“torch of liberty.” Someone even suggested it would make a model for a good statue, though of course nothing ever came of that idea.
I was determined to enjoy my moment of renown, since reputations turn soon enough. Being a celebrity, however, buys you little more than supper, often with dull company who expect the famed to provide the entertainment. I found my supply of silver dollars dwindling and had to take to the gaming tables to staunch the leak.
My modest fame did provide the chance for liaisons with American merchant daughters curious to know how diplomacy was waged in storied France, lessons I was happy to take to their bed. I taught them to cry “Mon dieu!” at full gallop, the hypnotic bounce of their breasts providing ample testimony to the healthy diet of meat and cream in the New World. French girls, while prettier, tend toward the bony.
Magnus was disinclined to join me. “I told you, I had a love and lost her. I don’t want to dishonor her memory or suffer the pain of lost love again.” The man was a monk, and just as tiresome.
“This isn’t love, it’s exercise.”
“Signe’s memory is enough for me.”
“You’ll dry up!”
“ You exercise, with all the risks that go with it, and I’ll explore the map shops.” Magnus, impatient to be going despite the inclement season, prowled New York in his cloak and broad slouch hat, looking for Freemason symbolism, Viking relics, and Indian legends. The amount of nonsense he received was directly proportional to the amount he was willing to spend for ale on those he interviewed.
I left him to it, scouting instead the holy ground the whores occupied adjacent to Saint Paul’s Chapel. But when I’d come in at three hours after midnight I’d catch Magnus reading the tomes he’d collected from the fourteen bookstores on Maiden Lane and Pearl Street, lips moving to the nonnative English like a bull practicing Thucydides. He collected piles of speculative literature on the biblical origins of Indians, Masonic conspiracies, and odd pamphlets like William Cobbet’s contention that the new century started in 1800, not 1801, a theory that had set off impressive brawls near the Battery.
“I admire your fidelity, I really do,” I told him. “I resolve to copy you, eventually. But there’s more to life than a mission, Magnus.”
“And more to life than the moment.” He put down a book on the lost tribes of Israel. “Ethan, I know you have a reputation as a Franklin man and a savant, but I must say you haven’t shown why. You’ve been skeptical, tardy, procrastinating, and shallow ever since I met you, and I don’t quite understand why you’re famous at all. You don’t take our quest entirely seriously.”
I pointed skyward. “There’s just not much thunder and lightning in winter for us electricians. And my international diplomacy with the new president has to wait until they pick one. Why not enjoy a respite?”
“Because we could be preparing for the test. Life is for accomplishment. If your nation was still in thrall to another, you’d understand that.”
“I’m not so sure. The accomplishers I’ve met seem as likely to leave behind a heap of bodies, crackpot ideas, and financial ruin. Look at the French Revolution. Every time they accomplish something they’re dissatisfied with it and want to accomplish the opposite. My philosophy is to wait until the world makes up its mind.”
“Then let’s wait in Washington, not this commercial Babylon of gossip and greed. The longer we linger in New York, the more chance our enemies have to catch up to us.”
“I took care of our enemies in Mortefontaine, and Denmark is an ocean away! Relax, Magnus, we’re in America. And the farther west we go, the safer we’ll be.”
Still, his criticism of my procrastination rankled, and once more I vowed to reform myself. “Waste not life,” Franklin had counseled. “In the grave will be sleeping enough.” So I seduced a widow with hips
I was determined to enjoy my moment of renown, since reputations turn soon enough. Being a celebrity, however, buys you little more than supper, often with dull company who expect the famed to provide the entertainment. I found my supply of silver dollars dwindling and had to take to the gaming tables to staunch the leak.
My modest fame did provide the chance for liaisons with American merchant daughters curious to know how diplomacy was waged in storied France, lessons I was happy to take to their bed. I taught them to cry “Mon dieu!” at full gallop, the hypnotic bounce of their breasts providing ample testimony to the healthy diet of meat and cream in the New World. French girls, while prettier, tend toward the bony.
Magnus was disinclined to join me. “I told you, I had a love and lost her. I don’t want to dishonor her memory or suffer the pain of lost love again.” The man was a monk, and just as tiresome.
“This isn’t love, it’s exercise.”
“Signe’s memory is enough for me.”
“You’ll dry up!”
“ You exercise, with all the risks that go with it, and I’ll explore the map shops.” Magnus, impatient to be going despite the inclement season, prowled New York in his cloak and broad slouch hat, looking for Freemason symbolism, Viking relics, and Indian legends. The amount of nonsense he received was directly proportional to the amount he was willing to spend for ale on those he interviewed.
I left him to it, scouting instead the holy ground the whores occupied adjacent to Saint Paul’s Chapel. But when I’d come in at three hours after midnight I’d catch Magnus reading the tomes he’d collected from the fourteen bookstores on Maiden Lane and Pearl Street, lips moving to the nonnative English like a bull practicing Thucydides. He collected piles of speculative literature on the biblical origins of Indians, Masonic conspiracies, and odd pamphlets like William Cobbet’s contention that the new century started in 1800, not 1801, a theory that had set off impressive brawls near the Battery.
“I admire your fidelity, I really do,” I told him. “I resolve to copy you, eventually. But there’s more to life than a mission, Magnus.”
“And more to life than the moment.” He put down a book on the lost tribes of Israel. “Ethan, I know you have a reputation as a Franklin man and a savant, but I must say you haven’t shown why. You’ve been skeptical, tardy, procrastinating, and shallow ever since I met you, and I don’t quite understand why you’re famous at all. You don’t take our quest entirely seriously.”
I pointed skyward. “There’s just not much thunder and lightning in winter for us electricians. And my international diplomacy with the new president has to wait until they pick one. Why not enjoy a respite?”
“Because we could be preparing for the test. Life is for accomplishment. If your nation was still in thrall to another, you’d understand that.”
“I’m not so sure. The accomplishers I’ve met seem as likely to leave behind a heap of bodies, crackpot ideas, and financial ruin. Look at the French Revolution. Every time they accomplish something they’re dissatisfied with it and want to accomplish the opposite. My philosophy is to wait until the world makes up its mind.”
“Then let’s wait in Washington, not this commercial Babylon of gossip and greed. The longer we linger in New York, the more chance our enemies have to catch up to us.”
“I took care of our enemies in Mortefontaine, and Denmark is an ocean away! Relax, Magnus, we’re in America. And the farther west we go, the safer we’ll be.”
Still, his criticism of my procrastination rankled, and once more I vowed to reform myself. “Waste not life,” Franklin had counseled. “In the grave will be sleeping enough.” So I seduced a widow with hips
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