Rival Caesars

by Desmond Dilg

  Then, she answered, hysterically and said unto him (and she looked rapturous and ravishing in her white ball-room gown with the jewels of her last husband flashing on her soft bare arms and in her glossy silken hair):

  “I feel, my beloved, that you are as wise as you are brave and courteous, and so much do I love you that (even though it pains my heart to part again) I agree to everything you say. But you are already famous. How nobly you fought at Quebec, Rhode Island and Hackensack.”

  Whereupon he drew her gently to him and kissed her on the lips again and again. She now felt herself in a seventh heaven and so did he. To each other they were all in all, the center of the world, at least for the time being. From one to the other streamed the great creative impulse. The shadow of the Eternal rested upon them there in the laurel grove, while outside, the world rolled on in its grim old tragic way.

  Alexander Hamilton and the Blood Compact were forgotten.

  “When the time is ripe I will marry you my beloved,” he whispered in her ear. “Even though my fortune remains unmade. Meanwhile I am still ambitious and the place of ambition is not in the bowers of ease and security, but in the forespent line of action. I will not betray my dreams of greatness. I will still go forward and be strong. Destiny calls me to “boot-and-saddle” not for nothing. It is now, not next year, nor the year after and after, that is the time to do things. Now is the day of judgment for me, my Theodosia; and you know I want to be a general.”

  Then she wound her arms about him and kissed him over and over, and with tears of burning passion running down her full soft cheeks she said:

  “May God protect you, my Aaron, where the angry bullets fly. May He lead you in safety and send you back unhurt and as bonnie as ever. Go Aaron, go, I will never selfishly prevent the man of my choice from realizing his ambitions. For I also am ambitious. I would that he whom I love should be mighty and great, not weak and mean. How grand and beautiful it is to be the wife of one who is noble and strong and held in high honor?

  “Go, my Aaron, go! Night and day my prayers shall be with you where the rifles rattle, where the bugles blow, where the red angels of death hover near.”

  Then they were enraptured of love—and parted. Stooping down for the last time, he lifted her head between his two hands, kissing her passionately, bidding her goodbye. (And the jewels of her last husband sparkled like stars.)

  “Goodbye, my love, goodbye.” She cried as if her heart would break in the wild welter of triumph and love and sorrow that strove and raged within her.

  He went out under the shade of a giant spruce tree where an orderly held his horse, a tall roan with pricked ears. (The chestnut he rode around the battlements of New York with Margaret Moncrieffe had long been killed in action, with “little Burr” on his back. A shell-fragment went plunging through his ribs near Ramapo Pass.)

  Mounting the big roan he rode off at a slow walk his head whirling with illimitable thoughts of love, war and ambition. Gradually the music from the ballroom windows died away behind him. On he went and on through the darkness. And as he rode, he soliloquized thus: (To soliloquize is a habit common to all men who ride and think much.)

  “She is a superb creature and will make me an excellent wife. I think no less of her because she made the first advances to me. It aids a man for a woman to show her preference. As for Hamilton, I still leave him an opening. If he can he is welcome to win her while I am away. He has every opportunity and I really don’t care much if he does win her. I do not love her in any overpowering way. Never have I stood in Hamilton’s light, nor do I intend to do so now; yet a secret something tells me that he hates me deep down in his heart, chiefly because of this woman whom I couldn’t escape if I had tried to. The more I know of Hamilton, the more I see he has a very ungenerous and jealous disposition. He positively hates to see excellence in any one but himself. I have a strong suspicion against him of late. He has Washington's ear, yet I do not obtain promotion. I must watch Hamilton. Nevertheless, I will keep my oath to him in all things. He knew the widow first and is therefore entitled to every consideration. She is bent on marrying me however, but I have made up my mind not to wed until she has unmistakably rejected Hamilton. How I wish she was Margaret. Then it would be all so different. I wouldn’t give Margaret up for any man. If a thousand oaths stood in the way (and I had power) she should be mine. What an infernal fool I was to let her leave New York. Ah, there I made a mistake. But, was it ‘mistake’ or was it destiny?”

  XIII

  The Battle in the Dark

  Sigmund turned him ack and fro;

  At every turn a man he slow.

  “O, Mrs. Provost, I have found you at last. I have been searching for you everywhere and could not find you. I thought you were lost or gone home.”

  The speaker was a young and distinguished looking officer in the bright green and gold artillery uniform of the Continental Army.

  It was Alexander Hamilton.

  Now the widow Provost (after Aaron Burr left her) remained in deep thought for some considerable time. After a while the moon arose over the tree tops flooding the place where she sat with a mellow white light. It was the rising of the moon that discovered her to Hamilton. As he approached, she was pensively leaning with her head between her hands and murmuring to herself: “O God, how I love my Aaron.”

  When Hamilton spoke, however, she raised her eyes without evidence of surprise and answered smiling courteously, at the same time, comparing him unfavorably in her mind to Burr.

  “Indeed, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, “what is the matter pray? I have been here for over an hour. The night air is so balmy and enchanting that the time slipped by on wings. It is delightful to be here amid the green laurels and yet within sound of the music.”

  “I agree with you as to the beauty of the night and its entrancing charm, and with your permission madam,” said Colonel Hamilton, gallantly, “I will seat myself by your side and also enjoy for a brief period the cooling air and the sweet strains of the music, the music that as you know has an occult effect in soothing heated minds. It is none too often I have the monopoly of your company. I would also ask your advice upon a matter of great moment to me.”

  “O, I shall only be too happy to be of any service to you, Mr. Hamilton. Now tell me your trouble Colonel, and I will be your father confessor.”

  Mrs. Provost instinctively knew what was coming, and in order also to know exactly how to treat Hamilton, she had brought the somewhat dilatory Burr to the point, beforehand. So she now spoke to Hamilton in a most coquettish and encouraging way, much to Hamilton's surprise; for on other occasions she had not been so gracious. He was all aflame with passion and hope as he again spoke.

  “My mind is stirred with many things, my dear madam, but that which absolutely wrecks my happiness and makes my days a continual misery, is this: I love a good and noble woman, and I know not if she loveth me in return. What then, shall I do. What would you advise me to do, Mrs. Provost?”

  “It is a very odd predicament for a gentleman to be in, Mr. Hamilton,” she answered, still smiling in her most alluring way. “Your trouble is commonplace and I think you exaggerate its importance. Why not go straight to the ‘faire damozel’ and tell her of your ardent love and then hear what your inamorata says. If she is a good and true woman, she will treat you with all due respect and take your avowal as the greatest honor that a man can pay a woman. I am sure, Colonel Hamilton's love is not very likely to be scorned by any sensible woman.”

  “Yes, I’ve been considering that for some time,” said Hamilton, “but am afraid she might possibly humiliate me by refusing, and then talk of it afterwards to my ridicule; for she is very attractive, very witty, and has many worthy and high placed admirers.”

  “Nevertheless,” answered the astute widow, “I still advise you to be straightforward and chance results. Be bold and to the point, Mr. Hamilton. Faint heart you know never won an empire or a fair lady. Faint heart wins nothing. You are a soldier and oug
ht to be courageous. Courage in the heart covers a multitude of sins. I’ve heard General Washington affirm that he once saw you at Harlem Heights, or Monmouth (I forget which) ride up to the cannon's mouth. Indeed, every one says you are a very brave man in battle, and women like the men they love to be brave in war—and in love reckless of all consequences. All women despise men who are too cautious. Boldness I tell you, is the high road to a woman’s heart, but not over-boldness. It is the same in love as in war, Colonel. Want of courage is the great inefficiency. A man without the manly qualities is never acceptable to even the tamest spirited woman. A timid man is utterly abhorrent to them. A woman likes to be besieged, beleaguered and stormed like a fortified city set on a hill.”

  “But when I have plucked up resolution on previous occasions,” said Hamilton, “it all evaporated when I drew near her. She is so cold. As soon as I approach her side my being is filled with an unaccountable dread as if I were walking over an open grave. Something tells me she intends to reject me, and if she does, I see my fate. My life is henceforth an arid waste.”

  “You alarm me, Mr. Hamilton,” replied the winsome widow. “I never believed you took women so very seriously. I always thought you were a student of Lord Chesterfield. Nevertheless, I do understand you. Perhaps you have some presentiment of evil as a result of your love. Perhaps you have a rival who would kill you for jealousy. Nevertheless take heart and be bold. What is to be, will be. If the open grave is there, you can’t escape it. You can’t evade destiny. Don’t be intimidated by a foreboding of future trouble. Be bold, I say, be bold. This is my advice to every man in love. The universe itself bends in homage before him who loves and wars and is strong. You are already a successful soldier and success in the field of Mars presages success in the groves of Cupid.”

  “But in this matter,” said Hamilton. “I feel a nameless instinctive cowardice—a mysterious involuntary timidity, and when I talk to her she speaks to me in such a business tone, so icily, so philosophically—and I see not the love-light in her eyes. I fancy she may love another man. I fancy that I must have a rival in her affections.”

  “Be not discouraged at that, Colonel. A woman in love often disguises her love effectively. She waits in ambush as it were to try her lover's spirit and ardor; or she pretends admiration for another in order to arouse his jealousy and stir his pride, and thus hasten a declaration. She appears outwardly as cold as ice, but deep down in her bosom mayhap a volcano boils. Perhaps she loves you all the time. Be bold, Colonel Hamilton; take my advice and fear not,” said Mrs. Provost laughing pleasantly, all the time calculating in her mind what words she would use to reject him without offending him.

  Encouraged by her demeanor and luring, laughing manner, Hamilton replied:

  “I will take your advice madame, I will do as you say” and (laying his hand gently on her shoulder) he spake impressively and with evident passion:

  “Thou art the woman, Theodosia.”

  “O, Mr. Hamilton,” she replied, demurely, pretending to be very much surprised. “This is so bewildering, so unforeseen,” and she struck his hand coquetishly with her fan.

  “But it is true,” he said ardently, drawing closer to her while she moved away a little from him. “It is God's truth. I love you, dearest Theodosia—I love you with all my being. I have loved you ever since you first landed in New York and brought me those letters from my darling mother in Nevis. My happiness is absolutely in your keeping. Day and night I think of nothing but of you. I love you passionately, devotedly, beyond any other woman I have ever known. My soul and body are yours to do with as you like.”

  Now, Mrs. Provost had not been married for twelve years without thoroughly understanding the male sex and all their ways. She was a well-informed woman (also the mother of two sons) and the affairs of the heart were to her as an open volume, which she had read and re-read from end to end. For years she had known that Hamilton loved her.

  On several occasions she had serious thoughts of giving him active encouragement and of ultimately accepting him. She admired him somewhat, and thought he would make a good husband in certain eventualities.

  But Burr, Aaron Burr, the idol of women, with his Satanic black eyes and cavalier style, had come upon the scene—with disastrous results to the wily widow's heart, to Hamilton's passion, and perhaps to Burr's own entire career.

  Burr's fascinating glance, mysterious odic force, enchanting grace of person and voice; and cultivated intellect, carried the widow by storm. She was dazzled, fascinated, lifted off her feet, as it were.

  The shrewd, calculating, but kind-hearted Mrs. Provost, became Burr's hopeless captive. And she had fully resolved (as we have already seen) to marry him.

  As before related, Madame Provost could not be called beautiful; and yet her face, though homely, possessed a nameless indescribable charm. She had rosy red lips, a dazzling pink and white complexion, glorious shoulders, superbly molded arms, a large but gently swelling bosom, the nobly curved hips of a Venus Medici, and a pose like unto that of a born queen. If ever the saying, “female form divine” could be truthfully applied to any woman’s figure, it could be applied to her's. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that men of the stamp of Burr and Hamilton were held in her thrall.

  Now, she felt sorry for Hamilton. She saw he spoke honestly and no feminine is ever deeply offended at the man who dares to love sincerely and energetically. With the instinctive sagacity of a true woman of the world she therefore thought: “He is the bosom friend of my beloved Aaron and he is also a power in the councils of General Washington. I must reject him therefore very diplomatically or else he may become through me an enemy to my betrothed.”

  Whereupon she replied: “You astonish me, Mr. Hamilton. You take away my breath. You, in love with me—me a plain old widow with two children—neither rich nor good-looking, nor young (and she pointed to the livid scar that marred the beauty of her cliff-like brow).

  “Nevertheless, I love you with all my heart and soul,” replied Hamilton, endeavoring to draw still closer to her. “I am your slave.” And he placed his hand on top of hers and drew nearer.

  “However,” answered she somewhat icily, “if I do not love you what then.”

  “O, pray do not say that,” spoke Hamilton tremulously. “But even so I will marry you just the same if you but say the word. Surely you can see that my love for you is beyond all question—it shakes my very being. My prospects are also in every sense bright— my future is assured. The Commander-in-Chief is my personal friend. I want a wife and you are the woman I have chosen. Will you marry me, Theodosia, and make me happy forever?”

  The widow looked down, tried to blush, and half succeeded. Then with emphasis she replied:

  “Mr. Hamilton, I cannot love you as you deserve to be loved, and I therefore can never marry you, but I respect you as a gentleman and a friend.”

  “You love another man,” answered Hamilton inquiringly, and his brow clouded while the gleam of jealousy (natural to him) fairly shot from his eyes.

  “To be frank with you, Mr. Hamilton, I do. It is my dearest hope to be the wife of another man. Your love for me therefore must go no farther, but you are still I hope my kind friend—and the son of my dearest cousin in the Isle of Nevis. O, Mr. Hamilton, let us continue our friendship, but let us no longer talk of love.” And she gently removed his hand from her own.

  Hamilton's brow contracted savagely and he replied with half-suppressed, but very evident bitterness:

  “I had suspected this, madame. Colonel Burr has taken you from me. I know his deft handiwork. Something tells me it is he who has crossed me. He thwarts me at every turn. You have never been the same to me since you met him.”

  “Colonel Burr,” she replied smoothly, “is a man whom I love and honor. He is my dear friend also, and you must not be offended at him. It is my wish to be his wife. Don’t look so terribly at me, Colonel Hamilton, don’t, pray don’t. Let not my confession prey upon your mind in that way. Are there
not numbers of splendid young women in Albany only waiting to be wooed and won? All of them want husbands. Now come, let me introduce you to the lovely Leah Roosevelt (daughter of the wealthy banker) also the latest arrivals, those two vivacious Oglethorpe girls from Georgia. Then there is my own sister Miss De Visme; the four rich Livingston girls, Miss Van Wyck, Miss Naomi Hann; also the delightful and famous Betsy Schuyler. Now Mr. Hamilton, after all, is not dear Miss Betsy your ideal?”

  Here the widow looked archly at him and continued: “Now Mr. Hamilton, don’t be so dreadfully gloomy. Is there not as good fish in the sea as ever came out. Come, let us go inside, or they’ll wonder where I’ve gone to. I have four dances promised, one to General Washington and one to Marquis De Lafayette, and I am sure you must also want to have another dance with the dear Miss Betsy?”

  And so they arose and walked away, side by side, through the avenue of lamp-lit trees up a flight of oaken steps into the vestibule of the old time ballroom. Here a string band played dance tunes and patriotic music, and more than 50 couples representing the wealthiest Revolutionary families, promenaded the flag-festooned hall.

  On the walls hung shot-torn banners stained with the blood of men, and at the inner end of the hall were two small guns whose trunnions had been smashed off in battle.

  The men were in bright uniforms with light dress swords, and wore silver buckles brightly sparkling on their shoes. In the hair and around the necks of the well-dressed women costly jewels shone. All was going as pleasantly as the proverbial marriage bell. Men and women were busy making love to each other (or planning war) even as in “the beginning.” As Mrs. Provost entered the ball room with Hamilton she said unto him jocosely: