A REPUBLICAN WEDDING.
“This is great news!” said Destripes, as we mustered round the
revolutionary breakfast table. “Hast heard, citizen? Our colleague the
Minister of Marine is about to contract an alliance with a daughter of
the people. _Corbleu!_ There is no such sport as a regular republican
marriage!”
“In my early days,” said Jupiter Potard, “we had them very frequently.
The way was, to tie two young aristocrats together, and throw them into
the Seine. How poor dear Carrier used to laugh at the fun! Oh, my
friends! we shall never see such merry times again.”
“Come, don’t be down-hearted, old fellow!” cried Destripes. “We never
can tell what is before us. I don’t despair of seeing something yet
which might make the ghost of Collot d’Herbois rub its hands with
ecstasy. But to our present work. Let us get over the business of the
day, and then celebrate the wedding with a roaring festival.”
“But where are we to find a priest?” asked Saigne-du-nez. “I question
whether any of our fraternity has ever taken orders.”
“Priest!” cried Destripes ferociously. “Is this an age of superstition?
I tell thee, Saigne-du-nez, that if any such fellow were here, he should
presently be dangling from the ceiling! What better priest would’st thou
have than our venerable friend Potard?”
“Ay, ay!” said Pomme-de-terre, “Potard will do the work famously. I’ll
warrant me, with that long beard of his, he has sate for a high-priest
ere now. But look at Citoyenne Corbeille, how fond she seems of her
bargain. _Ventrebleu!_ our colleague is sure to be a happy man!”
Whatever happiness might be in store for Bagsby hereafter, there was no
appearance of it just then. He sate beside his bride like a criminal on
the morning of his execution; and such efforts as he did make to respond
to her attentions were rueful and ludicrous in the extreme.
Breakfast over, we proceeded to council; but as we had no deputations to
receive, and no fresh arrangements to make, our sitting was rather
brief. Bagsby, in order, as I supposed, to gain time, entreated me to
broach the topics of free-trade and unrestricted international exchange;
but recent events had driven the doctrines of Manchester from my head,
and somewhat shaken my belief in the infallibility of the prophets of
the League. Besides, I doubted very much whether our Provisional
Ministry cared one farthing for duties upon calico and linen, neither of
these being articles in which they were wont exorbitantly to indulge;
and I perfectly understood the danger of appearing over tedious upon any
subject in a society so strangely constituted. I therefore turned a deaf
ear to the prayers of Bagsby, and refused to enlighten the council at
the risk of the integrity of my neck. No reply whatever had been made by
the authorities without, to our communication of the previous day.
One o’clock was the hour appointed by the Provisional Government for the
nuptial ceremony, which was to be performed with great solemnity. About
twelve the bride, accompanied by three other poissardes, retired, in
order to select from the stores of the palace a costume befitting the
occasion. In the meantime, I had great difficulty in keeping up the
courage of Bagsby,—indeed, he was only manageable through the medium of
doses of brandy. At times he would burst out into a paroxysm of passion,
and execrate collectively and individually the whole body of the
Manchester League, who had sent him upon this unfortunate mission to
Paris. This profanity over, he would burst into tears, bewail his
wretched lot, and apostrophise a certain buxom widow, who seemed to
dwell somewhere in the neighbourhood of Macclesfield. As for the French,
the outpourings from the vial of his wrath upon that devoted nation were
most awful and unchristian. The plagues of Egypt were a joke to the
torments which he invoked upon their heads; and I felt intensely
thankful that not one of our companions understood a syllable of
English, else the grave would inevitably have been the bridal couch of
the Bagsby.
It now became my duty to see the bridegroom properly attired; for which
purpose, with permission of our colleagues, I conducted Bagsby to a
neighbouring room, where a full suit of uniform, perhaps the property of
Louis Philippe, had been laid out.
“Come now, Mr Bagsby,” said I, observing that he was about to renew his
lamentations, “we have had quite enough of this. You have brought it
upon yourself. Had you warned me of your design last night, it is quite
possible that both of us might have escaped; but you chose to essay the
adventure single-handed, and, having failed, you must stand by the
consequences. After all, what is it? Merely marriage, a thing which
almost every man must undergo at least once in his lifetime.”
“Oh! but such a woman—such a she-devil rather!” groaned Bagsby. “I
shouldn’t be the least surprised if she bites as bad as a crocodile. How
can I ever take such a monster home, and introduce her to my friends?”
“I see no occasion for that, my good fellow. Why not stay here and
become a naturalised Frenchman?”
“Here? I’d as soon think of staying in a lunatic asylum! Indeed I may be
in one soon enough, for flesh and blood can’t stand this kind of torture
long. But I say,” continued he, a ray of hope flashing across his
countenance, “they surely can’t make it a real marriage after all.
Hanged if any one of these blackguards is a clergyman; and even if he
was, they haven’t got a special license.”
“Don’t deceive yourself, Mr Bagsby,” said I; “marriage in France is a
mere social contract, and can be established by witnesses, of whom there
will be but too many present.”
“Then I say they are an infernal set of incarnate pestiferous heathens!
What! marry a man whether he will or not, and out of church! It’s enough
to draw down a judgment upon the land.”
“You forget, Mr Bagsby. You need not marry unless you choose; it is a
mere question of selection between a wedding and an execution,—between
the lady and a certain rope, which, I can assure you, Monsieur
Destripes, or his friend Gratte-les-rues, will have no hesitation in
handling. Indeed, from significant symptoms, I conclude that their
fingers are itching for some such practice.”
“They are indeed two horrid-looking blackguards!” said Bagsby dolefully.
“I wish I had pluck enough to be hanged: after all, it could not be much
worse than marriage. And yet I don’t know. There may be some means of
getting a divorce, or she may drink herself to death, for, between you
and me, she seems awfully addicted to the use of ardent spirits.”
“Fie! Mr Bagsby; how can you talk so of your bride upon the wedding-day!
Be quick! get into those trousers, and never mind the fit. It may be
dangerous to keep them waiting long; and, under present circumstances,
it would be prudent to abstain from trying the temper of the lady too
severely.”
“I never thought to be married this way!” sighed Bagsby, putting on the
military coat, which, being stiff with embroidery, and twice too big for
him, stuck out like an enormous cuirass. “If my poor old mother could
see me now, getting into the cast-off clothes of some outlandish
Frenchman—”
“She would admire you exceedingly, I am sure. Do you know you look quite
warlike with these epaulets! Come now—on with the sash, take another
thimble-ful of brandy, and then to the altar like a man!”
“I daresay you mean well, Mr Dunshunner; but I have listened to more
pleasant conversation. I say—what is to prevent my getting up the
chimney?”
“Mere madness! The moment you are missed they will fire up it. Believe
me, you have not a chance of escape; so the sooner you resign yourself
to your inevitable destiny the better.”
Here a loud knocking was heard at the door.
“Citizen Minister of Marine, art thou ready?” cried the voice of
Pomme-de-terre. “Thy bride is waiting for thee, the altar is decked, and
Père Potard in his robes of office!”
“Come, then,” said I, seizing Bagsby by the arm. “Take courage, man! In
ten minutes it will all be over.”
Our colleagues had not been idle in the interim. At one end of the hall
they had built up an extempore altar covered with a carpet, behind which
stood Jupiter Potard, arrayed in a royal mantle of crimson velvet, which
very possibly in former days might have decorated the shoulders of
Napoleon. Indeed the imperial eagle was worked upon it in gold, and it
had been abstracted from one of the numerous repositories of the palace.
Jupiter, with his long beard and fine sloping forehead, looked the
perfect image of a pontiff, and might have been appropriately drawn as a
principal figure in a picture of the marriage of Heliogabalus.
Gratte-les-rues and Pomme-de-terre, being of bellicose temperament, had
encased themselves in suits of armour, and stood, like two champions of
antiquity, on each side of the venerable prelate. Destripes, who had
accepted the office of temporary father to Demoiselle Corbeille,
appeared as a patriot of the Reign of Terror. His brawny chest was bare;
his shirt-sleeves rolled up to the shoulder; and in his belt was stuck
the axe, a fitting emblem alike of his principles and his profession.
At his right hand stood the bride, bedizened with brocade and finery.
From what antiquated lumber-chest they had fished out her apparel, it
would be utterly in vain to inquire. One thing was clear, that the
former occupant of the robes had been decidedly inferior in girth to the
blooming poissarde, since it was now necessary to fasten them across the
bosom by a curious net-work of tape. I am afraid I have done injustice
to this lady, for really, on the present occasion, she did not look
superlatively hideous. She was a woman of about forty-five,
strong-built, with an immense development of foot and ancle, and arms of
masculine proportion. Yet she had a pair of decidedly fine black eyes,
betokening perhaps little of maiden modesty, but flashing with love and
triumph; a _nez retroussé_, which, but for its perpetual redness, might
have given a piquant expression to her countenance; a large mouth, and a
set of prodigious teeth, which, to say the truth, were enough to justify
the apprehensions of the bridegroom.
“Silence!” cried Jupiter Potard as we entered; “let the present august
solemnity be conducted as befits the sovereignty of the people! Citizen
Saigne-du-nez, advance!”
Saigne-du-nez was clad in a black frock, I suppose to represent a
notary. He came forward:—
“In the name of the French nation, one and indivisible, I demand the
celebration of the nuptials of Citizen Hutton Bagsby, adopted child of
France, and Provisional Minister of her Marine in the department of the
Tuilleries, and of Citoyenne Céphyse Corbeille, poissarde, and daughter
of the people.”
“Is there any one here to gainsay the marriage?” asked Jupiter.
There was no reply.
“Then, in the name of the French nation, I decree that the ceremony
shall proceed. Citizen Minister of Marine, are you willing to take this
woman as your lawful wife?”
A cold sweat stood upon the brow of Bagsby, his knees knocked together,
and he leaned the whole weight of his body upon my arm, as I interpreted
to him the demand of Jupiter.
“Say any thing you like,” muttered he; “it will all come to the same
thing at last!”
“The citizen consents, most venerable President.”
“Then nothing remains but to put the same question to the citoyenne,”
said Potard. “Who appears as the father of the bride?”
“_Chûte de la Bastille!_ that do I,” cried Destripes.
“Citizen Destripes, do you of your own free will and accord—”
Here a thundering rap was heard at the door.
“What is that?” cried Destripes starting back. “Some one has passed the
barricade!”
“In the name of the Provisional Government!” cried a loud voice. The
door was flung open, and to my inexpressible joy, I beheld the Count of
Monte-Christo, backed by a large detachment of the National Guard.
“Treason! treachery!” shouted Destripes. “Ah, villain, thou hast
neglected thy post!” and he fetched a tremendous blow with his axe at
the head of Gratte-les-rues. It was fortunate for that chief that his
helmet was of excellent temper, otherwise he must have been cloven to
the chin. As it was, he staggered backwards and fell.
The National Guard immediately presented their muskets.
“I have the honour to inform the citizens,” said Monte-Christo, “that I
have imperative orders to fire if the slightest resistance is made.
Monsieur, therefore, will have the goodness immediately to lay down that
axe.”
Destripes glared on him for a moment, as though he meditated a rush, but
the steady attitude of the National Guard involuntarily subdued him.
“This is freedom!” he exclaimed, flinging away his weapon. “This is what
we fought for at the barricades! Always deceived—always sold by the
aristocrats! But the day may come when I shall hold a tight reckoning
with thee, my master, or I am not the nephew of the citizen Samson!”
“Pray, may I ask the meaning of this extraordinary scene?” said
Monte-Christo, gazing in astonishment at the motley group before him.
“Is it the intention of the gentlemen to institute a Crusade, or have we
lighted by chance upon an assemblage of the chivalry of Malta?”
“Neither,” I replied. “The fact is, that just as you came in we were
engaged in celebrating a republican marriage.”
“Far be it from me to interfere with domestic or connubial
arrangements!” replied the polite Monte-Christo. “Let the marriage go
on, by all means; I shall be delighted to witness it, and we can proceed
to business thereafter.”
“You will see no marriage here, I can tell you!” cried Bagsby, who at
the first symptom of relief had taken shelter under the shadow of the
Marquis. “I put myself under your protection; and, by Jove, if you don’t
help me, I shall immediately complain to Lord Normanby!”
“What is this?” cried Monte-Christo. “Do I see Monsieur Bagsby in a
general’s uniform? Why, my good sir, you have become a naturalised
Frenchman indeed! The nation has a claim upon you.”
“The nation will find it very difficult to get it settled then!” said
Bagsby. “But I want to get out. I say, can’t I get away?”
“Certainly. There is nothing to prevent you. But I am rather curious to
hear about this marriage.”
“Why,” said I, “the truth is, my dear Marquis, that the subject is
rather a delicate one for our friend. He has just been officiating in
the capacity of bridegroom.”
“You amaze me!” said Monte-Christo; “and which, may I ask, is the fair
lady?”
Here Demoiselle Céphyse came forward.
“Citizen officer,” she said, “I want my husband!”
“You hear, Monsieur Bagsby?” said Monte-Christo, in intense enjoyment of
the scene. “The lady says she has a claim upon you.”
“It’s all a lie!” shouted Bagsby. “I’ve got nothing to say to the woman.
I hate and abhor her!”
“_Monstre!_” shrieked the poissarde, judging of Bagsby’s ungallant
repudiation rather from his gestures than his words. And she sprang
towards him with the extended talons of a tigress. Bagsby, however, was
this time too nimble for her, and took refuge behind the ranks of the
National Guard, who were literally in convulsions of laughter.
“I will have thee, though, _polisson_!” cried the exasperated bride. “I
will have thee, though I were to follow thee to the end of the world!
Thou hast consented to be my husband, little _tisserand_, and I never
will give thee up.”
“Keep her off! good, dear soldiers,” cried Bagsby: “pray, keep her off!
I shall be murdered and torn to pieces if she gets hold of me! Oh, Mr
Dunshunner! do tell them to protect me with their bayonets.”
“Be under no alarm, Mr Bagsby,” said Monte-Christo; “you are now under
the protection of the National Guard. But to business. Which of the
citizens assembled is spokesman here?”
“I am the president!” hiccupped Jupiter Potard, who, throughout the
morning, had been unremitting in his attentions to the bottle.
“Then, you will understand that, by orders of the Provisional
Government, all must evacuate the palace within a quarter of an hour.”
“Louis Philippe had seventeen years of it,” replied Jupiter Potard. “I
won’t abdicate a minute sooner!”
“And I,” said Pomme-de-terre, “expect a handsome pension for my pains.”
“Or at least,” said Saigne-du-nez, “we must have permission to gut the
interior.”
“You have done quite enough mischief already,” said Monte-Christo; “so
prepare to move. My orders are quite peremptory, and I shall execute
them to the letter!”
“Come along, then, citizens!” cried Destripes. “I always knew what would
come of it, if these rascally _bourgeoisie_ got the upper hand of the
workmen. They are all black aristocrats in their hearts. But, by the
head of Robespierre, thou shalt find that thy government is not settled
yet, and there shall be more blood before we let them trample down the
rights of the people!”
So saying, the democratic butcher strode from the apartment, followed by
the rest of the Provisional Government and their adherents, each
retaining the garb which he had chosen to wear in honour of the nuptials
of Bagsby. The poissarde lingered for a moment, eying her faithless
betrothed as he stood in the midst of the Guard, like a lioness robbed
of her cub: and then, with a cry of wrath, and a gesture of menace, she
rushed after her companions.
“Thank Heaven!” cried Bagsby, dropping on his knees, “the bitterest hour
of my whole existence is over!”