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

by S. Weir Mitchell

  IV

  As they went northward on Front Street, with the broad Delaware to theright, for as yet no Water Street narrowed the river frontage, theGerman said: "I left out of my portrait gallery one Schmidt, but youwill come to know him in time. He has a talent for intimacy. Come, now;you have known him five years. What do you think of him?"

  More and more strange seemed this gentleman to his young companion. Heglanced aside at the tall, strongly built man, with the merry blue eyes,and, a little embarrassed and somewhat amused, replied with habitualcaution, "I hardly know as yet, but I think I shall like him."

  "I like the answer. You will like him, but we may leave him and time tobeget opinion. How dignified these Georgian fronts are, and the stoops!Once folks sat on them at evening, and gossiped of the miseries of war.Now there are changed ways and more luxury and a new day--lesssimpleness; but not among the good people we have left. No. They are ofthe best, and aristocrats, too, though you may not suspect it. The habitof hospitality in a new land remains. A lady with small means loses nosocial place because, like our hostess, she receives guests who pay.Here will come rich kinsfolk and friends, visitors on eventerms--Whartons, Morrises, Cadwaladers, Logans,--the old, proud Welsh,grandsons of Welsh, with at times Quaker people and the men in office,for madame is clever and well liked. I tell her she has a Quaker salon,which is not my wit, but true."

  "I had supposed Friends too rigid for this."

  "Oh, there are Quakers and Quakers, and sometimes the overseers feelcalled upon to remonstrate; and then there is an unpleasantness, and ourhostess is all of a sudden moved by the spirit to say things, and hasher claws out. And my rose, my rose Pearl, can be prickly, too."

  "She does not look like it, sir."

  "No? When does a young woman look like what she is or may be? She is agood girl--as good as God makes them; her wits as yet a bit muzzled bythe custom of Friends. A fair bud--prophetic of what the rose will be."

  They wandered on to Arch Street and then westward. "Here," said Schmidt,as they turned into the open entrance of a graveyard--"here I come atevening sometimes. Read that. There are sermons in these stones, andhistory."

  De Courval saw on a gray slab, "Benjamin Franklin and Deborah, hiswife." He took off his hat, saying as he stood: "My father knew him. Hecame to Normandy once to see the model farms of our cousin,Rochefoucauld Liancourt."

  "Indeed. I never knew the philosopher, but the duke--I knew the dukewell,--in Paris,--oh, very well, long ago; a high-minded noble. We willcome here again and talk of this great man, under the marble, quiet asnever in life. You must not be late for Wynne. He will not like that."

  Turning southward and walking quickly, they came in half an hour to thebusy space in front of Wynne's warehouse. He met them at the door, whereSchmidt, leaving them, said, "I leave you a man, Colonel Wynne."

  Wynne said, smiling: "I am no longer a colonel, Vicomte, but a plainmerchant. Have the kindness to follow me, Vicomte," and so passed onthrough a room where clerks were busy and into a small, neatly keptoffice.

  "Sit down, Vicomte. We must have a long talk and come quickly to knowone another. You speak English, I observe, and well, too. And, now, youhave a letter of exchange on me for five thousand livres, or, rather,two hundred pounds. Better to leave it with me. I can give you interestat six per cent., and you may draw on me at need. Have you any presentwant?"

  "No, sir; none--just yet none."

  "I am told that you left France for England and have had, pardon me,much to lament."

  "Yes, we have suffered like many others." He was indisposed to be frankwhere there was no need to say more.

  "What do you purpose to do? A few thousand livres will not go far."

  "I do not know. Anything which will help us to live."

  "Anything? You may teach French like De Laisne, or fencing like DuVallon, or dancing like the Marquis de Beau Castel. I offered him aclerkship."

  "Offer me one," said De Courval. "I write a good hand. I speak and writeEnglish. I can learn, and I will."

  Wynne took stock, as he would have said, of the rather serious face, ofthe eyes of gray which met his look, of a certain eagerness in the youngman's prompt seizure of a novel opportunity.

  "Can you serve under a plain man like my head clerk, run errands, obeywithout question--in a word, accept a master?"

  "I have had two bitter ones, sir, poverty and misfortune."

  "Can you come at eight thirty, sweep out the office, make the fires atneed in winter, with an hour off, at noon, and work till six? Such isour way here."

  The young man flushed. "Is that required?"

  "I did it for a year, Vicomte, and used the sword for five years, andcame back to prosper."

  De Courval smiled. "I accept, sir; we have never been rich, and I oughtto say that we are not of the greater noblesse. When our fortunes fellaway, I worked with our peasants in the field. I have no false pride,and my sword is in a box in Mrs. Swanwick's attic. I fancy, sir, that Ishall have no use for it here. Why gentlemen should prefer to teachFrench or dancing to good steady work I cannot understand."

  "Nor I," said Wynne, beginning to like this grave and decisive youngnoble. "Think it over," he said.

  "I have done so."

  "Very good. You will receive thirty dollars a month--to be increased, Itrust. When will you come?"

  "To-morrow--at eight and a half, you said."

  "Yes; but to-morrow a little earlier. The junior clerk you replace willtell you what you are to do, and for the rest Mr. Potts will give youyour orders. A word more: you had better drop your title and be plainMr. de Courval. When, as will chance, you go among our friends, it wouldbe an affectation. Well, then, to-morrow; but,--and you will pardonme,--to-day we are two gentlemen, equals; to-morrow, here at least, youare a simple clerk among exact and industrious people, and I the master.Let us be clear as to this. That is all."

  "I think I understand. And now may I ask how I may find the Frenchminister? There is a letter my mother would send to her cousin, and I amat a loss, for I fear there are no mails I can trust."

  "Jean de Ternant is the French minister, but he will hardly be likely tooblige a _ci-devant_ vicomte. They talk of a new one. Give it to me; Iwill see that it goes by safe hands." With this he rose and added: "Mrs.Wynne will have the honor to call on the vicomtesse, and we shall be ather service."

  "Thank you," said De Courval, a little overcome by his kindness. "Mymother is in mourning, sir. She will, I fear, be unwilling to visit."

  "Then my wife will come again. We may leave two good women to settlethat; and now I must let you go." Then, seeing that De Courval lingered,he added, "Is there anything else?"

  "Only a word of thanks, and may I ask why you are so good to us? Iam--sadly unused to kindness. There was not much of it in England."

  Wynne smiled. "I have heard a little about you--some things Iliked--from my correspondents in Bristol and London; and, Vicomte, mymother was French. When you visit us at Merion you shall see her pictureStuart made for me from a miniature, and then you will understand why myheart goes out to all French people. But they are not easy to help,these unlucky nobles who will neither beg nor do a man's work. Oh, youwill see them, and I, too, more and more, I fear. Good morning."

  With this the young man walked thoughtfully away. Hugh Wynne watched himfor a moment, and said to himself, "A good deal of a man, that; Schmidtis right." And then, having seen much of men in war and peace, "theremust be another side to him, as there was to me. I doubt he is allmeekness. I must say a word to Mary Swanwick," and he remembered certaincomments his wife had made on Margaret's budding beauty. Then he wentin.

  The thoughts of the young man were far from women. He went along theroad beside Dock Creek, and stood a moment on the bridge, amused at thebusy throng of which he was now to become a part. On the west side ofSecond Street a noisy crowd at a shop door excited his curiosity.

  "What is that?" he asked a passing mechanic. "I am a stranger here."

  "Oh, that's a van
doo of lottery shares. The odd numbers sell high,specially the threes. That's what they're after."

  "Thank you," said De Courval, and then, as he drew nearer, exclaimed,"_Mon Dieu!_" The auctioneer was perched on a barrel. Just below himstood a young Frenchman eagerly bidding on the coveted number 33. Notuntil De Courval was beside him was he disillusioned. It was notCarteaux, nor was the man, on nearer view, very like him. When clear ofthe small crowd, De Courval moved away slowly, vexed with himself anddisturbed by one of those abrupt self-revelations which prove to a manhow near he may be to emotional insurrection.

  "If it had been he," he murmured, "I should have strangled him, ah,there at once." He had been imprudent, lacking in intelligence. He felt,too, how slightly impressed he had been by his mother's desire that heshould dismiss from his life the dark hour of Avignon. More than alittle dissatisfied, he put it all resolutely aside and began toreconsider the mercantile career before him. He was about to give up thesocial creed and ways in which he had been educated. He had never earneda sou, and was now to become a part of the life of trade, a thing whichat one time would have seemed to him impossible. Would his mother likeit? No; but for that there was no help, and some of it he would keep tohimself. Thirty dollars would pay his own board, and he must draw onhis small reserve until he made more. But there were clothes to get andhe knew not what besides; nor did he altogether like it himself. He hadserved in the army two years, and had then been called home, where hewas sorely needed. It would have been strange if, with his training andtraditions, he had felt no repugnance at this prospect of a trader'slife. But it was this or nothing, and having made his choice, he meantto abide by it. And thus, having settled the matter, he went on his way,taking in with observant eyes the wonders of this new country.

  He made for his mother a neat little tale of how he was to oblige Mr.Wynne by translating or writing French letters. Yes, the hours werelong, but he was sure he should like it, and Mrs. Swanwick would, shehad said, give him breakfast in time for him to be at his work by halfafter eight o'clock; and where was the letter which should be sent, andMrs. Wynne would call. The vicomtesse wished for no company, and leastof all for even the most respectable bourgeois society; but she supposedthere was no help for it, and the boarding-house was very well, indeed,restful, and the people quiet. Would she be expected to say thou tothem? Her son thought not, and after a rather silent noon dinner wentout for a pull on the river with Schmidt, and bobbed for crabs to hissatisfaction, while Schmidt at intervals let fall his queer phrases asthe crabs let go the bait and slid off sideways.

  "There is a man comes here to pester Mrs. Swanwick at times. He goesout of the doors sideways, there, like that fellow in thewater--Monsieur Crab, I call him. He is meek and has claws which arecritical and pinch until madame boils over, and then he gets red like acrab. That was when Pearl had of Miss Gainor a gold locket and a redribbon, and wore it on a day when with Miss Gainor the girl was by evilluck seen of our Quaker crab.

  "But not all are like that. There is one, Israel Morris, who looks likea man out of those pictures by Vandyke you must have seen, and with thegentleness of a saint. Were I as good as he, I should like to die, forfear I could not keep it up. Ah you got a nip. They can bite. It can notbe entirely true--I mean that man's goodness; but it is naturallyperformed. The wife is a fair test of humility. I wonder how his virtueprospers at home."

  De Courval listened, again in wonder where had been learned thisEnglish, occasionally rich with odd phrases; for usually Schmidt spoke afluent English, but always with some flavor of his own tongue.

  The supper amused the young man, who was beginning to be curious andobservant of these interesting and straightforward people. There were attimes long silences. The light give and take of the better chat of thewell-bred at home in France was wanting. His mother could not talk, andthere were no subjects of common interest. He found it dull at first,being himself just now in a gay humor.

  After the meal he ventured to admire the buff-and-gold china in a cornercupboard, and then two great silver tankards on a sideboard. Mrs.Swanwick was pleased. "Yes," she said, "they are of Queen Anne's day,and the arms they carry are of the Plumsteads and Swanwicks."

  He called his mother's attention to them. "But," she said, of course inFrench, "what have these people to do with arms?"

  "Take care," he returned under his breath. "Madame speaks French."

  Mrs. Swanwick, who had a fair knowledge of the tongue, quickly caughther meaning, but said with a ready smile: "Ah, they have had adventures.When my husband would not pay the war tax, as Friends would not, thevendue master took away these tankards and sold them. But when theEnglish came in, Major Andre bought them. That was when he stoleBenjamin Franklin's picture, and so at last Gainor Wynne, in London,years after, saw my arms on them in a shop and bought them back, and nowthey are Margaret's."

  De Courval gaily related the tale to his mother and then went away withher to her room, she exclaiming on the stair: "The woman has goodmanners. She understood me."

  The woman and Pearl were meanwhile laughing joyously over the sad lady'scriticism. When once in her bed-room, the vicomtesse said that on themorrow she would rest in bed. Something, perhaps the voyage and all thisnew life, had been too much for her, and she had a little fever. Atisane, yes, if only she had a tisane, but who would know how to makeone? No, he must tell no one that she was not well.

  He left her feeling that here was a new trouble and went down-stairs tojoin Schmidt. No doubt she was really tired, but what if it weresomething worse? One disaster after another had left him with the beliefthat he was marked out by fate for calamitous fortunes.

  Schmidt cheered him with his constant hopefulness, and in the morning hemust not fail Mr. Wynne, and at need Schmidt would get a doctor. Then heinterested him with able talk about the stormy politics of the day, andfor a time they smoked in silence. At last, observing his continueddepression, Schmidt said: "Take this to bed with you--At night isdespair, at morning hope--a good word to sleep on. Let the morrow takecare of itself. Bury thy cares in the graveyard of sleep." Then he addedwith seriousness rare to him: "You have the lesson of the mid-years oflife yet to learn--to be of all thought the despot. Never is man his ownmaster till, like the centurion with his soldiers, he can say to joycome and to grief or anger or anxiety go, and be obeyed of these. Youmay think it singular that I, a three-days' acquaintance, talk thus to astranger; but the debt is all one way so far, and my excuse is thosefive years under water, and, too, that this preacher in his time hassuffered."

  Unused till of late to sympathy, and surprised out of the reserve bothof the habit of caste and of his own natural reticence, De Courval feltagain the emotion of a man made, despite himself, to feel how theinfluence of honest kindness had ended his power to speak.

  In the dim candle-light he looked at the speaker--tall, grave, the eaglenose, the large mouth, the heavy chin, a face of command, with now alittle watching softness in the eyes.

  He felt later the goodness and the wisdom of the German's advice. "Iwill try," he said; "but it does seem as if there were little buttrouble in the world," and with this went away to bed.

  Then Schmidt found Mrs. Swanwick busy over a book and said: "Madame deCourval is not well, I fear. Would you kindly see to her?"

  "At once," she said, rising.