CHAPTER XXVII
A SPLENDID FAILURE
If it is easy to discover why there was no special embassy sent bythis government to Turkey for the purpose of inviting thedistinguished patriot Kossuth to visit America, (that matter beingconcluded in rather less formal fashion after the return home ofthe Hungarian committee of inquiry--a ship of our navy beingdespatched to carry him to our shores) it with equal ease may beunderstood why the Countess St. Auban after this remainedunmolested. A quaking administration, bent only on keepingpolitical matters in perfect balance, and on quenching promptly, asbest it might, any incipient blaze of anti-slavery zeal which mightbreak out from its smoldering, dared make no further move againsther. She was now too much in the public eye to be safe even insuppression, and so was left to pursue her own way for a time; thisthe more readily, of course, because she was doing nothing eitherillegal or reprehensible. Indeed, as has been said, she was onlycarrying out in private way a pet measure of Mr. Fillmore himself,one which he had only with difficulty been persuaded to eliminatefrom his first presidential message--that of purchasing the slavesand deporting them from our shores. The government at Washingtonperforce looked on, shivering, dreading lest this thing might fail,dreading also lest it might not fail. It was a day of compromise,of cowardice, of politics played as politics; a day of thatpolitical unwisdom which always is dangerous--the fear of ridingstraight, the ignorance of the saving quality of honest courage.Wherefore, matters went on thus, fit foundation now building forthat divided and ill-ordered house of this republic, whosepurification could only be found in the cleansing catastrophe offire so soon to come.
As to the unfortunate work in which this warm-hearted enthusiastthus impulsively engaged, small comment need be made, since itsfailure so soon was to become apparent to the popular mind. TheCountess St. Auban was not the first to look to colonization anddeportation as the solution of the negro problem in America. Butas the Colonization Society for more than a decade had failed toaccomplish results, so did she in her turn fail. In a work whichcontinued through all that spring and summer, she drew again andagain upon her own private fortune. Carlisle and Kammerer hadcharge of the details, but she herself was the driving force of theenterprise. While they were abroad lecturing and askingcontributions to their cause--taking with them the slave girl Lilyas an example of what slavery had done--she remained at Washington.They actually did arrange for the deportation of a ship-load ofblacks to Hayti, another ship-load to Liberia. A colony of blackswhose freedom had been purchased was established in Tennessee,others were planned for yet other localities. It was part of herintent to establish nuclei of freed blacks in different portions ofthe southern section.
In all this work Lily, late servant of Josephine St. Auban, assumeda certain prominence, this being given to her not wholly withwisdom. Although but little negro blood remained in her veins,this former slave had not risen above the life that had surroundedher. Ignorant, emotional, at times working herself into a frenzyof religious zeal, she was farthest of all from being a sober judgeor a fair-minded agent for the views of others. Yet in time hertwo guardians, Carlisle and Kammerer, unwisely allowed her more andmore liberty. She was even, in times of great hurry, furnishedfunds to go upon trips of investigation for herself, as one bestfitted to judge of the conditions of her people. As to thesedetails, Josephine St. Auban knew little. There was enough tooccupy her mind at the center of these affairs, where labors grewrapidly and quite beyond her original plan.
As is always the case in such hopeless enterprises, the expensesmultiplied beyond belief. True, contributions came meagerly fromthe North, here and there some abolitionist appearing who would dosomething besides write and preach. In all, more than a halfmillion dollars was spent before the end of the year 1851. Then,swiftly and without warning, there came the end.
One morning, almost a year after her return to Washington,Josephine St. Auban sat in her apartments, looking at a longdocument inscribed in a fine, foreign hand. It was the report ofthe agent of her estates in Prance and Hungary. As she read it thelines blurred before her eyes. It demanded an effort even of hersuperb courage fairly to face and meet the meaning. In fact, itwas this: The revolution of Louis Napoleon of 1851 had resulted inthe confiscation of many estates in France, all her own included.As though by concert among the monarchies of Europe, the heavy handof confiscation fell, in this nation and in that. The thrones ofthe Old World are not supported by revolutionists; nor arerevolutionists supported by the occupants of thrones. HerHungarian lands had followed those which she had owned in France.The rents of her estates no longer could be collected. Herrevenues were absolutely gone. Moreover, she herself was an exile.
She herself was an exile.]
Thus, then, had her high-blown hopes come to an end. It was proofof the splendid courage of the woman that she shed not a tear. Nota lash trembled as presently she turned to despatch a message forher lieutenant, Carlisle, to come to her. The latter was absent atsome western point, but within two days he appeared in Washingtonand presently made his call, as yet ignorant of what were hisemployer's wishes.
He himself began eagerly, the fanatic fire still in his eye, ondetails of the work so near to his soul. "My dear Countess," heexclaimed, even as he grasped her hands, "we're doing splendidly.We'll have the whole Mississippi Valley in an uproar before long.All the lower Ohio is unsettled. Missouri, Illinois, Indiana aremuttering as loudly as New England. I hear that Lily has led awaya whole neighborhood over in Missouri. A few months more likethis, and we'll have this whole country in a turmoil. It's boundto win--the country's bound to come to its senses--if we keep on."
"But we can not keep on, my dear Sir," she said to him slowly."That is why I have sent for you."
"How do you mean? What's wrong? Can not keep on--end our work?You're jesting!"
"No, it is the truth. Kossuth is in Turkey. Shall I join himthere? Where shall I go? I'm an exile from France. I dare notreturn to Hungary."
"You--I'll--I'll not believe it! What do you mean?"
"I am ruined financially, that's all. My funds are at an end. Myestates are gone! My agent tells me he can send me no more money.How much do you think," she said, with a little _moue_, "we can doin the way of deporting blacks out of my earnings--well, say asteacher of music, or of French?"
"I'll not believe it--you--why, you've been used to riches,luxuries, all your life! And I--why, I've helped impoverish you!I've been spending your money. A ship-load of blacks, against you?My God! I'd have cut my hand off rather."
She showed him the correspondence, proof of all that she had said,and he read with a face haggard in unhappiness.'
"There' There!" she said. "You've not heard me make any outcryyet, have you? Why should you, then? I have seen men lay downtheir lives for a principle, a belief. You will see that again.Should not a woman lay down her money?
"But as to that," she went on lightly, "why, there are many thingsone might do. I might make a rich alliance, don't you think?"
He suddenly stiffened and straightened, and looked her full in theeye, a slow flush coming across his face.
"I couldn't have said it any time before this," said he. "It hasbeen in my heart all along, but I didn't dare--not then. Yes, arich alliance if you liked, I do not doubt. There's a poor onewaiting for you, any time you like. You know that. You must haveseen it, a thousand times--"
She advanced to him easily and held out both her hands. "Now,now!" she said. "Don't begin that. You'll only hurt us both. Mylieutenant, visionary as myself! Ah, we've failed."
"But everybody will blame you--you will have no place to go--itwill be horrible--you don't begin to know what it means. Ofcourse, we have made mistakes."
"Then let's not make the worst mistake of all," she said.
"But we could do so much--"
She turned upon him suddenly, pale, excited. "Do not!" she cried."Do not use those words! It seems to me that that is what all menthink an
d say. 'How much we could do--together!' Do not say thatto me."
At this he sobered. "Then there is some one else?" he said slowly."You've heard some one else use those words? I couldn't blame him.Well, I wish him happiness. And I wish you happiness, too. I hadno right to presume."
"Happiness!--what is that?" she said slowly. "I've been trying tofind it all my life. My God! How crooked were all the mismatedplanets at my birth! I haven't been happy myself. I do not thinkthat I've added one iota to the happiness of any one else, I'vejust failed, that's all. And I've tried so hard--to do something,something for the world! Oh, can a woman--can she, ever?" Foronce shaken, she dropped her face an instant in her hands, hestanding by, mute, and suffering much as herself at seeing her thussuffer.
"But now," she continued after a time, "--I want to ask you whetherI've been ungenerous or vindictive with you--"
"Vindictive? You? Never! But why should you be?"
"Captain," she said easily, "my lieutenant, my friend, let mesay--I will not be specific--I will not mention names or dates; butdo you think, if you were a woman, you could ever marry a man whoonce, behind your back, with not even eagerness to incite him, butcoolly, deliberately--had played a game of cards for--you?"
He stiffened as though shot. "I know. But you misunderstand. Idid not play for you. I played to relieve a situation--because Ithought you wished--because it seemed the solution of a situationhard for both of us. I thought--"
"Solution!" She blazed up now, tigerlike, and her words camethrough set lips. "I'd never have told you I knew, if you hadn'tsaid what you have. But--a solution--a plan--a compromise! Youought to have played for me! You ought to have played for me; andyou ought to have won--have won!"
You ought to have played for me!]
He stood before a woman new to him, one so different from thegrateful and gracious enthusiast he had met all these months thathe could not comprehend the change, could not at once adjust hisconfused senses. So miserable was he that suddenly, with one ofher swift changes, she smiled at him, even through her suddentears. "No! No!" she exclaimed. "See! Look here!"
She handed him a little sheet of crumpled note paper, inscribed ina cramped hand, showed him the inscription--"Jeanne Fournier."
"You don't know who that is?" she asked him.
"No, I don't know."
"Why, yes, you do. My maid--my French maid--don't you remember?She married Hector, the cooper, at St. Genevieve. Now, see, Jeanneis writing to me again. Don't you see, there's a baby, and it isnamed for me--who has none. Good-by, that money!"--she kissed handto the air--"Good-by, that idea, that dream of mine! That's of noconsequence. In fact, nothing is of consequence. See, this is thebaby of Jeanne! She has asked me to come. Why, then, should Idelay?"
Whether it were tears or smiles which he saw upon her face Carlislenever could determine. Whether it were physical unrest or mentalemotion, he did not know, but certainly it was that the letter ofthe agent remained upon the table untouched between them whileJosephine St. Auban pressed to her lips the letter from Jeanne, hermaid.
"Why, I have not failed at all!" said she. "Have I not cared forand brought up this Jeanne, and is there not a baby of Jeanne, ababy whom she has named for me?"
Carlisle, mute and unnoticed, indeed, as he felt almost forgotten,was relieved when there came a knock at the door. A messengerbearing a card entered. She turned toward him gravely, and hecould only read dismissal now. Mute and unhappy, he hurried fromthe room. He did not, however, pass from the stage of activity hehad chosen. He later fought for his convictions, and sawaccomplished, before, with so many other brave men, he fell uponthe field of battle--accomplished at vast cost of blood andtears--that work which he had been inspired to undertake in a morefutile form.
"You may say to this gentleman that I shall join him presently, inthe parlor at the right of the stair," said Josephine St. Aubanafter a moment to the messenger.