The American Chronicle 1 - Burr Read Free

a low and perfectly pitched hypnotic voice. “Dr. Bogart, my oldest friend—a clergyman known to all of us at the time of the Revolution. A patriot, a true and holy man ...” Dr. Bogart looked stunned at this encomium. “And an intimate friend of General Washington—who had no friends—has consented to marry us. To-night. Now.”
    “Colonel Burr!” Madame Jumel then gave as good a performance as was ever performed at the Park Theatre. She tried to pull her hand free, failed; tried to mount the stairs, was restrained. Called for help to butler, footman, was met with nervous giggles and averted eyes by those satellites. After some eight minutes by the clock in the hall (given her by Napoleon Bonaparte, she told us later), Eliza Bowen Jumel consented to become Mrs. Aaron Burr.
    By now rather red in the face, Madame ordered whiskey for herself, Madeira for us. Then as if by a pre-arranged signal, we were joined by Nelson Chase and his wife Mary Eliza, the niece of Madame Jumel (though it is rumoured that she might well be the fruit of one of Madame’s early alliances). Nelson Chase is a plump, foolish young man, fascinated by Colonel Burr. For over a year he has been associated with our firm, pretending to practise law. I had not met Mary Eliza before; she is pleasant, not pretty but winning. Needless to say, she does not shine but then no woman can in Madame’s glorious presence.
    The Colonel and Madame (I can’t call her Mrs. Burr) were married in a small parlour to the left of the main hall. Nelson kept murmuring “fabulous, fabulous!” The right word, I suppose. The brief ceremony was followed by a splendid supper in the dining-room. Obviously Madame’s cook had anticipated what her mistress had not—that she would succumb to the Colonel’s heralded unheralded assault.
    It was the first time I had seen Colonel Burr “in society.” I had known him only in the office—and in court. Not that he argues many cases now-a-days: there are still judges who feel that they must vindicate the death of Alexander Hamilton by addressing his murdered rudely. The last time I attended the Colonel in court, the judge unearthed—if he did not newly mint—an obscure state statute.
    The judge roared at Burr. “Don’t you know that law, Mr. Burr! Don ’ t you know it ?”
    When the judge at last stopped shouting, Burr said, in his mildest voice, “No, Your Honour, I do not know it. But I hear it.”
    Last night, however, was my first experience of the legendary Aaron Burr, the one-time leader of New York fashion, the intimate of German princes, the lion of the London drawing-rooms, the man Jeremy Brentham regarded as perfectly civilised. Listening to the Colonel’s conversation, I could see how he had so easily enchanted three generations of Europeans as well as of Americans, how he had mesmerized both men and women like the devil—no, more like Faust to whom everything marvellous comes, then on the midnight goes. Oh, what I would give to read that sulphurous contract in order to see what clauses the devil added and Burr accepted, knowing that they would not hold up in court. And signed with an elegant flourish. I don’t envy the devil when he takes to court Aaron Burr.
    We drank toast after toast. My head still aches: I wanted to vomit before I went to sleep but did not, fearing to disturb the lovers. Madame got moderately drunk on whiskey. Nelson was very drunk, embarrassing his wife but no one else.
    “I swore I would never re-marry.” Madame gave her niece a tender smile. “Didn’t I, petite ?”
    “Certainly, Tante !”Both aunt and niece have spent many years in Paris where the girl was sent to school.
    “When my beloved Stephen ...”
    “A true gentleman, Madame.” Colonel Burr reacted superbly to the mention of his predecessor, and the source of his current wealth. “I should think the most beloved man of his generation, in this city.” He stopped the qualifying just short of adding “in the wine