federalists. It is no wonder that, in an epistle I sent yesterday to Lord Forbes, I wrote:
". . . even now, While yet upon Columbia's rising brow The showy smile of young presumption plays, Her bloom is poisoned, and her heart decays!"
Betsy, amused, glanced mischievously around the room, and saw that ears were strained to catch Moore's lines.
"Cease," she murmured, "or else you will be ridden out of Washington on a broomstick!"
"I hope for another occasion, dear lady," said the poet, "when I can read you a rhymed tale of my travels:
"O'er lake and marsh, through fever and through fogs, 'Midst bears and Yankees, democrats and frogs."
"I fear you are an ungrateful creature," Betsy tittered. "Sir, when we meet again, I prefer to hear you tell of English society, for I may soon be seeking an entrance there!"
"Glorious!" Moore said. "What a fine match you'd be for my dear friend, Lady Morgan. Permit me to send you some of her books. And I will send you a copy of my 'Odes to Anacreon,' too. When you go abroad, I shall stand at the threshold of England, waiting to welcome you to the isle that has been so hospitable to myself—a poor bard from Erin!"
*****
Betsy was delighted to note that her husband had captivated the company.
"Your family comes from Corsica, does it not," a lady addressed him. "Do tell us about those thrilling vendettas!"
"Madame," he answered, "while Corsicans can cherish hatreds and kill one another they yet venerate a first-class shot. A father, informed that one of his sons had been shot in a family feud, went to the place. On examining the body, he found that the three balls with which the gun was loaded had all entered the heart. His grief and rage yielded to admiration for such supreme skill. 'See,' he exclaimed, 'what a grand shot!'"
"As witty as he is handsome, Madame Bonaparte," drawled the President. "What a well-matched pair you are."
Turning from the radiant girl, he sought to lead the talk toward Napoleon. The purchase of Louisiana was mentioned.
"You have much reason for satisfaction," Jerome assured the President; "but on the other hand, it was not a bad bargain for my brother. I understand that he has said that 'sixty million francs is a pretty good price for a province of which he has not taken possession, and might not be able to retain for twenty-four hours.' He feels that in thus strengthening the power of your country he has given to England a maritime rival that will sooner or later humble her pride."
This conclusion, the company agreed with enthusiasm, was logical and true.
"But now," Mr. Jefferson whispered to Jerome as they rose, "I fear that you, with your marriage to our charming young friend, have placed upon Mr. Livingston, our Minister, and myself a greater diplomatic burden than our Louisiana negotiations."
Betsy, who had overheard, rested a slim arm on the President's shoulder.
"I am sure," she said with captivating grace, "we can trust the diplomacy of our Government, and the wisdom of our President, to bring it to as successful an end."
