“It is bravely spoken. I like your candor—your beauty. As for the love,
excuse me for saying that is a matter of total indifference. I have no
doubt, however, that it will come as soon as your feelings in favor of
the young gentleman, your cousin, have lost their present fervor. That
engaging young man has, at present, another mistress—Glory. He
occupies, I believe, the distinguished post of corporal in a regiment
which is about to march to—Perpignan, I believe.”
It was, in fact, Monsieur Schneider’s polite intention to banish me as
far as possible from the place of my birth; and he had, accordingly,
selected the Spanish frontier as the spot where I was to display my
future military talents.
Mary gave no answer to this sneer: she seemed perfectly resigned and
calm: she only said,—
“I must make, however, some conditions regarding our proposed marriage,
which a gentleman of Monsieur Schneider’s gallantry cannot refuse.”
“Pray command me,” replied the husband elect. “Fair lady, you know I am
your slave.”
“You occupy a distinguished political rank, citizen representative,”
said she; “and we in our village are likewise known and beloved. I
should be ashamed, I confess, to wed you here; for our people would
wonder at the sudden marriage, and imply that it was only by compulsion
that I gave you my hand. Let us, then, perform this ceremony at
Strasburg, before the public authorities of the city, with the state
and solemnity which befits the marriage of one of the chief men of the
Republic.”
“Be it so, madam,” he answered, and gallantly proceeded to embrace his
bride.
Mary did not shrink from this ruffian’s kiss; nor did she reply when
poor old Jacob, who sat sobbing in a corner, burst out, and said,—
“O Mary, Mary, I did not think this of thee!”
“Silence, brother!” hastily said Edward; “my good son-in-law will
pardon your ill-humor.”
I believe uncle Edward in his heart was pleased at the notion of the
marriage; he only cared for money and rank, and was little scrupulous
as to the means of obtaining them.
The matter then was finally arranged; and presently, after Schneider
had transacted the affairs which brought him into that part of the
country, the happy bridal party set forward for Strasburg. Uncles Jacob
and Edward occupied the back seat of the old family carriage, and the
young bride and bridegroom (he was nearly Jacob’s age) were seated
majestically in front. Mary has often since talked to me of this
dreadful journey. She said she wondered at the scrupulous politeness of
Schneider during the route; nay, that at another period she could have
listened to and admired the singular talent of this man, his great
learning, his fancy, and wit; but her mind was bent upon other things,
and the poor girl firmly thought that her last day was come.
In the meantime, by a blessed chance, I had not ridden three leagues
from Strasburg, when the officer of a passing troop of a cavalry
regiment, looking at the beast on which I was mounted, was pleased to
take a fancy to it, and ordered me, in an authoritative tone, to
descend, and to give up my steed for the benefit of the Republic. I
represented to him, in vain, that I was a soldier, like himself, and
the bearer of despatches to Paris. “Fool!” he said; “do you think they
would send despatches by a man who can ride at best but ten leagues a
day?” And the honest soldier was so wroth at my supposed duplicity,
that he not only confiscated my horse, but my saddle, and the little
portmanteau which contained the chief part of my worldly goods and
treasure. I had nothing for it but to dismount, and take my way on foot
back again to Strasburg. I arrived there in the evening, determining
the next morning to make my case known to the citizen St. Just; and
though I made my entry without a sou, I don’t know what secret
exultation I felt at again being able to return.
The ante-chamber of such a great man as St. Just was, in those days,
too crowded for an unprotected boy to obtain an early audience; two
days passed before I could obtain a sight of the friend of Robespierre.
On the third day, as I was still waiting for the interview, I heard a
great bustle in the courtyard of the house, and looked out with many
others at the spectacle.
A number of men and women, singing epithalamiums, and dressed in some
absurd imitation of Roman costume, a troop of soldiers and gendarmerie,
and an immense crowd of the badauds of Strasburg, were surrounding a
carriage which then entered the court of the mayoralty. In this
carriage, great God! I saw my dear Mary, and Schneider by her side. The
truth instantly came upon me: the reason for Schneider’s keen inquiries
and my abrupt dismissal; but I could not believe that Mary was false to
me. I had only to look in her face, white and rigid as marble, to see
that this proposed marriage was not with her consent.
I fell back in the crowd as the procession entered the great room in
which I was, and hid my face in my hands: I could not look upon her as
the wife of another,—upon her so long loved and truly—the saint of my
childhood—the pride and hope of my youth—torn from me for ever, and
delivered over to the unholy arms of the murderer who stood before me.
The door of St. Just’s private apartment opened, and he took his seat
at the table of mayoralty just as Schneider and his cortège arrived
before it.
Schneider then said that he came in before the authorities of the
Republic to espouse the citoyenne Marie Ancel.
“Is she a minor?” asked St. Just.
“She is a minor, but her father is here to give her away.”
“I am here,” said uncle Edward, coming eagerly forward and bowing.
“Edward Ancel, so please you, citizen representative. The worthy
citizen Schneider has done me the honor of marrying into my family.”
“But my father has not told you the terms of the marriage,” said Mary,
interrupting him, in a loud, clear voice.
Here Schneider seized her hand, and endeavored to prevent her from
speaking. Her father turned pale, and cried, “Stop, Mary, stop! For
heaven’s sake, remember your poor old father’s danger!”
“Sir, may I speak?”
“Let the young woman speak,” said St. Just, “if she have a desire to
talk.” He did not suspect what would be the purport of her story.
“Sir,” she said, “two days since the citizen Schneider entered for the
first time our house; and you will fancy that it must be a love of very
sudden growth which has brought either him or me before you to-day. He
had heard from a person who is now unhappily not present, of my name
and of the wealth which my family was said to possess; and hence arose
this mad design concerning me. He came into our village with supreme
power, an executioner at his heels, and the soldiery and authorities of
the district entirely under his orders. He threatened my father with
death if he refused to give up his daughter; and I, who knew that there
was no chance of escape, except here before you, consented to become
his wife. My father I know to be innocent, for all his transactions
with the State have passed through my hands. Citizen representative, I
demand to be freed from this marriage; and I charge Schneider as a
traitor to the Republic, as a man who would have murdered an innocent
citizen for the sake of private gain.”
During the delivery of this little speech, uncle Jacob had been sobbing
and panting like a broken-winded horse; and when Mary had done, he
rushed up to her and kissed her, and held her tight in his arms. “Bless
thee, my child!” he cried, “for having had the courage to speak the
truth, and shame thy old father and me, who dared not say a word.”
“The girl amazes me,” said Schneider, with a look of astonishment. “I
never saw her, it is true, till yesterday; but I used no force: her
father gave her to me with his free consent, and she yielded as gladly.
Speak, Edward Ancel, was it not so?”
“It was, indeed, by my free consent,” said Edward, trembling.
“For shame, brother!” cried old Jacob. “Sir, it was by Edward’s free
consent and my niece’s; but the guillotine was in the court-yard!
Question Schneider’s famulus, the man Gregoire, him who reads ‘The
Sorrows of Werter.’”
Gregoire stepped forward, and looked hesitatingly at Schneider, as he
said, “I know not what took place within doors; but I was ordered to
put up the scaffold without; and I was told to get soldiers, and let no
one leave the house.”
“Citizen St. Just,” cried Schneider, “you will not allow the testimony
of a ruffian like this, of a foolish girl, and a mad ex-priest, to
weigh against the word of one who has done such service to the
Republic: it is a base conspiracy to betray me; the whole family is
known to favor the interest of the émigrés.”
“And therefore you would marry a member of the family, and allow the
others to escape; you must make a better defence, citizen Schneider,”
said St. Just, sternly.
Here I came forward, and said that, three days since, I had received an
order to quit Strasburg for Paris immediately after a conversation with
Schneider, in which I had asked him his aid in promoting my marriage
with my cousin, Mary Ancel; that he had heard from me full accounts
regarding her father’s wealth; and that he had abruptly caused my
dismissal, in order to carry on his scheme against her.
“You are in the uniform of a regiment of this town; who sent you from
it?” said St. Just.
I produced the order, signed by himself, and the despatches which
Schneider had sent me.
“The signature is mine, but the despatches did not come from my office.
Can you prove in any way your conversation with Schneider?”
“Why,” said my sentimental friend Gregoire, “for the matter of that, I
can answer that the lad was always talking about this young woman: he
told me the whole story himself, and many a good laugh I had with
citizen Schneider as we talked about it.”
“The charge against Edward Ancel must be examined into,” said St. Just.
“The marriage cannot take place. But if I had ratified it, Mary Ancel,
what then would have been your course?”
Mary felt for a moment in her bosom, and said—“He would have died
to-night—I would have stabbed him with this dagger.”[*]
* This reply, and, indeed, the whole of the story, is historical. An
account, by Charles Nodier, in the Revue de Paris, suggested it to the
writer.
The rain was beating down the streets, and yet they were thronged; all
the world was hastening to the market-place, where the worthy Gregoire
was about to perform some of the pleasant duties of his office. On this
occasion, it was not death that he was to inflict; he was only to
expose a criminal who was to be sent on afterwards to Paris. St. Just
had ordered that Schneider should stand for six hours in the public
place of Strasburg, and then be sent on to the capital to be dealt with
as the authorities might think fit.
The people followed with execrations the villain to his place of
punishment; and Gregoire grinned as he fixed up to the post the man
whose orders he had obeyed so often—who had delivered over to disgrace
and punishment so many who merited it not.
Schneider was left for several hours exposed to the mockery and insults
of the mob; he was then, according to his sentence, marched on to
Paris, where it is probable that he would have escaped death, but for
his own fault. He was left for some time in prison, quite unnoticed,
perhaps forgotten: day by day fresh victims were carried to the
scaffold, and yet the Alsacian tribune remained alive; at last, by the
mediation of one of his friends, a long petition was presented to
Robespierre, stating his services and his innocence, and demanding his
freedom. The reply to this was an order for his instant execution: the
wretch died in the last days of Robespierre’s reign. His comrade, St.
Just, followed him, as you know; but Edward Ancel had been released
before this, for the action of my brave Mary had created a strong
feeling in his favor.
“And Mary?” said I.
Here a stout and smiling old lady entered the Captain’s little room:
she was leaning on the arm of a military-looking man of some forty
years, and followed by a number of noisy, rosy children.
“This is Mary Ancel,” said the Captain, “and I am Captain Pierre, and
yonder is the Colonel, my son; and you see us here assembled in force,
for it is the fête of little Jacob yonder, whose brothers and sisters
have all come from their schools to dance at his birthday.”