“For good or ill,” Pierce said, mopping his sweating face with his kerchief.
“We’ll know soon enough,” Lincoln said. “Well now — shall we brave the elements and finally get to meet Lord Palmerston?”
The carriage was still accompanied by the Belgian cavalrymen, now looking damp and miserable, the elegant plumes on their helmets drooping and wet. King Leo
pold had taken it as a personal responsibility that the American President had been assaulted in his country. He was determined that there would be no reoccurrence. There had been unobtrusive guards in the hotel, most disguised as employees, and others now waited along the route that the carriage would take. The King believed that the honor of Belgium was at stake.
It was a short ride to the palace, but when they reached it they had to stop and wait until the occupants came out from the two carriages that had arrived ahead of them. The men who emerged had to brave the rain to enter the building while servants with umbrellas did their best to shield them from the elements. The cavalrymen did not like the delay, and transmitted their unease to their mounts, which stamped and pulled at their reins. They were relieved when the other carriages left and they could take their place at the foot of the steps.
Once inside, the Americans were ushered to the great chamber where the conference would convene. Even on this dark day, light streamed in through the ceiling-high windows. Ornate gas lamps abolished any traces of gloom, illuminating the ornately painted ceiling where centaurs pranced around lightly clad, very large women.
But Abraham Lincoln had no eyes for any of this. Across the floor and opposite their table (with the neatly lettered sign ÉTATS-UNIS upon it) was that of GRANDE BETAGNE. One seated man stood out sharply from the dark-clothed delegation. His foot propped on a stool before him, his hands clasped around the head of his cane, he glowered out at the entire assembly.
“Lord Palmerston, I presume?” Lincoln said quietly.
Gus nodded. “None other. He looks to be in an angry mood.”
“Considering the tenor of his communications with us, I believe he must live in a permanent state of bile.”
The Belgian Foreign Minister, Baron Surlet de Chokier, rose and the murmur of voices died away as he addressed the assembly in French.
“He is just reading out a formal and general greeting to all the delegations assembled here,” Fox said, leaning over to whisper to the President. “And it is his fond hope that prosperity for all countries will be the fruitful conclusion of these highly significant and most important negotiations.”
Lincoln nodded. “You never cease to surprise me, Gus.”
Fox smiled and gave a very Gallic shrug of his shoulders.
When the baron had finished, he waved to his clerk, who began to read the protocol of business for the assembly. But Lord Palmerston loudly cleared his throat. He rumbled like a distant volcano as he climbed to his feet.
“Before these proceedings continue, I must protest strongly about the nature and particular membership of this assembly—”
“I beg your lordship to hear the protocol first!” de Chokier said pleadingly — but Palmerston would have none of it.
“A protest, sir, about the very basic nature of these proceedings. We are assembled here in a congress of the great nations of Europe to discuss matters most relevant to countries that are European. I therefore object most strongly to the presence of representatives of the upstart nation from far across the Atlantic. They have no right to be here and have no relevance to the matters at hand. The sight of them is an abomination to all honest men, of whatever nationality. Particularly insulting is the presence in their midst of a military officer who, until recently, was deeply involved in the slaughter of loyal British troops. They give offense, sir, and should be turned out into the street at once.”
Abraham Lincoln was no stranger to acrimonious public debate. He rose slowly to his feet, clutching his lapels casually. To those who knew, the mood indicated by the droop in his eyes — hiding their cold gaze — did not bode well for his opponents. The instant Palmerston paused for breath, Lincoln’s high, penetrating voice echoed from the chamber’s wall.
“I believe that the British representative is laboring under a self-imposed delusion, for which I apologize to all of the other delegates present. He should know that all of the nations gathered here were invited officially by King Leopold of Belgium himself. It is a most solemn and important gathering that we attend, for this is no provincial European occasion, but is instead a congress of countries who meet together to discuss matters of world importance. As Britain represents a world-embracing empire, so do we speak for the New World and its countries across the Atlantic Ocean—”
“Your comparisons are odious, sir!” Palmerston bellowed. “How dare you compare the sweep of the British Empire, the might of our world-spanning union, with your ragtag so-called democracies?”
“How dare you single out General Sherman, a brave soldier, for denigration when I see a plethora of uniforms about this room. And please tell me, is that not a general sitting close behind you?”
Palmerston, livid with rage, would have none of it. “You presume too much to speak to me in this manner—”
“Presume, sir? I presume nothing. In fact, I control my impatience as I address the person who was so presumptuous, so rash, that he dared to send armies to attack our peace-loving country. That was an act of war that did not go unpunished. However, it is my greatest hope that the nations convened here will not think of the past and of war. Instead we should look forward to peace in a peaceful future.”
Palmerston was beside himself. He crashed his cane again and again across the tabletop until the shocked voices of protest had died away.
“Her Majesty’s representatives did not come here to be insulted,” Palmerston bellowed. “It would be our pleasure to join the other representatives in a congress of mutual cooperation at some other time. But not here, not today, while these totally repugnant foreign intruders are present in this hall. I am therefore forced to wish you all a good day.”
He stalked from the room, his dramatic exit hampered by a stumbling progress caused by his swollen foot, while most of the other members of the delegation hurried after him. The door slammed shut and Lincoln nodded sagely. He slowly regained his seat. “I think the clerk can continue now,” he said.
The clerk began to read in a shaky voice until Baron de Chokier interrupted him. “I believe these proceedings should continue after a brief recess. If you please, gentlemen, in an hour’s time.”
“Got a mighty fierce temper for an old man,” Lincoln observed. “I wonder he didn’t explode years ago.”
“It must have all been prearranged,” Fox said, looking worried. “King Leopold is Queen Victoria’s favorite uncle and she looks up to him for advice and counseling. Knowing this, her prime minister could not easily refuse the invitation. But coming here was one thing for Palmerston; staying and talking peace with Yankees something altogether different. But now that they have shown their flag—”