Maryland free press., 1866-12-20
TalIeyrand and Arnold.

There was a day when Talleyrand arrived in
Havre, hot foot from Paris. ~ was in the dark
est hour of the French Revolution. Pursued by
the bloodhounds of the Reign of Terror, stripped
of every wreck of property or power. Talley-
rand secured q passage to America IN snip
about TO sail. He was going begger and a
wanderer, to a strange land, to earn bis bread
by his daily labor.
"ls there an American staying at your housef'
he asked the landlord of his hotel.
az am hound to cross the water, and would
like a letter to some person of influence in the
New World.'
The landlord hesitated moment, and then
said
'Thers is gentleman up stairs, either from
America or Britain whether an American OF
Englishman, ] cannot tell"
He pointed the way, and Talleyrand-who in
his life was bishop, prince, and primc-nin' 'ster-
ascended the stairs. A miserable suppliant, he
stood, before the strangers door, knocked, and
entered.
In the far corner of dimly-lighted room, sat
a gentleman of some fifty years, with his arms
folded, and his head bowed on his breast. From
window directly oppsite, flood of light
poured over his forehead. His eyes looking
from beneath the down-cast brows, gazed in Tai
leyrand's face with q peculiar and searching ex-
preston. His face was striking in its outline
the mouth and chin indicative of an iron will
His form vigorous even with the SHOWS OF fifty
winters, was clad in dark but rich and distin-
guished costume.
Talleyrand advanced stated that if he was m
American, he solicited his kind and feeling Off
ces.
lie poured forth his history in eloquent
French and broken English. al am a wanderer
an exile. | am forced to fly to the New
World, without friend or home. You are an
American. Give me then, beseech you, let
ter of yours, so that I may be able to earn my
bread. am willing to toll in any manner the
scei es of Paris have filled me with such horror,
that life of labor would be a paradise to a ca
recr of luxury in France. You will give me a
letter to one of your friends. gentleman like
you has doubtless many friends"
The strsgne gentleman rose. With look
that Taleyrand never forgot, he retreated
towards the door of the next chamber, his head
downcast, and his eyes still from beneath hi;
darkened brow. He spoke as he retrcatedj hi;
voice full of meaning:
.T am the only m"n born in the New World
can raise his hand to God and say-l have NOT
friend--not one in all America"
Tale, rand never forgot the overwhelming
sadness of that look which accompanied these
words.
"Who are yon?" he cried, as the strang,
man retreated towards the next room. "foul
name?'
.My name el'--with smile that had more o
mockery than joy in its conclusive expression
"my name is Benedict Arnold ~
lie was gone Tisaeyrand sank in q chair
gasping the words-"Arnold, the Traitor "
Even in this secluded room at the inn o
Havre, his crime found. him ont, and forced hin
to tell his nsme--that synonym Of intamy.
The last twenty years of his life are covered
with cloud, from whose darkness but a few
glcams of light fash out upon the page of his
| tory.
The manner of his death is not distinctl.
known. But we doubt not that he died perfect
ly frendless-that his brow was not mostened b.
one farewell tear-that remorse pursued him L
the grave Whispering "John Andre" in his ears
and the memory of his course Of glory gnawe'
like canker at his heart, murmuring forever
"True to your country what might you hav
been, U Arnold, the Traitor r'