It was to that unhappy land of France that Mr. Jefferson had come almost five years before on a mission for Congress. For some time it had been the most cherished design of that body of patriots to establish advantageous commercial treaties with the European powers, thereby securing to America not only material prosperity, but, more important still, forcing our recognition as a separate and independent power, and creating for the new confederation of states a place among the brotherhood of nations. Confident that Mr. Jefferson's astuteness, erudition, and probity would make a powerful impression upon those whom it was so much to our interest to attach to us, Congress had, on the 7th day of May, 1784, appointed him Minister Plenipotentiary for the negotiation of foreign commercial treaties. Dr. Franklin and Mr. Adams, his co-workers, were already eagerly awaiting him in Paris.
But, great as was Mr. Jefferson's patriotic interest in the cause he was to represent at the court of Louis XVI., his exile from Monticello was very painful to him. The recent death of his wife there, and the youth of the two children he was to leave, bound him to the place. Having also very clearly in mind Mr. Jay's and Dr. Franklin's disappointments and bickerings in London in the same cause of commercial treaties, he looked forward with growing distaste to the difficulties and diplomatic struggles before him; for Mr. Jefferson was always more ready to lead than to combat. Perhaps, too, he did not relish the idea that although in his own country no one was more generally famed for talents and learning than himself, in Paris, amid that brilliant throng of savants and courtiers, he would be but a simple Virginia gentleman without prestige or reputation. And, moreover, he feared that his plain, democratic manners and principles—which he scorned to alter for anyone—would be but ill-suited to the courtly life of Versailles. For it must be owned that Mr. Jefferson's democracy, like his learning, was a trifle ostentatious, and became more so as he grew older. Surely, though, such blemishes are not incompatible with greatness of character, but only serve to make a great man more lovable and human. And as for Mr. Jefferson, if he had not been blessed with some such harmless frailties, he had seemed almost more than mortal with his great learning, his profound, if often impracticable, philosophy, and his deathless patriotism. Such as he was, Mr. Jefferson was greatly beloved, and many of his warmest friends and admirers foregathered at Monticello on the evening of the 23d of May, 1784, to bid him farewell ere he should set out the next day on his long journey to Boston, from which port he was to sail for France. As he stood on the north portico of Monticello, awaiting his guests and looking long and lovingly at the beautiful view of mountain and valley spread before him, he made a striking, not easily forgotten, picture. The head, lightly thrown back, with its wavy, sandy hair worn short, and the finely chiselled profile were cameo-like in their classical regularity. The lithe, meagre form, well dressed in blackcloth coat and knee breeches, white waistcoat and ruffles of finest linen, black silk stockings and silver-buckled shoes, was energetic, graceful, and well proportioned. With such a physique it was not wonderful that Mr. Jefferson was famous as shot, horseman, and athlete, even among such noted sportsmen as Virginia could boast of by the score in the latter part of the eighteenth century. Suddenly he lowered his head and, withdrawing his gaze from the mountains, looked about him with an impatient little sigh.
"I am a savage! Savage enough to prefer the woods and streams and independence of my Monticello to all the brilliant pleasures which Paris will offer me. I could find it in my heart to wish that Congress had never urged upon me this mission abroad. But I have always tried to serve my country at my country's call, and I shall continue to serve her, though it take me from home and family and friends. Instead of repining at this exile to France—for how long I do not know—I should be thankful for this last beautiful evening at Monticello and for the friends who are come to bid me farewell. I wonder that the Marquis does not arrive. I have much of importance to discuss with him."
Mr. Jefferson had no greater admirer than the Marquis de Lafayette, whose arrival he so impatiently awaited. He had affairs of weight to talk over with the young Frenchman—letters of introduction to statesmen with whom Lafayette was most intimate, notes on commercial affairs of France, messages to friends, drafts on bankers in Paris, and a host of details on the present state of politics in France with which he wished to become acquainted before presenting himself at the French court, and which Lafayette, but lately returned from France, could amply furnish him. And after business should have been finished, Mr. Jefferson was looking forward with keen delight to all that the observant, cultured young nobleman might have to tell him of the progress in the Parisian world of sciences, art, and music (for Mr. Jefferson was an amateur of music), and of those adventures which had attended his triumphal return to America. 'Twas at General Washington's invitation that Monsieur de Lafayette was re-visiting, after only three years' absence, the greatful states where he had first, and so gloriously, embarked in the cause of liberty, and the warmth of his welcome at Mount Vernon—where indeed Mr. Jefferson's note, inviting him to Monticello, reached him—would alone have repaid him for the long journey had all other honors been denied him. But his progress through the states had been one triumph, marked by lavish fêtes and civic parades, not so magnificent, it is true, as those tendered him on his last visit to our country, but still forming an almost unparalleled tribute of affection and respect from a nation to an individual. Young men of the highest position and family attached themselves to his retinue and rode with him from city to city, leaving him only to be replaced by other friends and enthusiastic admirers. Even as Mr. Jefferson stood upon the portico of Monticello, Monsieur de Lafayette was approaching, with his escort, riding hard and joyfully in the gathering twilight to reach there in time to see his illustrious friend before he should set out for Boston.
In the meantime guests were arriving rapidly, horseback or in handsome, high-panelled coaches drawn by four horses (such as Colonel Cary of Ampthill boasted), and the negro grooms were busy stabling them. In the house servants were moving about, lighting the fragrant wax candles of myrtle-berry and seeing to the comfort of the guests. The narrow stairway could hardly accommodate the rustling, voluminous brocades that swept up and down them above the clicking, high-heeled shoes and dainty, silver-clocked stockings. But there was room for all in the beautiful octagonal hall, thirty feet square, and in the long saloon parlor, the cost of whose inlaid satin and rosewood floor had somewhat scandalized Mr. Jefferson's less wealthy and less artistic neighbors.
It were hard indeed to get together a gathering of more beautiful women or more courtly, distinguished gentlemen than was assembled that evening at Monticello. Among the latter were many of those men who had helped to make America what she was; lawgivers, soldiers, tried statesmen who had been of that famous Congress of '75, of which my Lord Chatham, in a burst of uncontrollable enthusiasm, had declared that "its members had never been excelled in solidity of reasoning, force of sagacity, and wisdom of conclusion."
The Virginia beauties, if less modish and extravagant, as a rule, than the belles of Philadelphia and New York, yielded to none in aristocratic loveliness and grace and dignity of bearing. In the eyes of Mr. Jefferson their very naturalness made them more attractive, and perhaps it was for her sweet freshness and shy beauty that he gave the palm of loveliness to Miss Molly Crenshawe, who had ridden over on a pillion behind her brother from her father's neighboring estate of Edgemoor, attended by young Carter of Redlands, who was never far away from her if he could help it. A less partial judge than Mr. Jefferson, however, would have found it hard to decide that she was more lovely than her dearest friend, the bewitching Miss Peggy Gary, who had driven over early in the day from Ampthill with her father, Colonel Archibald Gary.
Talking and laughing, the two young girls rustled down the stairs and across the broad hall to the entrance of the saloon parlor, where Mr. Jefferson and his sister, the lovely widow Carr, were standing, greeting their guests. The courtesies which the young ladies swept their host and hostess were marvels of grace and dexterity, and were noted with approval by the young gentlemen who lined the walls or talked to the ladies already foregathered. Some of those same young gentlemen fairly rivalled the ladies in richness of attire, following the elaborate fashions of dress which General Washington had encouraged by his own example. For the most part they were the sons of wealthy farmers and planters, shorn perhaps of some of their pre-Revolutionary splendor, but still aristocrats in bearing and feeling; young sporting squires who indulged in cock-fighting and horse-racing; rising lawyers, orators, all bearing the marks of good birth and good breeding.
Among the crowd of gayly dressed young gentlemen was one who was especially noticeable. His handsome face wore a rather reckless, petulant expression, which, however, could not conceal a certain brightness and fire of genius that at moments eclipsed the irritable look and rendered his countenance unusually attractive. It was Gilbert Stuart, the young portrait painter, but recently returned from England, where he was famed both as artist and wit. It was even said by his admirers (and indeed Mr. Adams had but lately written it home from London) that there his fame and following were the equal of his master's, Benjamin West's, or even Sir Joshua Reynolds's.
The scene in Mr. Jefferson's drawing-room was becoming more and more animated. The guests had nearly all assembled and were thronging the parlor and great hall beneath the brilliant light of many candles. From the music-gallery overhead the sounds of flute and violin in tentative accord were beginning to be heard. The musicians were some of Mr. Jefferson's slaves who had shown marked ability and whom he himself had instructed in the art. They had proved themselves apt pupils and could play excellently airs for the minuet and Virginia reel. Mr. Jefferson was never happier than when Monticello was thronged with gay dancers, nor was he an indifferent votary of Terpsichore himself. Indeed, many were the balls and assemblies he attended during his student days in Williamsburg, many the nights he danced away with "Belinda" and other fair ones. And so when the music for the irresistible Virginia reel struck up, Mr. Jefferson was first on the floor with Miss Molly Crenshawe. They were quickly followed by other couples, until the opposite lines of dancers extended half-way down the sides of the long drawing-room. Up and down they went to the gay music, under the bright light, misty with powder shaken from flying curls.
Suddenly, as Mr. Stuart was advancing with out-stretched hands to swing Miss Gary, there was a blare of horns and a chorus of "hellos" from without, mingled with the sound of horses galloping up the avenue. The dancers ceased their courtesying and stately step, the music stopped, and Mr. Jefferson hurried to the portico in time to greet the young Marquis de Lafayette and his escort as they flung themselves off their hot mounts. Every head was uncovered as the young Frenchman affectionately embraced Mr. Jefferson, and greetings and acclamations went up from the throng of guests as they appeared at the entrance.
'Twas not wonderful that Mr. Jefferson, like General Washington, Colonel Hamilton, General Greene, and so many others of our distinguished patriots, was captivated by this young nobleman, and could the jealous ones who asserted that they were dazzled by his rank and awed and flattered into giving him more than he merited but have seen him in the first flush of his glory and young manhood they, too, would have found his charm irresistible. Indeed, to Mr. Jefferson he was always the hero, the man of genius and spotless patriotism, though many, in after years, grew to distrust his powers and motives.
As Monsieur de Lafayette stood there at the door of the drawing-room, smiling and bowing after his own graceful fashion, there was a bright daring, a gay gallantry in the expression of his youthful face—he was but six and twenty and major-general, diplomat, and friend of philosophers—that won all hearts; and though the countenance was not handsome, the broad, slightly receding forehead, straight nose, and delicate mouth and chin gave to it a very distinguished appearance. The three-cornered continental hat which he swept to the ground before the ladies disclosed a flaming red head, the hair slightly powdered and tied back with a black ribbon. His tall figure—he was of equal height with Mr. Jefferson, who was over six feet—was enveloped in a light riding-coat with short capes over the shoulders, which, when he threw it off, disclosed to view the uniform of a major-general of continental dragoons. Just behind him stood two of his suite, his young kinsman, the devil-may-care Vicomte de Beaufort, and the Vicomte d'Azay, a brave young French officer who had served with Beaufort under Rochambeau and had been present before Yorktown.
Mr. Jefferson advanced to the centre of the room with his guests.
"My friends," he said, "this is one of the proudest and happiest moments of my life. Monticello shelters for the first time-America's illustrious ally and devoted soldier, the Marquis de Lafayette, and his fellow-countrymen and officers, Messieurs les Vicomtes de Beaufort and d'Azay. I salute them for you!" Turning, he embraced the three young men, and then, placing his hand on the Marquis's arm, he led him to Mrs. Carr.
"Madame," he said, "I leave the Marquis in your hands for the present."
He went back to the two young officers, and taking them each by an arm
he led them about the room, introducing them to many, of the company.
Finally, leaving them to the tender mercies of Miss Crenshawe and Miss
Peggy Gary, he returned once more to look after the rest of Monsieur de
Lafayette's escort.
As he did so he noticed at the door two young men who were quietly making their way into the room. The elder—who might have been twenty-six or seven—was dark, with brilliant eyes and an alert, almost restless manner, while the younger, who was scarcely more than a boy, not over nineteen, was fair, with deep blue eyes, reflective and calm, and a quiet dignity and strength of manner that in some fashion was not unsuited to his youth. Both were slender, wellbuilt, and rather under than over middle height. Mr. Jefferson hastened to them and shook hands warmly with the elder gentleman.
"My dear Colonel Hamilton, this is an unexpected pleasure and honor. Welcome to Monticello!" and then turning to the youth and laying a hand affectionately on his shoulder, he cried, gayly:
"My dear Ned, when did you come and why have I not seen you before?"
"Sir," replied the young man, respectfully, "we have but just arrived in Monsieur de Lafayette's company, and, feeling myself at home, I stayed without a few moments to give some orders about the stabling of the horses. Colonel Hamilton was kind enough to remain with me. Will you pardon our delay and assurance?"
"My dear boy, as you well know, I am only too happy to have you look upon Monticello as your other home, and every servant and horse upon the place is at your disposal. But how did you two happen to fall in with the Marquis?"
"Both Colonel Hamilton and myself were passing a few days at Mount Vernon by invitation of General Washington, when news that the Marquis was coming reached him. The General insisted that we should remain to see Monsieur de Lafayette, so we were still at Mount Vernon when your note asking his attendance here was received by him. Sure of my old welcome at Monticello, I determined to accompany him on his journey. As for Colonel Hamilton, he is charged with important affairs for you, sir."
"'Tis an ill wind that blows nobody good, Colonel," said Mr. Jefferson, smiling, "and I shall certainly not call even business an ill wind since it has blown you hither."
"There is a better reason still, Mr. Jefferson," replied Mr. Hamilton, "for I came on business of General Washington's, and never yet blew ill wind from that quarter."
"Then you are doubly welcome, my dear Colonel," rejoined Mr. Jefferson, heartily.
"Thank you, Mr. Jefferson," said Mr. Hamilton. "Besides the business I am charged with, which relates to the commercial treaties with Flanders, and which I hope to have the honor of discussing with you fully before your departure, I bear General Washington's greetings and best wishes for your welfare and the success of your difficult mission. It would have given him the greatest pleasure to convey these in person, and, indeed, I think he would have been tempted to make the journey to Monticello himself to see you had he not expected a visit from Mr. Gouverneur Morris, who, I doubt not, is at Mount Vernon by this time."
"Mr. Morris!" exclaimed Mr. Jefferson. "And what has brought Mr. Morris to Virginia?"
"General Washington's invitation to discuss with him a plan to urge the necessity of a new convention upon Congress. They have been warm personal friends, as you doubtless know, ever since Mr. Morris visited the camp at Valley Forge, and later drafted such admirable plans for raising money to relieve the troops. General Washington feels affection for him as a friend and the greatest respect for him as a financier."
"He is indeed the possessor of many and varied talents," assented Mr. Jefferson, though without any, great show of enthusiasm. "Mr. Madison admires him, and was remarking but yesterday that 'to the brilliancy of his genius is added what is too rare—a candid surrender of his opinions when the lights of discussion satisfied him.' I own that the eulogy seems a trifle overdrawn to me. He is a thought too much the aristocrat and society man," he added, coldly. "Have you ever seen him, Ned? No? He is a striking figure, especially since he had the vast misfortune some years ago to lose a leg in a runaway accident."
"He consoles himself by saying he will be a steadier man with one than with two legs," laughed Mr. Hamilton. "But, seriously, Ned," he continued, turning to the younger man, "he has a magnificent mind and is a great financier."
While he spoke, Mr. Jefferson smiled dubiously, for he considered Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Morris to be dangerously alike as financiers. As for the youth addressed, he listened with his customary quiet attention to the conversation, though he little dreamed how great his own interest in Mr. Morris was to be in after years and how closely they were to be bound together.
"But come, sirs," suddenly exclaimed Mr. Jefferson, "our discussion of Mr. Morris's good points must wait, for I see Mrs. Carr looking at you, Colonel. If you will pay your respects to her, I will be with you in a few moments. As for you, sir," he went on, speaking to the youth he called Ned and regarded so affectionately, "you are but wasting your time. You should be talking with some of these pretty young women. Shall we say Miss Molly Crenshawe, who is certainly looking most beautiful this evening? or perhaps the dashing Miss Peggy?" He glanced keenly at the youth, who retained all his serene indifference of manner, only blushing slightly and shaking his head.
Mr. Jefferson laughed indulgently. "Ned, Ned, you were ever a shy youth, and I think time does nothing to help you. Tis a crime to be as indifferent to women as you are, and, I warn you, there will come a day when some woman will revenge herself upon you for the whole sex, and, when that happens, do not come to me for consolation!" He moved away, still laughing, and left the boy to pay his respects to Mrs. Carr, with whom he was a great favorite, as he was with all who knew him well. But he never had a large circle of friends. There were but few who ever really understood and thoroughly appreciated that noble character. It is the compensation of such natures that they are self-sufficing and are as indifferent of such recognition as they are superior to it.
As Mr. Jefferson passed down the room he was stopped by Mr. Gilbert
Stuart, who touched him on the arm.
"Mr. Jefferson," he exclaimed, in eager tones, "take pity on an exile just returned and tell me who your young friend is. I had thought Mr. Hamilton's one of the finest faces I had ever seen until I set eyes on this young gentleman with him. And, indeed, I think they resemble one another vastly. Has our young West Indian at last found a relative? I hear he is but indifferently provided with that commodity. No? Well, I protest his young friend has the most charming countenance I have ever seen since I painted Mr. Grant in London."
"Which portrait, Mr. Stuart, I hear is a masterpiece and has added enormously to your reputation." Mr. Stuart bowed low at the compliment, well pleased that Mr. Jefferson should have heard so favorably of that wonderful picture of his which had set all London gossiping and had caused Mr. Benjamin West and Sir Joshua Reynolds (so 'twas said) some pangs of envy. "As for myself, however," went on Mr. Jefferson, "I can scarcely credit that it is a greater piece of work than the portrait of General Washington which you have executed for the Marquis of Lansdowne at Mr. William Bingham's request. I cannot express to you how greatly the replica of that picture pleases me. Its arrival here has been kept a profound secret from all save my sister, but I am getting as impatient as a child to show it to my guests, and can scarcely wait for the supper-hour to arrive."
"I sincerely hope, sir, both as an artist and a friend, that the surprise you have planned will not turn into a disappointment. But you have not yet told me, Mr. Jefferson, who the interesting young gentleman is with Mrs. Carr."
"That," said Mr. Jefferson, looking kindly toward the youth beside his sister, "is young Calvert of Strathore, and a finer young gentleman does not live in Virginia—no, nor in any other state of this country," he added, warmly. "He is of the famous Baltimore family, a direct descendant of Leonard Calvert, cadet brother of the second Lord Baltimore, and is the bearer of my Lord Baltimore's name, Cecil Calvert, to which has been prefixed Edward, for his father. The family came to this country in 1644, I believe, and for several generations lived in the colony of Maryland, and have always been people of position and wealth. Ned's father, however, had a serious disagreement with his family, because of his marriage with a lovely young Quakeress of Philadelphia, and finally broke off entirely from his people, renouncing even the long-cherished Catholic faith, and came to Virginia when their only child was about two years old. Mr. Calvert built a spacious, comfortable residence on the banks of the Potomac not far from Mr. Washington's residence, calling it 'Strathore,' after the older Maryland place."
"What a head!" murmured Mr. Stuart, looking at the young man. "What sincerity and quiet strength! But continue, I beg of you."
"There is little to tell—some six years after removing to Virginia, Calvert's father and mother both suddenly died, leaving the poor boy estranged from the only relatives he had in Maryland, but, fortunately, under the guardianship of General Washington, who has been all kindness toward him. Madame Washington would have taken him to Mount Vernon had it not been for the father's wish that he should grow up on his own estate, alone save for the excellent tutors with whom he has always been provided. But he has ever been warmly welcomed at Mount Vernon on long visits there, and both General and Madame Washington have become greatly attached to him. It was through them I first knew and liked him, and he has passed many, I hope not unhappy, weeks at Monticello with me since. 'Tis that curious and melancholy resemblance in their fate—both orphaned and solitary—which, I fancy, had much to do with the firm friendship that has sprung up between Colonel Hamilton and Calvert. But though in appearance and circumstance they resemble each other, in mental characteristics they are opposites. Calvert has none of Hamilton's brilliancy of intellect and vividness of imagination" (for whatever their bitter disagreements were later, Mr. Jefferson, then and for many years afterward, was always ready to acknowledge and admire Hamilton's superb genius), "but he is of a profound logical order of intelligence; he has good judgment and discretion, indomitable will power, and a nobility of aim and faithfulness of purpose that are as rare as they are admirable. I can conceive of no circumstances in which he might be placed where his reliability and firmness would prove inadequate to the occasion."
"His face bears out what you tell me of him, Mr. Jefferson," assented the young artist, who was regarding Calvert with increasing interest. "Tis a fine countenance, and I shall not be happy until I have transferred it to canvas. I shall have to beg a few sittings of Calvert of Strathore!"
Mr. Jefferson smiled. "I am afraid, Mr. Stuart, that you will find it difficult to persuade Ned that he has a 'fine countenance'! He is the soul of modesty as he is the soul of truth and honor." He stopped and looked affectionately at young Calvert, who was still beside Madame Carr, unconscious of the close scrutiny he was undergoing. "I hardly know how to describe him to you," continued Mr. Jefferson, meditatively. "His is a noble and lovable character. I never look at him but these lines from Horace come to my mind—'Quam desederio sit pudor aut modus tam cari capitis'! I can only say that had I been blessed with a son," and he sighed as he spoke, "I would have wished him to be like Edward Calvert, and, believe me, 'tis not partiality that makes me speak of him in such fashion. General Washington and Colonel Hamilton and Monsieur de Lafayette, under whom he served at Yorktown, hold him as I do. Gentle and tractable as he is, the lad has plenty of spirit, and ran away from the College of New Jersey in 1780, where he had been matriculated but two months, and, presenting himself to his guardian and friend, General Washington, begged to be permitted to fight for his country. He was scarce fifteen, and Dr. Witherspoon, whom, as you doubtless know, our good friend Henry Laurens persuaded to leave Edinburgh to take charge of the College at Princeton, violently opposed his abandoning his studies, but the young man was determined, and was finally commissioned as an aide to General Lafayette. He was of particular service to both Lafayette and Rochambeau, as he understands and speaks the French language excellently, having studied it since childhood and speaking much with a French tutor whom he had for some years. He is to return to the College of Princeton in the fall of this year, and finish his studies. For though he will be nineteen years of age when he enters, yet such is his determination to get the college education which his service to his country interrupted, that he is resolved to recommence now at the age when most youths have finished their studies. And if at the end of his college course my duties still detain me abroad, 'tis my intention and dearest wish to have him come out to me, and I promise you he will make me as efficient a secretary as ever Hamilton made General Washington."
"All that you tell me only increases my interest in the young gentleman, Mr. Jefferson," said Stuart, "and I am more determined than ever to have him sit for me. I can see the picture," he went on, eagerly—"the fine, youthful brow and wavy hair drawn loosely back and slightly powdered, the blue eyes, aquiline nose, and firm mouth—the chin is a trifle delicate but the jaw is square—" he was speaking half to himself, noting in artist fashion the salient points of a countenance at once attractive and handsome, not so much by reason of beautiful features as because of the expression which was at once youthful, serene, and noble. All these points were afterward portrayed by Mr. Stuart, though it was not until many years later that the picture was executed, Mr. Stuart being recalled almost immediately to London, where, indeed, Calvert finally sat to him. That likeness, done in the most admirable fashion, came later into the possession of one of Calvert's dearest friends and greatest admirers, and was prized above most things by one who loved the original so deeply and so long.
"And he has other attractions," said Mr. Jefferson, after a long pause, during which the two gentlemen regarded young Calvert, the artist absorbed in plans for his picture, Mr. Jefferson in affectionate thoughts of the young man so dear to his heart. "He has one of the clearest, freshest voices that you ever heard, Mr. Stuart; a voice that matches his face and makes one believe in youth and happiness and truth. Why should he not sing for us?" he exclaimed. "The dancing has ceased, I see. Come, I will ask him."
Followed by Mr. Stuart, he went over to young Calvert, who was still standing sentinel beside Madame Carr, and clapped him affectionately on the shoulder.
"Ned, we demand a song! Come, no refusal, sir!" he exclaimed. "I shall send Caesar for my Amati and you must sing us something. Shall it be 'The Lass with the Delicate Air'? That is my favorite, I think. 'Tis, as you know, Mr. Stuart, by the late Dr. Arne, the prince of song-writers. Here, boy!" he said, turning to one of the small darkies standing about to snuff the candles, "tell Caesar to bring me 'Pet.'"—for it was thus he called his violin, which had been saved by Caesar's devotion and bravery when all else at Elk Hill was destroyed by order of my Lord Cornwallis. While this was going forward Calvert stood by silent, outwardly calm and unruffled, inwardly much perturbed. It was his pleasure and habit to sing for Mr. Jefferson or for General and Madame Washington, but it was something of an ordeal to sing before an audience. That quiet heroism, though, which was part of his character, and which made him accept tranquilly everything, from the most trifling inconvenience to the greatest trials, kept him from raising any objection.
As Mr. Jefferson drew his bow across his violin the company fell away from the centre of the room, leaving a clear space. Stepping forward he leaned over his beloved Amati and played the opening bars of Dr. Arne's famous ballad, with its liquid phrases and quaint intervals of melody. At the first notes of the air Calvert stood beside him and lifted up his fresh young voice of thrilling sweetness. It was one of those naturally beautiful voices, which at this time and for many years longer had a charm that none could resist, and which helped, among other things, to earn for him the everlasting jealousy of that remarkable and versatile scoundrel, Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire.
"I protest, sir," cried Mr. Gilbert from his place beside Miss Crenshawe, when the bow at last dropped from the quivering strings, "I protest I have not heard such music since St. George and Garat played and sang together in Paris!"
Monsieur de Lafayette laid his hand affectionately on Calvert's shoulder. "Ah, Ned," he said in his English with the strong accent, "that was sweet, but if I mistake me not, thy voice sounded even sweeter to my ears as thou sangst thy songs around the campfires at night after our long marches and counter-marches when we hung upon Cornwallis's flank or raced toward Petersburg to beat Phillips! 'Twas a very girl's voice then, but it could make us forget fatigue and danger and homesickness!"
"I am glad to believe that I was of some service," said Calvert. "I have often thought," he went on, smiling a little, "that had I not been under the protection of General Washington I should never have been permitted to make the campaign."
But the Marquis would have none of his modesty.
"No, no," he cried, "thou knowest thou wert my favorite aide and served me faithfully and well. Dost thou not remember the many messages thou didst carry to General Rochambeau for me when we lay before Yorktown? And the friends thou hadst in his army? De Beaufort and d'Azay were among the best, is it not so? But what is this?" he inquired, suddenly, as he saw the middle of the long room cleared and a very army of slaves approaching bearing an immense table already laid with fine damask and silver.
"Madame Carr evidently thinks her guests are in need of refreshment after these wearying musical performances," replied Calvert, laughing, "and as we are too numerous to be entertained in the dining-room, supper is to be served here. 'Tis frequently Mr. Jefferson's fashion when his company is large."
With little formality the guests took their places at table, the ladies all being seated and many of the older gentlemen. The younger ones stood about and waited upon the ladies, contenting themselves by eating after they were served, as they hung over their chairs and conversed with them.
Calvert with Beaufort and d'Azay were busily occupied, the French officers devoting themselves to the wants of the beautiful Miss Peggy Gary and Miss Molly Crenshawe, Calvert gravely seeing that the elderly Mrs. Mason, mother of Mr. Jefferson's great friend, Mr. George Mason, Mrs. Wythe, and other dowagers were bountifully supplied. It was like him to pass by the young beauties to attend upon those who had greater needs and less attractions. From his position behind the dowagers' chairs he could catch bits of conversation from both ends of the table. Now it was Mr. Jefferson's voice, rising above the noise, talk, and laughter, offering some excellent Madeira to his abstemious friend, Mr. Arkwright.
"I insist," urged Mr. Jefferson, "for upon my word 'tis true, as someone has said, that water has tasted of sinners ever since the Flood!"
Now it was Mr. Madison who arose, glass in hand, to propose a toast to
Mr. Jefferson.
It was not a very eloquent farewell, but, as he said, "the message comes from all hearts present, and the burden of it is a safe journey, great achievement, and a speedy return."
When Mr. Jefferson rose to respond, then, indeed, was heard eloquence.
Toward the close of his brief reply there was a note of sadness in it.
"I have ever held it the first duty of a patriot to submit himself to the commands of his country. My command has been to leave my country. I would that it had been otherwise—but my country before all! And should I be able to serve her in ever so little by going, no separation from all I love best, no loss of ease and quiet pleasures, will be too costly for me not to bear with resignation, nay, even with cheerfulness! I shall take with me one hostage to happiness—my daughter—and should my splendid exile to the greatest court of Europe be prolonged and my duties become too arduous, I shall send to these shores for one to aid me—one on whose fidelity and zeal I can rely—for my dear young friend—Calvert of Strathore."
At this unexpected announcement Calvert started with surprise and pleasure, having heard nothing of Mr. Jefferson's intention. "But why should I speak of my exile?" continued Mr. Jefferson. "Shall I not be among friends?" and he looked with affectionate regard toward the three young Frenchmen. "Shall I not be among friends, the truest and noblest that any country or any individual can boast? Your looks bespeak your answer! Friends, I ask you to drink to Monsieur le Marquis de Lafayette and to Messieurs de Beaufort and d'Azay!"
Amid the enthusiastic applause which followed, Lafayette was seen to rise and lift his hand for silence.
"Since the first day we set foot upon this great country," he said, "we have received naught but kindness, aid, honors. How shall we thank you for that in a few words? We cannot, but we can make you a promise for our King, our country, and ourselves. 'Tis this. Mr. Jefferson shall find a welcome and a home in France such as we have found here, an admiration, a respect, a love such as we cannot command. And should Mr. Calvert come also, he shall be as a brother to us! I drink to our happy reunion in France!"
"So you will come to France, too, Ned," cried d'Azay to Calvert. "I shall claim you as my guest and take you down to our chateau of Azay-le-Roi and show you to my sister Adrienne as a great American savage!"
"You will be blessed if she looks at you out of mere curiosity if for naught else," murmured Beaufort at Calvert's ear, "for she is the prettiest little nun in all France. Show Calvert thy locket, Henri."
Somewhat reluctantly d'Azay pulled forth a small ivory miniature in a gold case, and holding it well within the hollow of his hand, so that others might not see, he laid it before Calvert.
"Is she not a beauty?" demanded Beaufort, eagerly. "More beautiful, I think, than the lovely Miss Shippen of Philadelphia, or Miss Bingham, or any of your famous beauties, Calvert."
It was indeed a beautiful face that Calvert gazed upon, a slender, oval face with violet eyes, shadowed by long, thick lashes; a straight nose with slightly distended nostrils, which, with the curling lips, gave a look of haughtiness to the countenance in spite of its youthfulness. A cloud of dusky hair framed the face, which, altogether, was still extremely immature and (as Calvert thought) capable of developing into noble loveliness or hardening into unpleasing though striking beauty.
Beaufort still hung over Calvert's shoulder. "She is 'The Lass with the Delicate Air' whom you but just now sang of, Calvert," he said, laughing softly. "I wonder who will ever be lucky enough to find a way to win this maid!"
As Calvert stood gazing in silent admiration at the miniature and but half-listening to Beaufort's wild talk, Mr. Jefferson suddenly rose in his place.
"One more toast," he said, in a loud voice—"a toast without which we cannot disperse. Ned, I call on you, who are his young favorite, for a toast to General Washington!"
There was a burst of applause at the name, and then Calvert rose. He was a gallant young figure as he stood there, his wine-glass uplifted and a serious expression on his boyish face.
"To the one," he cried, after an instant's hesitation, "whom we hold in our hearts to be the bravest of soldiers, the purest of patriots, and the wisest of men—General Washington!"
As he spoke the last words, Mr. Jefferson drew aside a heavy curtain which had hung across the wall behind his chair, and as the velvet fell apart a replica of the famous portrait of General Washington, which Mr. Stuart had but lately painted for the Marquis of Lansdowne, was revealed to the surprised and delighted guests. Amid a burst of patriotic enthusiasm everyone arose and, with glass upheld, saluted the great Hero, and then—and for the last time for many years—the Sage of Monticello.