Adventures in American Diplomacy: Ii. The Inside History of the Louisiana Purchase

I

IF the secret police of Paris, whose business it was to intercept letters for the private guidance of the First Consul in the spring of 1803, had chanced to peer through the windows of a certain modest establishment in the then Rue Chaussée d’Antin¹ on the evening of Sunday, March 13, there is every probability that at least one confidential communication entrusted to the mails that night would have been mysteriously ‘delayed in transmission.’

Perhaps some such possibility as this may have occurred to the occupant of the house in question as he sat at his desk rapidly penning a dispatch, for Robert Livingston,² diplomatic representative of the United States in France, was fully aware of the means which Bonaparte employed to acquire inside information, and no envoy to the French Republic cherished any illusions concerning the sanctity of official correspondence, it being well known that the youthful conqueror was, in such matters, absolutely no respecter of persons. But if there had been time to consider this risk, the opportunity for insuring against it was wholly lacking; so, trusting to the fact that his report would disclose nothing which the Man of Destiny could possibly hope to suppress, the American Minister lost no time in dashing off a note to President Jefferson, advising him of an extraordinary and highly significant scene which had just been enacted in Madame Bonaparte’s drawing-room.

It was not often that this experienced jurist from the new world acted on the spur of the moment. He was indeed one of those men whose commanding presence and calm judicial poise render it difficult to imagine them as ever being hurried or anxious or surprised. There is evidence, however, that when Robert Livingston drafted his famous dispatch on that Sunday evening he was considerably disturbed, for he not only added it as a sort of hurried postscript to an unfinished letter begun twenty-four hours earlier, but actually rushed it into the mail without not icing that he had not changed the date.³

Unusual as such a slip was for a man of his training, it was not surprising, for the episode at the Tuileries which he was hastening to describe had been well calculated to drive all minor matters from his mind; and the vital fact was that Bonaparte had taken the occasion of his wife’s reception to utter what was probably the most astonishing declaration of war ever recorded in the history of the civilized world.

All the essentials of this amazing performance were accurately set forth in Livingston’s dispatch, from which it appears that on the Sunday evening in question the First Consul had entered the salon where the diplomatic representatives of all the powers were assembled to pay their respects to his lady, and had made a formal circuit of the room, passing most of t he company with a mere bow or a few civilities, but returning to the American Minister to distinguish him by marked attention. Then suddenly, turning to Lord Whitworth, the British Ambassador, he had opened a rapid fire of offensive reflections on England’s good faith, ending with the ugly threat that he must ‘either have Malta or war.’

It is safe to assert that the Tuileries had never before witnessed such an exhibition of brutally bad manners. It was not only a gross violation of international courtesy, but a flagrant outrage against the ordinary laws of hospitality; and all the foreign representatives, friend and foe alike, experienced an affront to their own dignity in the treatment accorded to their fellow guest. But to the modest, unassuming American to whom Bonaparte had just paid marked attention the episode was more than a shock. It was a startling revelation of the fact that the moment for which he had long been waiting, but which he had almost despaired of seeing, had actually arrived.

Until the day he had accepted the post of Minister to France, Robert Livingston’s career had been a series of successes, punctuated with honors and unmarred by a single failure of any kind. As lawyer, judge, legislator, statesman, Chancellor, and Secretary for Foreign Affairs under the Confederation, he had a home record of which he had good reason to be proud; and perhaps it was because he felt that he had nothing to gain and everything to lose by service abroad that he refused to consider the mission to France when it was first tendered to him by Washington in 1794. Even seven years later, when Jefferson urged him to take the appointment, he hesitated, and was persuaded to do so only on the constitutional expiration of his chancellorship. But whether this reluctance to change the field of his labors emanated from an instinctive dread of damaging his reputation or was due to other more obvious considerations, it is certainly true that from the tenth day of November, 1801, when he arrived in Paris, until Sunday, March 13, 1803, his mission to the French Republic was a lamentable and unmitigated failure. Indeed, he had already received an official intimation of that fact by the appointment of James Monroe to act, nominally as his colleague but virtually as his successor, in all further negotiations with the government of France.

Assured as Livingston was that the nomination of this additional envoy was in no way a reflection on his zeal, it was, of course, a blow to his pride, and he resented it with all the bitterness of a proud man who knows that appearances are against him, but scorns to defend himself or to offer explanations of any kind. Had he desired to do so, however, it would have been difficult for him to minimize the extent of his failure, which was humiliatingly complete. That he had not been able to induce Bonaparte to enter into a new treaty ceding the island of New Orleans or at least granting some permanent ‘right of deposit’ for American merchants on the Mississippi, was naturally a keen disappointment to his government. The suggested concession was trifling and the price which he was authorized to pay for it was enormous, for the United States was actually willing to guarantee France in the undisturbed possession of all her territory west of the Mississippi in exchange for a mere trading privilege on the river! In view of this extraordinary offer it is no wonder that Livingston’s futile negotiations were well-nigh inexplicable. But discreditable as his failure to secure a new treaty appeared to be, his inability to enforce the observance of the existing one was even worse. This solemn compact, by which France had promised payment of the damages inflicted by her on American shipping during the recent war with England, was not denied, nor were the damages seriously questioned. Nevertheless, neither Bonaparte nor Talleyrand had taken any practical notice of the American diplomat’s requests for settlement; and though he had plied them constantly, and at times almost recklessly, with notes and arguments, he had been politely but ingloriously side-tracked and ignored.

That Jefferson and his cabinet were rapidly growing impatient with this condition of affairs and were inclined to enforce the old treaty and procure trading privileges on the Mississippi, even at the cost of a war with France and a coalition with England, was well known to Livingston through the secret negotiations between London and Washington which had, for some time, been paving the way for this desperate move. Indeed, it was this knowledge that had emboldened him to lay certain written memoranda before Bonaparte, calling his attention to the defenselessness of Louisiana, and even arguing that he would do well to take such steps as would make the United States a stumbling-block in England’s path and prevent the whole province from falling into her hands as an easy prize in case of war. They were able papers, were those memoranda of February 1, 18, and 27, 1803, but little did the writer then dream that within a fortnight his guarded references to what might happen would be read as probabilities instead of possibilities.

It is no wonder then that the anxious diplomat hastened to advise his chief of Bonaparte’s informal declaration of war, and that he had something more important to think of than the date of his dispatch. Here he was, at the age of fifty-seven, after almost two years of fruitless work in Paris, confronted with an opportunity to redeem his reputation and effect a great stroke for his country; but unless the climax could be hastened, all the credit for the achievement would accrue to a political opponent, more than ten years his junior, who was even then on the high seas hastening to his undeserved reward. No man with good red blood in his veins could possibly have contemplated such a situation with indifference, and Livingston came of a family whose members had always been distinguished for courage and resource.

Thus, for the next three weeks, the American Minister might have been seen almost daily in the company of a tall, strong-faced, vigorous-looking man about sixty years of age, with whom he appeared to be on unusually good terms, for Barbe-Marbois, the Minister of the Treasury, had served six years as Secretary of the French legation to Congress (1779-85), and his friendship with Livingston was one of long standing. Probably there was no official anywhere in Europe who was so well informed concerning all that pertained to the United States, as this confidant of Ronapartc, for he not only had a wide personal acquaintance among its leading citizens, but he had married the daughter of a well-known American. He was therefore naturally predisposed to favor the claims of the United States, and this fact, combined with his official knowledge of the finances of his government and the drain to which they would be subjected in case of war, made him an ideal go-between in the indirect negotiations by which Livingston hoped to mould the First Consul’s mind.

But Barbé-Marbois was not the only person of importance through whom the American envoy sought to gain a hearing for his cause during those anxious weeks, for if he had not made progress in his negotiations, he had certainly made friends, and there was probably no other foreign representative in France who had equal facilities for urging his views unofficially upon Bonaparte and his cabinet. He was on intimate terms with Alexandre Berthier, Napoleon’s trusted counselor, who had served in the army sent by France to aid the United States during the Revolution; he had the ear of the Third Consul, Lebrun, one of whose children had married into the family of Barbé-Marbois; he was well acquainted with Bernadotte, brother-in-law of Joseph Bonaparte; and through all these and many others he managed, by a word here and a word there, to keep his arguments and warnings constantly before the man who, at that crisis, controlled the destinies of France.

But the month of March slipped quickly by with nothing to show that all this activity had had even the slightest effect upon Bonaparte; and meanwhile the vessel bearing Monroe to the shores of France was drawing nearer and nearer to its port, until on April 6, 1803, it was due to arrive at almost any hour. Then Fate interposed in favor of the despairing diplomat — Fate in the guise of Talma, the most famous actor of his day.

II

All Paris attended the Comédie Frangaise on the evening of April 6, to witness the first appearance of the distinguished player in the rôle of Hamlet.⁴ It was a notable occasion in the history of dramatic art in France, but the tragedian behind the footlights was forced to share his triumph with an actor in the front who was testing the temper of his audience for the new drama of The Empire, in which it was his purpose to essay the leading part. Indeed, it is somewhat doubtful if Talma would have been greeted by quite so large a house if Bonaparte had not been advertised to appear in what passed for the royal box; and loudly as the artist on the stage was applauded, the man who was Emperor in all but name was even more ent husiastically acclaimed by the excited throngs. It was in fact just the greeting which the Consul-for-life needed to encourage him in attempting the new rôle which his ambition prompted.

But while all Paris was dividing its tumultuous plaudits between the favorite of the theatre and the idol of politics, there were two Frenchmen of note whose seats, strangely enough, were unoccupied. Lucien Bonaparte, a younger brother of Napoleon, had arrived that evening from his country seat at Plessis for the express purpose of witnessing Talma’s première; but when he reached his residence in town he had unexpectedly encountered his brother Joseph, who had hastened to inform him that he had news which would speedily drive all thoughts of theatre-going from his mind. This mysterious greeting naturally alarmed Lucien, who imagined that some family misfortune must have occurred; and he was therefore more relieved than startled when Joseph announced, with suppressed excitement, that the First Consul was planning to sell Louisiana in order to procure funds for the now inevitable war.

To Lucien’s mind this piece of news was too ridiculous for belief and could be regarded only as a joke. In the first place, he protested, nobody would buy the province, and in the second place, it could not be sold without the consent of the Chambers, which could not possibly be had. But these objections were instantly met by Joseph’s assertion that the Americans were the intending purchasers, and that the First Consul did not contemplate referring the matter to the national representatives at all. This set Lucien thinking, and the longer he thought the more serious he grew. Fantastic as the proposition sounded, he knew enough of his brother’s temperament to make him suspect that it might be true, and if it were true, he saw not only a danger to the whole House of Bonaparte, but a personal affront to himself, which he could not lightly brook: for the proudest act of his brief public life had been his signing of the final treaty by which Louisiana had been restored to France by Spain.⁵ As a matter of fact, the ink on that peculiar document was scarcely dry, and the actual retrocession of the province had not yet been accomplished. To talk of selling it under such circumstances was, to his mind, downright folly. But to do this without consulting the man whose signature was appended to the title-deed was arrogance gone mad.

It did not require much thinking along these lines to render Lucien even more indignant than his eldest brother, and, as Joseph had prophesied, all thoughts of the play vanished from his mind as he dwelt upon the enormity of the proposed transaction and the necessity for nipping it in the bud without delay. It was one thing, however, for the brothers to denounce the project to each other in private, but quite another to formulate a plan for laying down the law to Napoleon, and it was midnight before they agreed upon the proper method of approach. It was finally decided, however, that Lucien should attend at the Tuileries in the morning and allow the First Consul himself to introduce the subject, which should be received with sufficient astonishment to disabuse his mind of any suspicion that his brothers were acting in concert. Then, at the appropriate moment, Joseph was to appear and throw himself into the breach. With this understanding the brothers parted for the night, blissfully ignorant of the deafening cheers which were even then resounding in and around the Comédie Française.

The next morning (Thursday, April 7, 1803), Lucien Bonaparte appeared bright and early at the Tuileries — too early, in fact, for the First Consul, who had not yet completed his toilet. Nevertheless, he sent word that the visitor should come upstairs, and Lucien was speedily ushered into a bathroom where he found his distinguished brother immersed in a tub of hot water clouded with cologne. This was not by any means an ideal setting for the interview which the visitor had in mind; indeed, it was rather ridiculous to think of discussing a weighty question of state under such circumstances; but in view of the fact that his mission was to prevent his brother from getting himself into hot water (with or without cologne) in regard to Louisiana, the surroundings might well have been regarded as singularly appropriate.⁶ Perhaps some notion of this kind may have occurred to the self-appointed emissary for, as the sequel proved, he was not altogether lacking in a sense of humor. At all events he determined to seize the first favorable opportunity for expressing his opinions on the subject uppermost in his mind, and, finding himself warmly welcomed, sat down to await the arrival of the psychological moment.

The two men who were thus brought face to face were strikingly alike in their physical appearance, and not wholly dissimilar in temperament. Lucien, then in his twenty-ninth year, was short and slightly built like his brother, and, although six years his junior, looked to be about the same age. Each had the same dark hair, pale face and regular, clear-cut features, and each possessed a high temper, of which Lucien, however, had the better control. Indeed, Lucien was the boldest, though perhaps the least scrupulous, of Napoleon’s brothers, and the only one who had the courage to assert his independence of this master of men. He was, however, a poet and an idealist rather than a fighting man, and, although he did not fear his elder brother’s violent fits of wrath, he disliked quarreling with him and avoided it whenever possible. It was with some relief, therefore, that he noted the unusual affability of his host, but he soon learned that this was by no means a happy circumstance, for the First Consul was in one of his exalted moods when any criticism of his actions was a presumption, and any doubt of his omnipotence a challenge. On the surface, however, he was amiability itself, and the cause of this was not far to seek, for he immediately began rallying Lucien on his failure to attend Talma’s premiere, which, notable as it was from an artistic standpoint, had proved an even more notable political occasion, demonstrating, as it. did, the confidence and affection with which all Paris regarded its present ruler. Indeed, the recipient of this mark of public favor was so plainly elated at his success that he dwelt upon it at some length, even permitting himself to comment, on the wonderful fact that he who had once shot down the Parisians in their own streets should, in the course of a few years, have become the idol of the populace and be able to lead them by a thread.

From these pleasing reflections he then passed to less personal subjects, but the arrogant self-confidence and domineering superiority which marked his every utterance jarred upon his listener, who grew decidedly restive as minute after minute slipped by without affording the opening that he sought. But. Napoleon, lying back luxuriously in his perfumed bath, remained oblivious of this fact and continued holding forth omnisciently on every topic under the sun save the only one upon which his hearer wished him to discourse. Do what he would, however, to guide the conversation toward Louisiana, the visitor could not succeed in effecting his design and the fraternal tete-a-tete was suddenly brought to a close by a sound of cat-like scratching upon the bath-room door. This was the private signal by which Rustan, Napoleon’s dusky bodyguard, always announced his approach, and his mission on this occasion was to advise the First Consul that his eldest brother had arrived at the palace and desired an audience.

The premature appearance of his confederate was far from agreeable to Lucien; but as an attendant was already preparing the sheet in which the master usually enveloped himself on emerging from the tub, he entertained the hope that the threatened visitation might be, at least, postponed. But Napoleon, who was notoriously fond of the sort of bathing in which he was then indulging,⁷ had no thought of hurrying his ablutions and evidently welcomed an addition to the little family party. The newcomer was accordingly speedily ushered into the already overheated bath-room which was soon to prove too hot for one of its occupants.

Joseph was only about a year older than Napoleon, but, except in point of age, the two men were essentially different. There was, of course, a certain family resemblance between them, but Joseph’s thin, pale, melancholy face, weak in itself, was rendered still weaker by the peculiar style of sidewhiskers which he affected, and which were much in vogue at that period. He was, indeed, a mere puppet in the hands of his imperious brother, who did not scruple to show a contempt of his opinions and to ride roughshod over him at every opportunity.

The conversation on this occasion, however, began pleasantly enough, but the formal greetings had barely been exchanged before Napoleon himself introduced the subject which Lucien had not ventured to broach, by asking Joseph if he had told the younger brother of what he was pleased to call ‘our’ plan for disposing of Louisiana. ‘It is your plan, not mine,’ Joseph quickly asserted, thus paving the way for an explanation of the proposed transaction, to which Lucien listened with a becoming show of interest and surprise. He made no comment, however, upon the First Consul’s slurring allusions to Joseph’s reception of the scheme, until a direct question forced him to admit that he agreed with his brother in opposing any such disposition of France’s dominion across the seas. It was, he ventured to assert, a transaction which would never receive the approval of the Chambers.

‘ You venture to assert! ’ sneered Napoleon; but before he could continue Joseph advanced to the attack, declaring that Lucien was right, and that nothing was more certain than that the Chambers would refuse to countenance the projected sale.

To the man whose ears were still ringing with the cheers of the Comédie Frangaise this denial of his absolute authority was not only an affront, but a downright impertinence, and Napoleon was instantly blazing with wrath. To whom did these whipper-snappers think they were talking?⁸ Assent of the Chambers indeed! He’d have Master Joseph and Citizen Lucien know that he did n’t propose to ask anybody’s consent, and that he did what he liked without so much as a by-your-leave! Lucien and his great diplomatic conquest! Joseph and his Chambers! Bah! They could both go and put on mourning for their losses if it would do them any good, but it was high time that they understood who was the master of France. . . . Joseph would himself mount the tribune and denounce him in the Chambers? Ha! Ha! That was funny — positively funny!

Thus far the berated visitors had scarcely been able to get in a word, but the sound of Napoleon’s contemptuous laughter stung Joseph beyond endurance, and, advancing to the edge of the bath, he fairly screamed forth a torrent of words, ending in a downright insult which caused Napoleon to leap up with a roar and then fling himself back in the bath, literally deluging the speaker with water.

Lucien instantly attempted to turn this into a joke with an apt quotation from Virgil,⁹ but the valet, who had been listening open-mouthed to the bitter family wrangle, had either had all sense of humor completely frightened out of him or was overcome by the heat of the room, for he collapsed on the floor in a dead faint, and in the commotion which ensued both the quarrel and its cause were momentarily forgotten.

But a Corsican never quite forgets, and when Joseph retired to change his dripping clothes Napoleon and Lucien straightway resumed the dispute in the former’s dressing-room. For some little time they discussed the situation with calmness, but Napoleon was in no mood for argument. Probably he had not yet fully convinced himself of the wisdom of selling the province, and he was certainly not then committed to this policy; but the opposition of his family and their denial of his ability to carry the matter to a conclusion roused his bitterest resentment, and he undoubtedly then and there determined to show them and all other doubters that his will was law. Lucien had, therefore, scarcely begun to argue the question before he was ordered to ‘Shut up!’ and informed that he could save all his talk and fine phrases about the Constitution and national representation for the political clubs, where such chatter would doubtless be appreciated. For his own part, however, the First Consul desired to hear no more of it, for he did not propose to take lessons in the art of government from any oracle of debate. Insulting as all this was, Lucien kept his temper and strove with some success to mollify the angry man; but upon his reiterating the statement that any disposition of French territory without the consent of the Chambers was flagrantly unconstitutional, Napoleon interrupted him with an angry snarl. ‘Get out!’ he thundered, and the interview was practically at an end. But it was not destined to close immediately, for Lucien stood his ground and had the temerity to repeat his assertion that the transaction was illegal, only to be informed that his hearer snapped his fingers at that.

‘I do not snap my fingers at you,’ retorted Lucien warmly, ‘but I know what I think about you.’

‘Well, out with it!’ commanded his brother. ‘What do you think about me?’

‘I think, Citizen Consul,’ responded the younger man, ‘that if I were not your brother I would be your enemy.’

‘My enemy!’ bellowed Napoleon, raising his hand as though to strike the speaker. ‘You my enemy! Just try it once. Why, I’d break you like that! ’

He picked up his snuff-box as he spoke, and flung it violently on the floor, dislodging the inlaid miniature of Josephine, by Isabey, which adorned the cover.

Lucien stooped and, picking up the portrait, returned it to its owner with a low bow.

' It is not your brother but your wife’s picture you have broken,’ he remarked, as he backed toward the door, not out of respect for his imperious relative, but, as he states, to guard himself against attack. Napoleon, however, remained quietly standing at his desk, and as Lucien retired he noted that the Man of Destiny was vainly endeavoring to restore his wife’s miniature to its proper place.¹⁰

III

Had Livingston been aware of this family quarrel it would doubtless have delighted him beyond measure, but it is difficult to imagine what he could have done to take advantage of it. He was, indeed, doing all that was prudent to influence Bonaparte’s judgment, and too much pressure might have proved disastrous. Events, however, were working for him, and on Easter Sunday, just three days after the fraternal fracas at the Tuileries, the First Consul summoned Barbé-Marbois, the Minister of the Treasury, and Deerès,¹¹ the Minister of Marine, to St. Cloud and invited them to give him their opinions concerning the advisability of selling Louisiana to the United States.

Each of these men stated his views at some length, Marbois warmly approving the sale on substantially the grounds set forth in Livingston’s memoranda, and Deeres opposing it as an unnecessary dismemberment of France.

Bonaparte listened to the arguments until nearly midnight, but closed the conference without comment of any kind. If he retired to sleep on the subject, however, he must have had a restless night, for he was up at daybreak (April 11), summoning Marbois from his bed to examine certain dispatches which had just arrived from London. The news which they contained plainly indicated that England, taking the First Consul at his word, was hurriedly arming herself for the coming struggle, and the moment Bonaparte realized this, he determined, not only to obtain the sinews of war by the sale of Louisiana, but to do it with a speed which would effectually silence any one who dared to doubt that his will was law in France.

' I will let Louisiana go,’ was his instant decision. ‘It is not only New Orleans that I will cede, but the whole colony, without any reservation. I direct you,’ he continued, addressing Marbois, ‘to negotiate the affair with the envoys of the United States at once. Do not even await the arrival of Mr. Monroe. Have an interview with Mr. Livingston this very day. But I require a great deal of money for this war. I want fifty millions — for less than that I will not treat.’

Probably no one in France appreciated the financial necessities of the government more thoroughly than the man to whom those terse instructions were issued, but it was Talleyrand, and not he, who startled Livingston a few hours later by casually inquiring whether the United States wanted the whole of Louisiana, or merely the island of New Orleans.

To ask the man who, for two years, had been vainly struggling to obtain a trading-post, well-nigh regardless of cost, if he desired to purchase an empire, and to expect him to believe that the question was nothing more than a passing thought, was an insult to his intelligence, and Livingston, instantly grasping the situation, saw that his hour had come. There was not a moment to be lost, however, if he was to make the best of this magnificent diplomatic opportunity, for Monroe’s vessel had already arrived and Monroe himself was even then journeying overland toward Paris.

In a fever of anxiety, therefore, Livingston kept in close touch with the Foreign Office, hoping and praying that its chief would see fit to amplify his cautious hint. Indeed, he barely let Talleyrand out of his sight during the next four-and-twenty hours, but the wily ex-Bishop of Autun gave no further sign, and the morning of April 12 dawned with every prospect that Monroe would reach the city before further progress could be made. It. was a matter of hours now, and sick at heart, but fearing to spoil everything by over-anxiety, the American envoy awaited the message which would either summon him to the Foreign Office and victory or to James Monroe and defeat. Eleven o’clock passed with no word of any kind, and at noon the issue still hung in the balance; but at one in the afternoon the silence was broken by an announcement that Monroe had arrived and was awaiting his colleague at a hotel.

It was a cruel blow’, but there was nothing to do but accept it calmly; and Livingston rose to the occasion by promptly calling on the newcomer and inviting him to be his guest that evening at a little dinner he had arranged in honor of his arrival. There was not much time to explain the sudden change which had occurred in the diplomatic situation since Monroe had left America, but enough was said to apprise him of the crisis which was pending, and to pave the way for a fuller discussion on the morrow.

Lender ordinary circumstances Livingston would undoubtedly have welcomed the cooperation of the distinguished Virginian whom Jefferson had selected as his Ambassador-at-Large, for Monroe had formerly represented the United States in France, and knew the country and its people as well perhaps as any American of his day. Moreover, the personal relations between the two men were friendly, and their differences in politics were by no means acute. Neither the host nor his guest, therefore, was under any constraint or embarrassment when they met that evening around the social board; and the dinner, to which a number of other men had been invited in honor of the new envoy, would doubtless have been devoid of incident had not Livingston, chancing to glance through the dining-room window, observed a familiar figure in his garden. One glance was sufficient to advise him that the uninvited guest was none other than Barbé-Marbois, and a servant was at once dispatched to invite the Minister of the Treasury to join the dinner party, which was just about to adjourn for coffee and cigars. Marbois, however, begged to be excused, sending word that he would return later and pay his respects to Mr. Livingston’s distinguished guest, with whom he was already well acquainted.

That he had called expressly for this purpose was plausible enough in view of his friendship with both the American envoys; but if Livingston accepted this explanation of his presence he speedily changed his mind when his visitor again appeared. Indeed, Marbois had barely been presented to the assembled company before he drew his host aside and, whispering that he had something to say which must be said in private, suggested that Livingston come to the Treasury as soon as the duties of hospitality allowed.

It is safe to say that no host ever watched the clock with more anxiety than Livingston on that eventful evening, or speeded his guests with more relief; but it was eleven o’clock before the last one departed and somewhat later when he joined the Minister of the Treasury at the latter’s office.

Marbois lost no time in laying the situation before his guest, advising him, more or less truthfully, that the whole matter of the proposed sale of Louisiana had passed from Talleyrand’s hands to his own, and that he was authorized to offer the entire colony to the United States for the sum of a hundred million francs plus all claims of American citizens against France. Astounding as these figures sounded, it is doubtful if they made much impression upon Livingston in his joy at his eleventh-hour victory. Nevertheless, he suppressed his feelings sufficiently to protest that the price was practically prohibitive; but Marbois’s ominous reply, ' You know the temper of the youthful conqueror — he is quick as lightning,’ warned him that to hesitate might be to lose. He therefore acted accordingly, and though no such acquisition of territory was contemplated by his government, and he was absolutely without authority to pay more than a small fraction of the sum demanded, the negotiation was practically closed before the conference ended. Then he hurried home to record the result of his night’s work, and at three o’clock in the morning, while Monroe was blissfully sleeping, a dispatch announcing Livingston’s great diplomatic triumph was on its way to Washington.

Eighteen days later (April 30, 1803) the treaty was completed, with the purchase price fixed at approximately seventy-five million francs,¹² and on the next day (May 1) Monroe was, for the first time, officially presented to the First Consul at the Tuileries.