“Not a bit,” said Ratcliffe; “these reformers need it. His attack on me was meant for a challenge. I saw it in his manner.”
“But is reform really so impossible as you describe it? Is it quite hopeless?”
“Reform such as he wants is utterly hopeless, and not even desirable.”
Mrs. Lee, with much earnestness of manner, still pressed her question: “Surely something can be done to check corruption. Are we forever to be at the mercy of thieves and ruffians? Is a respectable government impossible in a democracy?”
Her warmth attracted Jacobi’s attention, and he spoke across the room. “What is that you say, Mrs. Lee? What is it about corruption?”
All the gentlemen began to listen and gather about them.
“I am asking Senator Ratcliffe,” said she, “what is to become of us if corruption is allowed to go unchecked.”
“And may I venture to ask permission to hear Mr. Ratcliffe’s reply?” asked the baron.
“My reply,” said Ratcliffe, “is that no representative government can long be much better or much worse than the society it represents. Purify society and you purify the government. But try to purify the government artificially and you only aggravate failure.”
“A very statesmanlike reply,” said Baron Jacobi, with a formal bow, but his tone had a shade of mockery. Carrington, who had listened with a darkening face, suddenly turned to the baron and asked him what conclusion he drew from the reply.
“Ah!” exclaimed the baron, with his wickedest leer, “what for is my conclusion good? You Americans believe yourselves to be excepted from the operation of general laws. You care not for experience. I have lived seventy-five years, and all that time in the midst of corruption. I am corrupt myself, only I do have courage to proclaim it, and you others have it not. Rome, Paris, Vienna, Petersburg, London, all are corrupt; only Washington is pure! Well, I declare to you that in all my experience I have found no society which has had elements of corruption like the United States. The children in the street are corrupt, and know how to cheat me. The cities are all corrupt, and also the towns and the counties and the States’ legislatures and the judges. Everywhere men betray trusts both public and private, steal money, run away with public funds. Only in the Senate men take no money. And you gentlemen in the Senate very well declare that your great United States, which is the head of the civilized world, can never learn anything from the example of corrupt Europe. You are right—quite right! The great United States needs not an example. I do much regret that I have not yet one hundred years to live. If I could then come back to this city, I should find myself very content—much more than now. I am always content where there is much corruption, and ma parole d’honneur!” broke out the old man with fire and gesture, “the United States will then be more corrupt than Rome under Caligula; more corrupt than the Church under Leo X; more corrupt than France under the Regent!”
As the baron closed his little harangue, which he delivered directly at the senator sitting underneath him, he had the satisfaction to see that everyone was silent and listening with deep attention. He seemed to enjoy annoying the senator, and he had the satisfaction of seeing that the senator was visibly annoyed. Ratcliffe looked sternly at the baron and said, with some curtness, that he saw no reason to accept such conclusions. Conversation flagged, and all except the baron were relieved when Sybil, at Schneidekoupon’s request, sat down at the piano to sing what she called a hymn. So soon as the song was over, Ratcliffe, who seemed to have been curiously thrown off his balance by Jacobi’s harangue, pleaded urgent duties at his rooms, and retired. The others soon afterwards went off in a body, leaving only Carrington and Gore, who had seated himself by Madeleine, and was at once dragged by her into a discussion of the subject which perplexed her, and for the moment threw over her mind a net of irresistible fascination.
“The baron discomfited the senator,” said Gore, with a certain hesitation. “Why did Ratcliffe let himself be trampled upon in that manner?”
“I wish you would explain why,” replied Mrs. Lee; “tell me, Mr. Gore—you who represent cultivation and literary taste hereabouts—please tell me what to think about Baron Jacobi’s speech. Who and what is to be believed? Mr. Ratcliffe seems honest and wise. Is he a corruptionist? He believes in the people, or says he does. Is he telling the truth or not?”
Gore was too experienced in politics to be caught in such a trap as this. He evaded the question. “Mr. Ratcliffe has a practical piece of work to do; his business is to make laws and advise the President; he does it extremely well. We have no other equally good practical politician; it is unfair to require him to be a crusader besides.”
“No!” interposed Carrington, curtly; “but he need not obstruct crusades. He need not talk virtue and oppose the punishment of vice.”
“He is a shrewd practical politician,” replied Gore, “and he feels first the weak side of any proposed political tactics.”
With a sigh of despair Madeleine went on: “Who, then, is right? How can we all be right? Half of our wise men declare that the world is going straight to perdition; the other half that it is fast becoming perfect. Both cannot be right. There is only one thing in life,” she went on, laughing, “that I must and will have before I die. I must know whether America is right or wrong. Just now this question is a very practical one, for I really want to know whether to believe in Mr. Ratcliffe. If I throw him overboard, everything must go, for he is only a specimen.”
“Why not believe in Mr. Ratcliffe?” said Gore; “I believe
