In my last Essay clearing Eliza Plater of an Affair she never had, I used Beatrix Cary Davenport’s beautiful Quote about Gouverneur Morris’ “armor plating of his heart which wears so thin in Paris.”
The Wearing and Tearing was gradual, the Excavation as gentle as his Ways of protecting his tender Heart.
An Anonymous Admirer
With Thomas Jefferson failing to introduce him into Ministerial Circles, Gouverneur Morris built his own Entrance into Paris’ Society and quickly found his Place within the Nobles and the Salons. He was ever a well-received Guest, and even Duchesses and Princesses would not just notice but complain when he didn’t call for a While.
Morris gave himself “aggressively upright” in the Beginning, claiming in Letters his “Heart is shut” for any and all Matters belonging to such. But “Gallantry judiciously mixed with politics was the supreme diversion of these eighteenth century Frenchwomen.”
And so it happened, that one fine Sunday in April, Gouverneur receives to his “great Surprize a Billet from a Lady, containing a Declaration of Love but anonymous.”
He calls his Answer “ambiguous,” dispatching it with the Errand Boy while ordering his Servant to follow at a discreet Distance. Already, his Resolve is tested:
the Man who insisted his Heart was sealed finds himself half-flattered, half-alarmed, and wholly curious.
The Anonymity of the Billet gives him Cover to play along, yet the very Mystery also pricks at his Loneliness. The small Spark enough to set him wavering between Reason and Desire.
What began as a single Scrap of Paper would soon lead him to speculate — in ever more elaborate Turns — who the Hand behind it might belong to…
From the Diary of Gouverneur Morris
April 1798
Sunday 26. — I write an ambiguous Answer to the fair Incognita and send Martin to dog the Messenger, a little Boy who delivers it to a waiting Woman who goes to the House of Monsr. de Millet. It is therefore from his Mistress, who certainly is worth Attention.
Now, who is Mr. Millet’s Mistress and why is she worth Attention?
Morris only mentioned her twice before.
Wednesday 15. — Visit Monsr. Millet. He is at Play with a Number of People who look like Gamblers. Madame is abroad and probably engaged at a different Game.
Less than a Week later, the Mistress appears in strange Detail:
Tuesday 21. — Mr. Millet has been purging his Mistress to cleanse her Stomack. She appeals to me to know whether it was necessary and I assure her it was not, her Breath being very sweet. She seems to think that Monsieur physics her too much. He means it well but she would probably be as well pleased to receive Marks of Affection in a different Way.
The picture is tender and absurd at once: a Woman overmedicated by her Lover, reassured by Morris with a Compliment as intimate as it is practical. What stands out is not his Sympathy — that was habitual for him — but that he considered this small Scene worth recording at all.
A few Hours after sending his ambiguous Reply, Morris visits Millet but finds no Opportunity to speak with his Mistress in Private.
Two Days after the first, the second Note arrives:
Tuesday 28. — I receive a second Billet from my anonymous Correspondent in which she desires that both may be returned, I comply, having taken the previous Precaution of copying them. This has more of the Prudence of Age than the generous Warmth of Youth in it but how can I help the Advances of Time, he will not stop for me.
Morris’s Comment here is one of his classic and most-repeated Self-Jabs. Copying the Billets before returning them has nothing to do with his Age, and everything with him, as a Lawyer and Writer, copying all his Correspondence himself. It was Habit, Diligence, even Self-Protection. Nothing unusual, except for the Fact that he refused to hire an Assistant for it.
Yet he makes a special Mention just to frame it as Proof that at 37 he is no longer young and ardent, but old and prudent. Already guarding his Heart against the Possibility that the Affair would come to nothing.
The next Day Things get interesting:
Wednesday 29. — Go to the French Theatre. Sit in the Loge of Monsr. Millet. From what Madame says to a little Hint I drop it would seem that the Billets were not from her. I see no Persons of my Acquaintance in this which is the Seconde Loge. (…) Come home and examine the Billets. I have been egregiously mistaken. I should have examined the Première, for it was in that Loge that my Correspondent was to sit. Enquire of Martin as to the Messenger again. He is very circumstantial and from the whole I collect that the Lady has infinite Address and that I am abominably stupid. Unless she resumes the Correspondence I cannot possibly find her out. My Curiosity is now quite as strong as another Passion which, if she is in earnest, would be quite as agreeable to her.
There we have it. Mr. Morris unravelling.
One Hint from Madame, implying that it wasn’t her, is enough to shake him.
If it is not Millet’s Mistress, then who?
He peers around the second Box but sees no familiar Faces. Later at Home, he realizes he should have looked at the first Box. So he interrogates Martin again, calls himself “abominably stupid.”
But beneath the comic Spectacle runs a deeper Current:
for if it could be anyone, then it might be someone en particulier…
And that Possibility — remote, dangerous, intoxicating, and only in his Head — is what sets his Curiosity on Fire until it burns like the Passion he just casually and accidentally admitted to harboring.
But what Passion could possibly lead a Gouverneur Morris to abandon all Reason he usually cherished and nurtured?
The next Day brings Morris no closer to the Truth — but it brings a Flash of Revelation to the Reader. He meets with his Business Associate and Friend Mr. Parker, who was with him when the first Note had arrived.
Thursday 30 — Tell him my Disappointment as to the Lady my unknown Correspondent. He was at the Play House. Saw me. Enquired the Name of the Lady I sat with &ca. He says there was but one en première who could possibly be the Person, and his Description leads to Madame de Flahaut. Qu: if she was there? He insists that I was right as to my first Idea and that it is Madame Roselle. I doubt it.
There it is: Suddenly, her Name falls — Madame de Flahaut.
At first only through Parker’s Description, but Morris seizes on it with the Eagerness of a Man already primed by Passion. Parker backpedals, assuring him it was Roselle after all, yet Morris writes flatly: “I doubt it.”
What has changed? Not the Evidence. He has nothing more, than he had that first Day, where he was sure it was Roselle, so sure in fact, that he would interrogate her subtly. What has changed is Morris himself.
By now he was perfectly familiar with the Games of Seduction and more than capable of recognizing when a Mistress was toying with him — hinting at the wrong Box, dangling the Mystery just a little longer… But he is so caught in his own Bias, so eager for the Possibility that it could be Flahaut, that he dismisses the Obvious. Even Martin, whose cautious Hedging (“yes, she definitely went to Millet’s House, but yes, Sir, it could be that perhaps the Lady delivered other Messages too”) could have slowed him down, instead becomes the Catalyst for Morris’s Self-Condemnation: the sharp, intelligent Lawyer, Congressman, Financier, Framer of the Constitution muttering in his Diary, “I’m an idiot. Of course it could be from any other address!”
He is not himself.
The Hint of Flahaut, no matter how circumstantial, confirmed his internal Bias. He felt himself confirmed in “another Passion which, if she is in earnest, would be quite as agreeable to her” and built the whole Structure around it.
So of Course the Story in his Head collapses when he is suddenly confronted with Reality. Because this wouldn’t be a Story about Morris, if it didn’t end in the most chaotic and disappointing Way possible.
Friday 1 May. — I dress and go to Mr. Millet’s where the Party are to meet. Madame is waiting for her Bonnet and afterwards we wait for some other Persons of the Company. Proceed to the Palace de Bourbon; (…) from thence we go to the Cabaret and dine on Matelotte. (…) After Dinner the Women propose to go on the Seine to which I readily agree. We shall be less liable to Observation there, which considering my Company is of some Consequence. Mr. Millet will not go and Madame is glad to get rid of him, which he seems to perceive and goes Home alone to enjoy the Reflections which such an Idea cannot fail to engender.
We embark in a dirty fishing Boat and sit on Deal Boards laid across. Mademoiselle, who is dressed in Muslin trimmed with handsome Lace, adds much to the Beauty of her Dress, which is compleatly draggled. Her Friend seems well pleased with my Attentions to her, and she tries to be modest but apes the Character badly.
After descending a considerable Distance we remount to the Barrière de Chaillot, but from a Mistake in the order, which has been the Loss of many Battles, our Carriages are not to be found. We walk towards Town. The Women as wild as Birds let out of a Cage. Dispatch the Men different Ways, but get no News of our Equipages. Cross the River and go to look for them where we dined. Not finding them there we return to recross it. Meet a Servant who tells us that the Carriages are at the Grille de Chaillot. We re-cross. (…)
After waiting some Time for the Carriages (during which the Women amuse themselves with running about) they at length arrive and I come Home. (…) Then I sit and read till near two and go to Bed heartily fatigued with this Day’s Amusement, if I may give that Name to Things which did not amuse me at all.
I incline to think that Madame Roselle is my unknown Correspondent, but I do not care six Pence who it is. An Engagement in which the Heart can take any Share is out of the question with me; and as to the Person, I am neither young enough nor old enough to play the Fool on that Score. It has been a fine Day, very much misemployed. But to know all one must see all.
Morris joins Millet, Roselle, and their small Party for a Day of Leisure. The Diary is unusually rich in sensory Detail at first: Roselle’s Muslin trimmed with Lace, her Dress dragging wet and dirty as they embark in a fishing Boat, the Women running about like wild Birds.
He notices everything: the Textures, the Movements, even her Friend’s probably purposefully less than subtle Hints. His Attention is unmistakably fixed on Roselle, the Body as much as the Scene.
Mr. Millet's Refusal to participate in the Excursion and Roselle's obvious Intention to “get rid of him” provoke Morris further. He records in his Diary what Thoughts Millet must have had about such an open Rejection. In Reality, it is much more likely that Morris is projecting himself onto Millet here. That this was how he would feel if Roselle were his Mistress who had rejected him in Favor of another. Millet himself probably did not give it any Thought, considering how, just a few Weeks earlier, he had forced his Lover to purge her Stomach instead of showing her Affection.
With each Turn of the Day, Gouverneur’s Tone grows more impatient. The Chaos with the Carriages, the endless Walking and recrossing of the River, the Women’s Exuberance… What might read as charming Spontaneity instead irritates him. What began with sensory Fascination ends in Dismissal:
“Things which did not amuse me at all.”
This also strongly contradicts the detailed Description of the Rope Pulley System on the Tugboat they used to cross the River, which can be found in the same Entry and certainly suggests a certain Degree of Enthusiasm from Morris’ Side. I have omitted the 104 Words on this Subject for the Benefit of my Readers.
At last comes the Shutdown. He admits he thinks Roselle is the one leading him on, and declares he doesn’t care. “An Engagement of the Heart” is out of Question, but then he adds an “;” to clarify; “, I am neither young enough nor old enough to play the Fool on that Score.” What Score, Mr. Morris?
The Ambiguity hinges on “the Person.” On the Surface, he is dismissing Roselle again, too young, too silly. Repeating he won’t be duped into caring. But the Syntax lets us peek at the Shadow underneath:
By saying “as to the Person” rather than “as to Roselle,” or referencing her like he usually does (“the former / the latter / the Mistress / Madame”), he might be including the other possible Correspondent — Madame de Flahaut.
If we read it that Way, it changes Tone entirely, and the End of the Night, where he stays up unusually late (the latest recorded to that Date, in Fact), becomes more Morrissian yet:
His Foolishness isn’t about Roselle, he never invested more than Curiosity in her; the Sting of Self-Reproach is about daring to imagine Flahaut might single him out.
He once again pre-emptively tries protecting himself: better to say, “I’m not fool enough to think she could like me,” than to admit how much he wants it.
This Way the Sentence works as Morris’ classic Self-Deflection:
He takes the safe Surface (Roselle = “young Girl, I don’t care”) but underneath, he’s already grappling with the terrifying, intoxicating Possibility of the Person he feels very passionate about.
The “Fool” he’s afraid of being is not Roselle’s —
it’s Adélaïde-Émilie Filleul de Flahaut’s.
So the whole Day is written off as a Losing Bargain.
The Irony is sharp: he begins in Desire, registers every Detail of Roselle’s Behavior, Body, and Dress, then covers his Disappointment with Annoyance and self-protective Denial. His Passion is erased.
It’s the Diary Version of slamming the Door on his own Heart.
Saturday 2nd May. — Return Home at one and find on my Table a Billet from my Incognita, brought by the Penny Post, and which is to close our Correspondence.
Her Reason has got the better of her Passion &ca. &ca.
If this be true, Madame, the Reason must be very strong or the Passion very weak & I bet ten to one on the latter. I think the Odds are that you have take into Pay another Passion by Way of Auxiliary to Madam Reason and Mr. Duty.
I might easily put this to the Proof but I have other Things to think of.
Roselle closes the Door.
And suddenly he suspects her Passion was faint to begin with, her two other Passions outweighing the one for Mr. Morris:
One for “Madam Reason”, meaning her Claim of rational Restraint, and one for “Mr. Duty”, her obligations to Millet, her Role as Mistress, her social Station.
It is witty, self-protective, and just a little bitter. Having been denied, Morris does what he always does: Folds inward, turns Pain into Allegory, and closes the Book with Bravado.
The Incognita Uncovered
At the very beginning, Morris remarked that Millet’s mistress was “certainly worth Attention,” without explaining why.
Only later does the Puzzle resolve: when Parker describes the Woman at the Theatre, Morris hears Flahaut in the Description, though Parker insists he meant Roselle. The simplest Explanation is that Roselle must have resembled Flahaut close enough to awaken the Association in Morris’s Mind, making her Attention worthy.
This would explain it all:
his initial Curiosity, his intermediate Passion, and his final Disappointment.
As soon as he considered the Possibility of Flahaut stronger than Roselle, his Interest waned, and the Projection broke. What he thought he glimpsed in her was outmatched by the sheer Possibility and his Interest in the young Parisienne collapsed into Self-Reproach.
Other Things to think of
Roselle’s Billets end with Reason and Duty, but Morris’s Diary leaves us with something more enduring: the Glimpse of a Heart at War with itself.
His lawyerly Prudence copied the Notes; his Wit fenced with Allegory; his Bravado insisted he didn’t care. Yet beneath it all, Curiosity was fueled by an already dwelling Passion.
That is why this Episode matters.
Roselle herself fades — a Figure at once vivid and disappointing, worth Attention and yet never the true Object of it. And in her Wake Morris let slip, that his Armor Plating was thinner than he claimed. He could still be moved, still be pierced, still hope.
It is that faint Crack, the brief Tremor of Hope amid Denial, that prepares the Ground for what comes next. Roselle is not the Story’s End, only its Rehearsal.
Already in Morris’s Circle — a Travel Companion, a Friend — stands Madame de Flahaut. Her Name slipped into the Incognita Affair, seemingly by Accident.
But in Reality more like a Look into the Core of the Volcano.
She will not appear as a passing Intrigue,
but as the Answer to a Longing already unearthed.
👁🗨 To be continued in “The Art of Seduction - Part III”…
All Quotations in this Essay are taken from
Davenport, Beatrix Cary. A Diary of the French Revolution by Gouverneur Morris 1752-1816 Minister to France during the Terror. George G. Harrap & Co. Ltd., 1939.