The Red City: A Novel of the Second Administration of President Washington

by S. Weir Mitchell

  VII

  The years which followed our long struggle for freedom were busy yearsfor the mind of man. The philosophers in France were teaching menstrange doctrines, and fashion, ever eager for change, reveled in thenew political philosophy. The stir of unrest was in the air, among thepeople, in the talk of the salons.

  The Bastille had long since fallen, and already in the provinces murderand pillage had begun. The terrible example set by Jourdan late in '91was received in Paris with other than reprobation. He was to return toAvignon and, strange irony of fate, to be condemned as a moderate and todie by the guillotine amid the rejoicing of the children of his victims;but this was to be far away in '94.

  The massacres of August, '92, when the king left the Swiss to theirfate, all the lightning and thunder of the gathering storm of warwithout and frenzied murder within the tottering kingdom, had not as yetin this midsummer been heard of in America.

  After four years as our minister in Paris, Mr. Jefferson had long agocome back to add the mischief of a notable intellect to the party whichsincerely believed we were in danger of a monarchy, and was all forFrance and for Citizen Equality, who, as Hamilton foresaw, might cometo be the most cruel of tyrants.

  The long battle of States' rights had begun in America. The Federalists,led by Hamilton, were for strong central rule; their opponents, theRepublicans, later to be called Democrats, were gone mad in theirJacobin clubs of many cities, _bonnet rouge_ at feasts, craze abouttitles, with Citizen for Mr., and eagerly expecting a new Frenchminister.

  Washington, a Federalist, smiled grimly at the notion of kingship, andthe creature of no party, with his usual desire for peace, had made up,of both parties, a cabinet sure to disagree.

  To hear the clamor of the Jacobin clubs, a stranger coming among us in'92 might have believed us ruined. Nevertheless, Hamilton had rescuedour finance, assured a revenue not as yet quite sufficient, founded thebank, and assumed the State debts. The country was in peril only fromdisorders due to excess of prosperity, the podagra of the state. Therewas gambling in the new script, lotteries innumerable, and the verymadness of speculation in all manner of enterprises--canals, toll-pikeroads, purchases of whole counties.

  Cool heads like Schmidt looked on and profited. The Quaker merchants, nowise perturbed by the rashness of speculation, accumulated irredeemableground rents, and thriving, took far too little interest in the generalparty issues, but quietly created the great schools which are of ourbest to-day, endowed charities, and were to be heard of later asfearless Christian gentlemen in a time of death and despair, when menunafraid in battle shrank from the foe which struck and was never seen.

  In the early August days, madame had driven now and then with MistressWynne, and at present was gone, not quite willingly, to stay a while atthe Hill. Mrs. Wynne had called, and her husband, more than once, with aguarded word or two from his wife as to the manner of usefulness of hisyoung clerk. "Mind you, Hugh, let it be secretary. Do not hurt the poorlady's pride." So counseled Darthea, kindly wise, and he obeyed, havingcome in time to accept his wife's wisdom in many matters social andother.

  To the Hill farm came to call, on the vicomtesse, the Vicomte deNoailles, the prosperous partner of William Bingham; and, asked by theWynnes, Mrs. Bingham, to be at a later day the acclaimed beauty ofLondon; her kin, the Willings, with the gift of hereditary good looks;and the Shippens. The vicomtesse received them all with a certainsurprise at their ceremonious good manners and their tranquil sense ofunquestioned position. She would return no visits as yet, and her sonwas busy and, too, like herself, in mourning. In fact, she shrank fromgeneral contact with the prosperous, and dreaded for Rene this gay worldof pretty young women. _Ciel!_ What might not happen?

  On their part, they were curious and kind. Emigrant ladies were rare;but, as to foreign titles, they were used to them in the war, and nowthey were common since a great influx of destitute French had set in,and not all who came were to their liking.

  "There," said the German one evening, kindling a great pipe, "enough ofpolitics, De Courval; you are of the insatiably curious. We are to dineto-morrow at the fashionable hour of four with Mistress Wynne and themaid, my Pearl. It is an occasion of some worthiness. She has come totown for this feast, one of her freaks. Did ever you see a greatactress?"

  "I?" said De Courval. "No, or yes--once, in France, Mademoiselle Mars.We of the religion do not go to the theater. What actress do you speakof?"

  "Oh, women--all women; but to-morrow on the stage will be Miss Gainor,become, by pretty courtesy of possibilities declined, Mistress Gainor bybrevet--"

  De Courval, delighted, cried: "But your little Quaker lady--is she tohave a role? She seems to me very simple."

  "Simple! Yes, here, or at meeting, I daresay. Thou shouldest see herwith Friend Waln. Her eyes humbly adore his shoe-buckles--no, hisshoe-ties--when he exhorts her to the preservation of plainness ofattire, and how through deep wading, and a living travail of soul, lifeshall be uplifted to good dominion. It is a godly man, no doubt, and afine, ripe English he talks; and Arthur Howell, too."

  "I must hear them."

  "You will hear noble use of the great English speech. But best of allare the Free Quakers, like Samuel Wetherill, an apostate, says FriendPennington with malignant sweetness, but for me a sterling, well-bredgentle, if ever God made one. Ah, then the maid, all godliness andgrace, will take his hat and cane and, the head a bit aside, make eyesat him. Ah, fie for shame! And how we purr and purr--actresses, oh, allof them! There is the making of a Quaker _Juliet_ in that girl."

  "One would scarce think it. My mother is _eprise_--oh, quite taken withMiss Margaret, and now, I think, begins a little to understand thishousehold, so new and so wonderful to me and to her. But I meant to askyou something. I have part paid the queer doctor, and the bill, Isuppose, is correct. It is long--"

  "And large, no doubt."

  "And what with a new gown my mother needs and some clothes I musthave--"

  The German interrupted him. "De Courval, may I not help you, to whom Iowe a debt which can never be paid?"

  "Oh, no, no. I shall soon have more wages." He grew red as he spoke.

  "But why is money such a wonder thing that only some saleable articleshall count against it? I lack hospitality to entertain the thought."

  "Would you take it of me?"

  "I? Yes. I took my life of you--a poor thing, but mine own."

  "I think you had small choice in the matter," laughed Rene.

  "_Der Teufel!_ Very little. Let it be a loan, if you will. Come, now.You make me unhappy. I lend you five hundred _livres_--a hundred dollarswe call it here. You pay, when you can."

  De Courval hesitated. Was there not something ignoble in refusing akindness thus offered? Schmidt laughed as he added: "Reverse it. Put itin this fashion: good master of my fate, let me drown. I would owe nocoin of life to any. To end it, I put to-night in this left-hand drawermoney. Use it freely. Leave a receipt each time, if you like."

  "I am so little used to kindness," said De Courval, wavering.

  "I know," returned Schmidt--"bittersweet to some men, but should not beto the more noble nature."

  "No, no, not to me. I take it and gladly, but"--and once more hecolored, as he said with a certain shyness--"would you mind calling meRene? I--I should like it."

  "And I, too," said the German, as he put a hand of familiar kindlinesson the younger man's knee. "Now that is settled, and you have done meanother favor. I have an errand at Germantown, and shall join you atMiss Wynne's at four to-morrow. Are there any ships come in? No? Therewill be, I fear, evil news from France, and storms, storms that willroll across the sea and beat, too, on these shores. It will stir heresome foolish echoes, some feeble mockery of what over there criesmurder." De Courval had had too much reason to believe him. "Ach, I amsleepy. Shall you go to see your mother on Sunday? There is my mare atyour service."

  Yes, he had meant to walk, but he would be glad of the horse.

  When, on Saturday, Mrs. Swanw
ick knew that Schmidt had gone to thecountry, she said Margaret would walk with the vicomte, and show himthe way. He felt a fresh surprise, a little embarrassment. Young womenwere not thus free in France; but as he was the only one thus amazed, heset out with the Pearl in some wonderment at what his mother would havesaid or thought.

  They walked up Front Street, and at last along Fifth. She was now, asSchmidt had said, the other Margaret of whom De Courval had had briefknowledge at times. A frank, natural, gay good humor was in all herways, a gentle desire to please, which was but the innocent coquetry ofa young girl's heart. She stayed a moment as they crossed Walnut Street,and replying to a question, said: "Yes, that is the jail men called theProvostry in the war. My grandfather lay in it--oh, very long. We havehis sword in the attic. I would hang it up down-stairs, but Friendswould not approve, thou must know. And that is Independence Hall, butthou hast seen it."

  "Yes. Are you proud of it?"

  "Surely. My people shed our blood for what strong men did in that hall.My uncle and my grandfather came out of the jail to die, oh, both ofthem!"

  "And of what party are you, Miss Margaret?"

  "Of George Washington's," she cried. "But Friends must have no party, ortheir women, at least--not even tea-parties," and she laughed.

  "I think I am of your party," said De Courval--"George Washington's."

  The conventual shelter of the silk bonnet turned toward him as shesaid: "Then we agree; but I am not sure that I like people to agree withme. It spoils talk, Mr. Schmidt says."

  "Then I am all for Jefferson," he cried gaily, thinking in his grave waythat this young girl was of a sudden older than her years.

  "I am not sure that I like that either," she replied, and so chattingwith easy freedom they came to Miss Wynne's door, opposite the Quakers'burial-ground, where their dead lay in unmarked graves. A negro servantin the brown livery of the Wynnes opened the door, and Aunt Gainorappeared in the hall in more than usual splendor.

  "Good day, Vicomte," and to Margaret: "Take off your bonnet, child. Howcan any one, man or woman, kiss thee with that thing on thy head? Itmight be useful at need, but I do suppose you could take it off on suchoccasions."

  "For shame, Aunt Gainor!" said the Pearl, flushing and glad of thebonnet she was in act to remove. Miss Wynne kissed her, whispering,"Good Lord! you are on the way to be a beauty!"

  De Courval, who of course had called long since to thank his hostess,had so far dined in no one of the more luxuriously appointed homes ofPhiladelphia. Here were portraits; much, too much, china, of which hewas no judge; and tables for work that Miss Wynne never did, or forcards at which she liked high play.

  "Mr. Hamilton was to dine here, but was with me just now to be excused."

  "He was with my mother an hour this morning," said Margaret, "aboutsome small affairs we have in New York. He is to be here again onSaturday sennight to tell mother all about it."

  "I am sorry to miss him," said Gainor; "but if I lose a guest I desired,I am to have one I do not want. Mr. Josiah Langstroth has bidden himselfto dine with me."

  "Uncle Josiah? I have not seen him for a month."

  "There is a joss in the corner like him, Vicomte," said Miss Wynne. "Ifyou look at it, you will need no presentation. I pray you to avoid thetemptation of a look." Of course both young persons regarded, as shemeant they should, the china god on his ebony stand.

  "A reincarnation of the bulldog," remarked Gainor, well pleased with herphrase.

  "If," said Margaret to the young man, "thou dost take my aunt or UncleJosiah seriously, it will be what they never do one another. They fight,but never quarrel. My mother thinks this is because then they would stayapart and have no more the luxury of fighting again, a thing they dolove."

  "Are you sure that is thy mother's wisdom, Margaret?" said Gainor. "Itis not like her."

  "If I said it was mine, thou wouldst box my ears."

  "Did ever one hear the like?"

  The young girl occasionally ventured, when with aunt or uncle, uponthese contributions of observation which now and then startle those who,seeing little change from day to day, are surprised by the suddenfruitage of developmental growth.

  "I shall profit by Miss Swanwick's warning," said De Courval.

  Miss Wynne, who kept both houses open, and now would not as usual, onaccount of the vicomtesse, fill her country house with guests, had cometo town to dine Mr. Hamilton and to amuse herself with the young man. Itcannot be said, despite her bluff kindness, that De Courval altogetheror unreservedly liked her sudden changes of mood or the quicktransitions which more or less embarrassed and at times puzzled him.Upon his inquiring for his mother, Miss Wynne replied:

  "She is better, much better. You are to come to-morrow. You should comemore often. It is absurd, most absurd, that you are so tied to the legsof a desk. I shall speak to my nephew."

  "I beg of you, madame, to do no such thing. I am a clerk and theyoungest." And then a little ashamed of his shame, he added: "I sweepout the office and lock up at evening. You would cause Mr. Wynne tothink I had asked you." He spoke with decision.

  "It is ridiculous. I shall explain, make it easy."

  Then he said, "You will pardon me, who owe you so much, but I shall haveto be beforehand and say I do not wish it."

  "I retreat," said Miss Wynne. "I haul down my colors." He was quite surethat she never would.

  "You are again kind, madame," he returned.

  "I hear Mr. Schmidt and the joss," she said as she rose, while Margaret,unobserved, cast a thoughtful glance at the clerk. It was a new type toher. The gravity, the decisiveness, and the moral courage, although shemay not have so labeled the qualities, appealed to her who had proudlyborne the annoyances of restricted means among friends and kindred wholived in luxury. She had heard Schmidt say to her mother that this DeCourval was a man on the way to the making of a larger manhood. Evenyoung as she was, about to be seventeen in September, she had among theyoung Friends those she liked and some who were disposed to like her toowell; but this was another kind of man.

  When Schmidt entered, followed by Friend Langstroth, De Courval wasstruck by the truth of Gainor's reference to the joss. Short, very fat,a triple chin and pendant cheeks under small eyes, and a bald head--allwere there.

  "You are both late. My back of mutton will be overdone. The Vicomte deCourval--Mr. Langstroth."

  "Glad to see thee; meant to come and see thee. I was to give thee thisletter, Friend Schmidt. Mr. Wynne sent it. A messenger came up fromChester while I was with him at the counting-house. The _Saucy Sisters_was lying below for the flood."

  Schmidt glanced at it, hesitated a moment, and put it in his pocket asthey went in to dinner.

  "Any news?" asked Langstroth. "Any news from France?"

  "I do not know," said Schmidt. He had no mind to spoil the meal withwhat he knew must very likely be evil tidings. "It is from England," headded. Miss Gainor, understanding him, said: "We were to have had Mr.Hamilton. I think I told you."

  "I saw him at the office of the Secretary of the Treasury," saidSchmidt; "a less capable successor he has in his place. We talked muchabout the rage for lotteries, and he would stop them by a law."

  "He should let things alone," said Langstroth. "A nice muddle he hasmade of it with his bank and his excise."

  "And what do you know about it?" said Gainor, tartly.

  "Fiddlesticks! I know that a man who cannot manage his own affairs hadbetter leave larger things alone."

  "He has," said Schmidt quietly, "as I see it, that rare double gift, agenius for government and finance."

  "Humph!" growled Langstroth.

  Schmidt was silent, and took the Wynne Madeira with honest appreciation,while the young man ate his dinner, amazed at the display of badmanners.

  Then the girl beside him said in a half-whisper: "Fiddlesticks! Why dopeople say that? The violin is hard to play, I hear. Why do men sayfiddlesticks?"

  De Courval did not know, and Aunt Gainor asked, "What is that,Margaret?" />
  "I was saying that the violin must be hard to play."

  "Ah, yes, yes," returned the hostess, puzzled, while Schmidt smiled, andthe talk fell upon mild gossip and the last horse-race--and so on tomore perilous ground.

  "About lotteries," said Josiah, "I have bought thee a ticket, Margaret,number 1792--the lottery for the college of Princeton."

  "A nice Quaker you are," said Miss Wynne. "I see they forbid lotteriesin Massachusetts. The overseers of meeting will be after you."

  "I should like to see them. A damn pretty business, indeed. Suppose theewere to win the big prize, child." He spoke the intolerable languagethen becoming common among Friends. "Thee could beat Gainor in gowns."

  "I should not be let to wear them." Alas! she saw herself in brocadesand lutestring underskirts. The young man ignorantly shared herdistress.

  "There is small chance of it, I fear," said Gainor. "A hundred lotterychances I have bought, and never a cent the richer." And so the talkwent on, Langstroth abusing all parties, Schmidt calmly neutral, theyoung people taking small part, and regarding the lottery business asone of Josiah's annoying jokes--no one in the least believing him.

  At last the cloth was off the well-waxed mahogany table, a fresh pair ofdecanters set before the hostess, and each guest in turn toasted.

  Langstroth had been for a time comfortably unamiable. He had saidabusive things of all parties in turn, and now Schmidt amused himself byadding more superlative abuse, while Gainor Wynne, enjoying the game,fed Langstroth with exasperating additions of agreement. The girl,knowing them all well, silently watched the German's face, his zest inannoying Josiah unexpressed by even the faintest smile--a perfectactor. De Courval, with less full understanding of the players, was attimes puzzled, and heard in silence Schmidt siding with Josiah. "It wasmost agreeable, my dear," said Mistress Gainor next day to one of herfavorites, Tacy Lennox. "Josiah should of right be a gentleman. He hasinvented the worst manners ever you saw, my dear Tacy. He was like a madbull, eager for war, and behold--he is fed and petted. Ah, but he wasfurious and bedazed. Tacy, I would you had seen it."

  It was at last quite too much of a trial for Josiah, who turned fromGainor to Schmidt, and then to De Courval, with wild opinions, to whichevery one in turn agreed, until at last, beginning to suspect that hewas being played with, he selected a subject sure to make his hostessangry. A look of pugnacious greed for a bone of contest showed on hisbulldog face as he turned to Mistress Wynne. "This Madeira is on itslast legs, Gainor."

  "All of us are," laughed Schmidt.

  "It is hardly good enough for my toast."

  "Indeed," said Gainor; "we shall know when we hear it."

  Then Josiah knew that for her to agree with him would this time beimpossible. He smiled. "When I am at home, Gainor, as thee knows, Idrink to our lawful king." He rose to his feet. "Here's to George theThird."

  Gainor was equal to the occasion.

  "Wait a little, Josiah. Take away Mr. Langstroth's glass, Caesar. Go tothe kitchen and fetch one of the glasses I use no more because theHessian hogs used them for troughs when they were quartered on me inthe war. Caesar, a Hessian wine-glass for Mr. Langstroth."

  De Courval listened in astonishment, while Schmidt, laughing, cried, "Iwill drink to George with pleasure."

  "I know," cried Margaret: "to George Washington."

  Schmidt laughed. "You are too sharp, Pearl. In a minute, but for yoursaucy tongue, I should have trapped our Tory friend. To George thegreater," said Schmidt.

  The Quaker turned down his glass. "Not I, indeed."

  "I hope the poor man will never hear of it, Josiah," said Miss Wynne asshe rose laughing, and presently Schmidt and the young people went away,followed shortly after by Langstroth.

  For a while Margaret walked on in silence, De Courval and the Germantalking. At last she said: "Thou shouldst know that my uncle is not asbad as he seems. He is really a kind and generous man, but he loves tocontradict my aunt, and no one else can so easily make her angry."

  "Ah, Pearl, the Madeira was good," said Schmidt--"too good; or, rather,the several Madeiras. In the multitude of vinous counselers there islittle wisdom, and the man's ways would tempt an angel to mischief."

  Mrs. Swanwick, being alone, had gone out to take supper with a friend,and as Margaret left them in the hall, Schmidt said to De Courval: "Comein. I have a great package from Gouverneur Morris, from Paris. You mayas well hear what news there is. I saw your anxiety, but I was of nomind to have that imitation Quaker discuss the agony of a great nation."

  It took two months or more to hear from France, and each week added tothe gathering anxiety with which De Courval awaited news. He wasgrateful for the daily labor, with its steady exactions, which forbadeexcessive thought of the home land, for no sagacity of his friend or anyforecast that man could make three thousand miles away was competent topredict the acts of the sinister historic drama on which the curtain wasrising far away in France.

  As the German opened the envelop and set aside letter after letter, hetalked on in his disconnected way. "I could like some bad men more thanJosiah Langstroth. He has what he calls opinions, and will say,'Welladay,'--no, that is my bastard English,--he will say 'Well, at allevents, that is my opinion.' What means 'all events,' Herr Rene? A kickwould change them. 'T is an event--a kick. And Mistress Wynne issometimes not easy to endure. She steps heavily on tender toes, evenwhen on errands of goodness." The younger man scarce heard thesecomments as letter after letter was put aside, until at last he put downhis pipe, and Schmidt said: "I was sorry to keep you, but now this lastletter has it all--all. There is no detail, my friend, butenough--enough. He writes me all France is in a ferment. This is fromMr. Morris, whom our mobocrats loathe for an aristocrat. He writes: 'TheKing has vetoed two bills, one about the priests and one of lessmoment. La Fayette is in disgrace, and wants the surgeon's courage tolet blood. Worst of all, and I write in haste,' he says, 'a mob on June20th broke into the Tuileries and there, in the OEil de Boeuf, abutcher mocked the King to his face as Monsieur Veto. The King laughed,it is said, and set their damned bonnet on his head, and drew his sword,and cried "_Vive la nation!_" The war goes ill or well as you please;ill for all, I fear. Dillon was murdered by his own regiment after aretreat.'"

  "I knew him in the army," said De Courval. "I was young then. But theking--has he no courage? Are they all mad?"

  "No. He has not the courage of action. He has the courage to endure, ifthat is to be so nominated. The other is needed just now. That isall--all."

  "And too much."

  "Yes. Come, let us go out and fence a bit in the garden, and sweat outtoo much Madeira. Come, there is still light enough."