FOX
Ah, to be sure. I remember. Bring him in, and tell the officer
to wait outside. [Servant goes out.] Trotter, will you leave us
for a few minutes? But be within hail.
[The secretary retires, and the servant shows in a man who calls
himself GUILLET DE GEVRILLIÈRE—a tall, thin figure of thirty,
with restless eyes. The door being shut behind him, he is left
alone with the minister. FOX points to a seat, leans back, and
surveys his visitor.]
GEVRILLIÈRE
Thanks to you, sir, for this high privilege
Of hailing England, and of entering here.
Without a fore-extended confidence
Like this of yours, my plans would not have sped. [A Pause.]
Europe, alas! sir, has her waiting foot
Upon the sill of further slaughter-scenes!
FOX
I fear it is so!—In your lines you wrote,
I think, that you are a true Frenchman born?
GEVRILLIÈRE
I did, sir.
FOX
How contrived you, then, to cross?
GEVRILLIÈRE
It was from Embden that I shipped for Gravesend,
In a small sailer called the “Toby,” sir,
Masked under Prussian colours. Embden I reached
On foot, on horseback, and by sundry shifts,
From Paris over Holland, secretly.
FOX
And you are stored with tidings of much pith,
Whose tenour would be priceless to the state?
GEVRILLIÈRE
I am. It is, in brief, no more nor less
Than means to mitigate and even end
These welfare-wasting wars; ay, usher in
A painless spell of peace.
FOX
Prithee speak on.
No statesman can desire it more than I.
GEVRILLIÈRE [looking to see that the door is shut]
No nation, sir, can live its natural life,
Or think its thoughts in these days unassailed,
No crown-capt head enjoy tranquillity.
The fount of such high spring-tide of disorder,
Fevered disquietude, and forceful death,
Is One,—a single man. He—need I name?—
The ruler is of France.
FOX
Well, in the past
I fear that it has liked so. But we see
Good reason still to hope that broadening views,
Politer wisdom now is helping him
To saner guidance of his arrogant car.