University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

a hotel room near the city of London in 1794—twelve years after the close of the Revolutionary War. An American sits alone at a table writing. A card is handed him by a servant.
American.
Ah, Talleyrand!—what can he want with me?
Send him up.

Enter Talleyrand.
Pardon, Monsieur Anderson?

American
(rising).
General, sir.

Talleyrand.
Pardon. Parlez vous Français?

American.
Not well.

Talleyrand.
Then let us in the English talk,
Which I know little of, but still can use.
I beg you, General, listen now to me.
I have been worked much for my country. I
Have toiled and suffered hard; it gives me naught
Except allow me still much more to toil.
It says to me: “We do not want you, now;”
England replies, “We do not want you here.”
And so my heart—true to my country's weal,
I carry to your land of liberty,
Hoping my fortune may be nurtured there,
Till it and I rush to my country's aid.
Meanwhile, I ask you, General, that you give
Me letters to some friends in yonder land—

American
(rising eagerly to his feet).
What, friends?—You say I've friends out there?—Speak quick.
Who are they?—Let me know their names?—Speak quick!
You shall have letters.—Speak!

Talleyrand
(shrugging his shoulders).
Why, General,
I know not who your friends may be; I know
Who mine are; they are those I love right well—
Those that are true to me, and I to them;
I hope some time my country all will say,
“Talleyrand was our friend.” Not now, but some time!
You surely have friends in your fatherland?
Send me to even the humblest!

American.
Talleyrand,
If you should pace my country, east to west,
And north to south, and cry out as you walked,
“Where are the friends of this man?—A reward
I offer to whome'er to me will bring
A friend of him whose name this letter bears!”
Then you would cry to all that Wertern land
In vain.—Yet not through silence would you walk:
Curses would leap at you from every door;
Hate's maledictions pierce you through and through;
Scorn would creep round you with its withering hiss;
Only because you named me as a friend.
Women and men and children all would cry,
“Curse him forever!”

Talleyrand.
General, why is that?
Were you not brave?

American
(laughing).
Brave? ask them was I not?
Ask any one that e'er crossed swords with me,
Was I not brave? Ask you of any one,
Peer or subaltern, where was I i' the fight?
Did I say “Go,” or “Come!” Brave?—Try me now!
I was th' Achilles of the western fields!
Had I been marshalled in the Trojan wars,
Homer my praises would be singing yet!
I would be still a king 'mongst western kings—
Had I been true—

Talleyrand.
True?

American.
Talleyrand, list to me.
You speak of friends: you have true friends on earth—
You have some good friends in th' Elysian fields:
They have marched on, and camp there till you come.
Hearts you have tied to; souls that reach for yours;
You know not, happy man, what 'tis to be
Without one friend, in all God's threefold realm!

Talleyrand.
Without one friend?

American.
I speak it with my heart!
I have no friend in earth, or heaven, or hell!
If I were brought before the bar of God,
For final judgment, and it should be said,
“If there be any one in all this throng
Can speak one word for him, he shall be saved,”
All would be still, in thorny, scornful silence,
And I be pushed down, headlong, to my doom.
Worse than my doom; for Satan would appear
At his white-heated iron gate, and shout
“You are too vile to come as others do—
Too treacherous—you would give away the pass!
Delve midst the sulphurous filth outside, and then
Sneak upward from beneath!”

Talleyrand
(aside).
Insane!—insane!

American
(overhearing).
No! no! too sane! too sane! would I might rave!
I would pay well for lunacy's drum-roll
To drown the clamor of my thoughts! Too sane!
God gave to me clear brain—metallic will—
Warm heart—credentials of a prince 'mongst men;
But after me that hell-spawned spirit came—
The partner of all traitor-craft; the one
That helped foul Judas count his silver coins,
And changed them into lead to sink his soul;
That crept up even to Satan ere he fell,
And whispered, “You can rule instead of God!”

Talleyrand.
For God's sake, man, who are you?—what your crime?

American.
'Tis hell enough, to think this day by day;
But when night comes—the horror-breeding night—
The black page where are written lurid things
We will not see or hear by day—there throng
In the dull currents of my sleep—fierce souls,
Swarming from dread, cold silences of death.
One word they whisper in my aching ears,
Till it becomes a shout! It walks my brain,
And leaves its tracks in branded letters there;
Oh, I can look within, and read it now!
Midnight court-martial they hold over me—
They try me o'er and o'er for the same crime;
No one is there to speak a word for me;
And the same verdict always follows—“Guilty!”
And the same sentence—“Do not let him die!”

Talleyrand.
Tell me your crime, man, tell me!

American.
Talleyrand,
You yet are young; you have the columns still
Perchance, of swiftly marching years to form.
Take this advice from an old worn-out man—
Worn from without—worn threadbare from within;
Be never false to man; it is a crime;
But if you are, man some time may forget it;
Be never false to woman; 'tis a crime
Greater; but woman, heaven-like, may forgive.
Be never false to childhood; 'tis a crime
Worst of all three; perhaps God may forgive.
But ne'er betray your country, till you wish
To pull the red-hot roof of hell upon you!

Talleyrand.
What did you do?

American.
I'll tell you; nearer! nearer!
Let me not speak, but whisper the damned truth!
I took my country's honor from her eyes,
I took my country's favors from her hand,
I took my country's strongest-guarded hope,
Her fortress, heaven-walled by river and hill,
Key to her hopes—hope of the centuries—
I took all these—intrusted me by her—
Took them in my black hands on one black night,
And—sold them—sold them—sold them—sold them—sold them
As I would vend a paltry patch of earth,
As I would huckster off a senseless beast—
Sold them for some few paltry chips of gold—
Of rotting, rotten, senseless, beastly gold!
I sold the Western Hemisphere, and then,
Poor fool, could not deliver the goods!

Talleyrand
(rising).
Your name!

American.
Listen! while I repeat to you the name
Of one once grandest of the grand, now base—
So low and vile that men would not even use it
To step upon, to keep them from the mud!
Benedict Arnold, traitor!