The Maid of Maiden Lane

"I cannot," answered Cornelia. "After breakfast, I have to go to Richmond Hill with a message from my mother to Mrs. Adams; and though father will drive me there I shall most likely have to walk home. But I will come to you in the afternoon."

"Very well. Then in the morning I will go to Aunt Angelica's with the winders. I shall then have some news to tell you in the afternoon—that is, if the town makes us any."

And George, hearing these words, could hardly control his delight. For he was one of Mrs. Adams' favourites, and so much at home in her house that he could visit her at any hour of the day without a ceremonious invitation. And it immediately struck him that his mother had often desired to know how Mrs. Adams fed her swans, and also that she had wished for some seeds from her laburnum trees. These things would make a valid excuse for an early call, as Mrs. Adams might naturally suppose he was on his way to Hyde Manor.

He took a merry leave of Arenta, and with his mind full of this plan, went directly to his rooms. The Belvedere Club was this night, impossible to him. After the angelic Cornelia, he could not take into his consciousness the hideous Marat, and the savage orgies of the French Revolution. Such a thought transference would be an impossible profanation. Indeed, he could consider no other thing, but the miraculous fact, that Cornelia was going to Mrs. Adams'; and that it was quite within his power to meet her there.

"'Tis my destiny! 'Tis my happy destiny to love her!" he said softly to himself. "Such an adorable girl! Such a ravishing beauty is not elsewhere on this earth!" And he was not conscious of any exaggeration in such language. Nor was there. He was young, he was rich, he had no business to consider, no sorrow to sober him, no care of any kind to mingle with the rapturous thoughts which his transported imagination and his captivated heart blended with the image of Cornelia.

"I shall tell Mrs. Adams how far gone in love I am," he continued. "She is herself set on that clever little husband of hers; and 'tis said, theirs was a love match, beyond all speculation. I shall say to her, 'Help me, madame, to an opportunity'; and I think she will not refuse. As for my father, I heard him this morning with as much patience as any Christian could do; but I am resolved to marry Cornelia. I will not give her up; not for an earldom! not for a dukedom! not for the crown of England!"

And to these thoughts he flung off, with a kind of passion, his coat and vest. The action was but the affirmation of his resolve, a materialization of his will. To have used an oath in connection with Cornelia would have offended him; but this passionate action asserted with equal emphasis his unalterable resolve. A tender, gallant, courageous spirit possessed him. He was carried away by the feelings it inspired: and nobly so, for alas for that man who professes to be in love and is not carried away by his feelings; in such case, he has no feelings worth speaking of!

Joris Hyde allowed the sweet emotions Cornelia had inspired to have, and to hold, and to occupy his whole being. His heart burned within him; memories of Cornelia closed his eyes, and then filled them with adorable visions of her pure, fresh loveliness; his pulses bounded; his blood ran warm and free as the ethereal ichor of the gods. Sleep was a thousand leagues away; he was so vivid, that the room felt hot; and he flung open the casement and sat in a beatitude of blissful hopes and imaginations.

And after midnight, when dreams fall, the moon came up over Nassau and Cedar Streets and threw poetic glamours over the antique churches, and grassy graveyards, and the pretty houses, covered with vines and budding rosebushes; and this soft shadow of light calmed and charmed him. In it, he could believe all his dreams possible. He leaned forward and watched the silvery disc, struggling in soft, white clouds; parting them, as with hands, when they formed in baffling, airy masses in her way. And the heavenly traveller was not silent; she had a language he understood; for as he watched the sweet, strong miracle, he said softly to himself—

"It is a sign to me! It is a sign! So will I put away every baffling hindrance between Cornelia and myself. Barriers will only be as those vaporous clouds. I shall part them with my strong resolves—I shall—I shall—I—" and he fell asleep with this sense of victory thrilling his whole being. Then the moon rose higher, and soon came in broad white bars through the window and lay on his young, handsome, smiling face, with the same sweet radiance that in the days of the gods glorified the beautiful shepherd, sleeping on the Ephesian plains.

CHAPTER V

TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF

When Hyde awakened, he was in that borderland between dreams and day which we call dawn. And as the ear is the last sense to go to sleep, and the first sense to throw off its lethargy, the voices of men calling "Milk Ho!" and the shrill childish cries of "Sweep Ho!" were the first intruders into that pleasant condition between sleeping and waking, so hard for any of us to leave without a sigh of regret. These sounds were quickly supplemented by the roll of the heavy carts which purveyed the only water suitable for drinking and culinary purposes; and by the sounds of wood-sawing and wood-chopping before the doors of the adjacent houses—sounds quickly blending themselves with the shuffling feet of the slaves cleaning the doorsteps and sidewalks, and chattering, singing, quarrelling the while with their neighbours, or with other early ministers to the city's domestic wants.

These noises had never before made any impression on him. "I am more alive than ever I was in my life," he said; and he laughed gayly, and went to the window. "It is a lovely day; and that is so much in my favour," he added, "for if it were raining, Cornelia would not leave the house." Then a big man, with a voice like a bull of Bashan, went down the opposite side of the street, shouting as he went—"Milk Ho!" and Hyde considered him. He had a heavy wooden yoke across his shoulders; and large tin pails, full of milk, hanging from it.

"How English we are!" he exclaimed, with a touch of irony. "We have not thrown off the yoke, by any means—at Mr. Adams', for instance, I could believe myself in England. How exclusive is the pompous little Minister! What respect for office! What adoration for landed gentry! What supercilious tolerance for tradesmen! Oh, indeed, it confounds me! But why should I trouble myself? I, who have the most adorable mistress in the world to think about! What are the kings, presidents, ministers, knaves of the world to me? Let Destiny shuffle them back and forth. I am indifferent to whichever is trumps."

Then he fell into a reverie about his proposed visit to Mrs. Adams. Last night it had appeared to him an easy and natural thing to do. He was not so sure of his position this morning. Mr. Adams might be present; he was punctilious in the extreme, and a call without an invitation at that early hour might be considered an impertinence—especially if he had no opportunity to enlighten Mrs. Adams about his love for Miss Moran, and so ask her assistance. Then he began to doubt whether his mother was on sufficient terms of intimacy to warrant his speaking about the swans and laburnum seeds—in short, the visit that had seemed so natural and proper when he first conceived it, assumed, on reflection, an aspect of difficulty and almost of impropriety.

But there are times when laissez-aller carries all before it, and Hyde was in just such a mood. "I'll run the chance," he said. "I'll risk it. I'll let things take their course." Then he began to dress, and as doubt of any kind is best ended by action, he gathered confidence as he did so. Fortunately, there was no hesitation this morning in his mind about his dress. He was going to ride to Richmond Hill, and he was quite satisfied with his riding suit. He knew that it was the next thing to a becoming uniform. He knew that he looked well in it; and he remembered with complaisance that it was old enough to be individual; and new enough to be handsome and striking.

And, after all, when a man is in love, to be reasonable is often to be cowardly. But Hyde was no coward; so then, it was not long ere he put all fears and doubts behind him and set his musings to the assertion: "I said to my heart, last night, that I would meet Cornelia at Richmond Hill this morning. I will not go back on my word. Such fluctuability is only fit for failure."

When he was dressed he went to his hotel and breakfasted there; for the "cup of coffee" he had intended to ask of Mrs. Adams appeared, now, a little presumptuous. In the enthusiasm of the previous night, with Cornelia's smiles warming his imagination and her words thrilling his heart, everything had seemed possible and natural; but last night and this morning were different epochs. Last night, he had been better, stronger than himself; this morning, he felt all the limitations of social conveniences and tyrannies. Early as it was, there were many members and senators present—eating, drinking coffee, and talking of Franklin, or of the question of the Senate sitting with closed doors, or of some other of the great little subjects then agitating society. Hyde took no notice of any of these disputes until a man—evidently an Englishman—called Franklin "a beggar-on-horseback-Yankee." Then he put down his knife and fork, and looked steadily at the speaker, saying with the utmost coolness and firmness—

"You are mistaken, sir. The beggar-on-horseback is generally supposed to ride to the devil. Franklin rode to the highest posts of political honour and to the esteem and affection of worthy men in all the civilized world."

"I understand, I understand, sir," was the reply. "The infatuation of a nation for some particular genius or leader is very like that of a man for an ugly woman. When they do get their eyes opened, they wonder what bewitched them."

"Sir, what is unreasonable is irrefutable." With these words he rose, pushed aside his chair with a little temper, and, turning, met Jefferson face to face. The great man smiled, and put his hand affectionately on Hyde's shoulder. He had evidently heard the conversation, for when he had made the usual greetings, he added—

"You spoke well, my young friend. Now, I will give you a piece of advice—when any one abuses a great man in your presence, ask them what kind of people, THEY admire. You will certainly be consoled." With these words he took Hyde's chair; and Hyde, casting his eyes a moment on this tall, loose-limbed man, whose cold blue eyes and red hair emphasized the stern anger of his whole appearance, was well disposed to leave the scurrilous Englishman to his power of reproof. Besides, the badge of mourning which Jefferson wore had reminded him of his own neglect. Probably, it was the want of this badge that had made the stranger believe he was speaking to one who would sympathize with his views.

So he went at once to his tailor's and procured the necessary band of crape for his arm. But these events took time, and though he rode hard afterwards, it was quite half-past nine when he drew rein at the door of Richmond Hill. A slave in a fine livery was lounging there; and he gave him his card. In a few moments the man returned with an invitation to dismount and come into the breakfast-room. Thus far, he had suffered himself to be carried forward by the impulse of his heart; and he still put firmly down any wonder as to what he should say or do.

He was shown into a bright little parlour with open windows. A table, elegantly and plentifully spread, occupied the centre of the room; and sitting at it were the Vice-President and Mrs. Adams; and also their only daughter, the beautiful, but not very intellectual, Mrs. Smith. It was easy to see that the meal was really over, and that the trio had been simply lingering over the table because of some interesting discussion; and it was quite as easy to understand that his entrance had put an end to the conversation. Mrs. Adams met him with genuine, though formal, kindness; Mrs. Smith with courtesy; and the Vice-President rose, bowed handsomely, hoped he was well, and then after a minute's reflection said—

"We were talking about the official title proper for General Washington. What do you think, Lieutenant? Or have you heard General Hyde express any opinion on the subject?"

"Sir, I do not presume to understand the ceremonials of government. My father is of the opinion, that 'The President of the United States' has a Roman and republican simplicity, and that any addition to it would be derogatory and childish."

"My dear young man, the eyes of the world are upon us. To give a title to our leaders and rulers belongs to history. In the Roman republic great conquerors assumed even distinctive titles, as well as national ones."

"Then our Washington is superior to them. Let us be grateful that he has not yet called himself—Americanus. I like Doctor Kunz's idea of Washington best, but I see not how it could be put into a civil title."

"Doctor Kunz! Doctor Kunz! Oh yes, of the Dutch congregation. Pray what is it?"

"'And there came up a lion out of Judah.' My grandfather is an elder in that church, and he said the verse and the sermon on it lifted the people to their feet."

"That might do very well for one side of a state seal; but it is a proper prefix we need. I don't think we can say 'Your Majesty the President.'"

"I should think not," replied Mrs. Adams with an air of decision.

"Chief Justice McKean thinks 'His Serene Highness the President of the United States' is very suitable. Roger Sherman is of the opinion that neither 'His Highness' nor 'His Excellency' are novel and dignified enough; and General Muhlenberg says Washington himself is in favour of 'High Mightiness,' the title used by the Stadtholder of Holland."

"That would please the Dutch-Americans," said Mrs. Adams—"if a title at all is necessary, which I confess I cannot understand. Is it to be 'High Mightiness' then?" she asked with a little laugh.

"I think not. Muhlenberg, however, has seriously offended the President by making a joke of the proposition; and I must say, it was ill-timed of Muhlenberg, and not what I should have expected of him."

"But what was the joke?"

"Something to the effect that if the office was certain to be held by men as large as Washington, the title of 'High Mightiness' would not be amiss; but that if a little man—say like Aaron Burr—should be elected, the title would be a ridiculous one. The fact is, Muhlenberg is against any title whatever but that of 'President of the United States.'"

"And how will you vote, John?"

"In favour of a title. Certainly, I shall. Your Majesty is a very good prefix. It would draw the attention of England, and show her that we were not afraid to assume 'the majesty' of our conquest."

"And if you wish to please France," continued Mrs. Adams—"which seems the thing in fashion—you might have the prefix 'Citizen.' 'Citizen Washington' is not bad."

"It is execrable, Mrs. Adams; and I am ashamed that you should make it, even as a pleasantry."

"Indeed, my friend, there is no foretelling what may be. The French fever is rising every day. I even may be compelled to drop the offensive 'Mistress' and call myself Citoyenne Adams. And, after all, I do believe that the President regards his citizenship far above his office. What say you, Lieutenant?"

"I think, madame, that fifty, one hundred, one thousand years after this day, it will be of little importance what prefix is put before the name of the President. He will be simply GEORGE WASHINGTON in every heart and on every page."

"That is true," said Mrs. Adams. "Fame uses no prefixes. It is Pompey, Julius Caesar, Pericles, Alfred, Hampden, Oliver Cromwell. Or it is a suffix like Alexander the Great; or Richard Coeur-de-Lion. I have no objection to Washington the Great, or Washington Coeur-de-Lion."

"Washington will do for love and for fame," continued Hyde. "The next generation may say MR. Madison, or MR. Monroe, or MR. Jay; but they will want neither prefix nor suffix to Washington, Jefferson, Franklin,—and, if you permit me, sir—Adams."

The Vice-president was much pleased. He said "Pooh! Pooh!" and stood up and stepped loftily across the hearth-rug, but the subtle compliment went warm to his heart, and the real worth of the man's nature came straight to the front, as he looked, under its influence, the honest, positive, honourable gentleman that every great occasion found him to be.

"Well, well," he answered; "heartily, and from our souls, we must do our best, and then trust to Truth and Time, our name and our memory. But I must now go to town—our affairs give us no holidays." And then instantly the room was in a fuss and a flurry. No Englishman could have made a more bustling exit; and, indeed, even in his physical aspect, John Adams was a perfect picture of the traditional John Bull. His natural temperament carried out this likeness: high-mettled as a game-cock during the Revolutionary war, he was, in politics, passionate, dogmatic and unconciliating, and in social life ceremonious and showy as any Englishman could be.

After he had gone, Mrs. Adams proposed a walk in the lovely garden; and Hyde hoped then to obtain a few words with her. But Mrs. Smith accompanied them, and introduced immediately a grievance she had evidently been previously discussing. With a provoking petulance she told and re-told some slight which Sir John Temple had offered Mr. Smith: adding always "Lady Temple is very civil to me; but I cannot, and I will not, exchange visits with any lady who does not pay my William an equal civility." Enlarging and enlarging on this text, Hyde found no opportunity to get a word in on his own affairs; and then, suddenly, as they turned into the main avenue, Doctor Moran and Cornelia appeared.

Quite as suddenly, Mrs. Adams divined the motive of Hyde's early visit; she opened her eyes wide, and looked at him with a comprehension so clear and real that Hyde was compelled to answer, and acknowledge her suspicion by a look and movement quite as unequivocal. Yet this instantaneous understanding contained neither promise nor sympathy; and he could not tell whether he had gained a friend or simply made a confession.