The Whites and the Blues (11 page)

"That is all that is necessary; and on the strength of that, citizeness Teutch, kiss me and sleep well—I will try to do the same."

Madame Teutch kissed her guest, and went away, mur muring: "In God's truth, there are no more children; here is one challenging citizen Tetrell, and the other demanding to be brought before citizen Saint-Just!"

Madame Teutch closed the door. Charles blew out the light and went to sleep.

The next morning, about eight o'clock, he was busy ar ranging his papers, which were more or less in disorder from the visitation of the previous night, when citizeness Teutch rushed into his room, crying: "Here they are! here they are!"

"Who?" asked Charles.

"The police, who have come to arrest you, poor dear child!"

Charles quickly concealed in the bosom of his shirt the second letter which his father had given him—the one to Pichegru; for he feared that it might be taken from him and not returned.

The police entered and informed the boy of the object of their visit. Charles declared himself ready to follow them.

As he passed the citizeness Teutch, he gave her a look, which signified: "Don't forget!"

She replied by a slight movement of the head, which meant: "Don't be afraid."

The police led the way on foot.

They were obliged to pass before Euloge Schneider's house in order to reach the prison. For a moment Charles thought of asking to be led before the man to whom he had brought a letter of recommendation, and with whom he had dined the day previous; but he saw the guillotine before the door, and near it an empty carriage, while on the doorstep stood Master Nicholas. Eemembering what had occurred there, he shook his head in disgust, murmuring as he did so: "Poor Mademoiselle de Brumpt! God help her!"

The boy believed in God; it is true he was but a child,

CHAPTER X SCHNEIDER'S JOURNEY

SCARCELY had Charles and the men who were con ducting him passed Schneider's door than it opened, and the Commissioner of the Republic came out, glanced tenderly at the instrument of death, packed neatly in a cart, made a slight sign of friendly greeting to Master Nicholas, and got into the empty carriage. Standing there for an instant, he said to Master Nicholas: "And you?"

The latter pointed to a sort of cab that was rapidly ap proaching which contained two men, his assistants; the cab was his own conveyance.

Everything was in readiness—the accuser, the execu tioner, and the guillotine.

The procession began its march through the streets lead ing to the Kehl gate, which opened on the road to Plob-sheim. Everywhere they passed, terror, with its icy wings, passed also. Those who were standing at their doors went inside; those who were walking, hugged the walls and wished they could slip through them. A few fanatics alone waved their hats, and cried: "Long live the guillo tine!" which meant, "Long live death 1" but, to the honor of humanity, it must be admitted that these individuals were greatly in the minority.

Schneider's customary escort, eight of the Hussars of Death, were waiting for him at the gate.

In each village that Schneider came to on the road, he made a halt; striking terror into the hearts of the people thereby. As soon as the lugubrious procession had stopped in the public square, Schneider sent word that he was ready to listen to any denunciations that should be made to him. He heard the accusations, interrogated the mayor and the trembling municipal counsellors, ordered the arrests, and

left the village behind him as sad and desolate as if it had been visited by the plague or the yellow fever.

The village of Eschau was to the right, and a little to one side of the road. Its inhabitants therefore hoped to be spared the terrible visitation. But they were mistaken.

Schneider turned into the crossroad, which was gullied by rain, through which his carriage and that of Master Nicholas passed easily, thanks to their light construction. But the cart which bore the red machine stuck fast in the mud.

Schneider sent four Hussars of Death to look after the men and horses. The men and the horses were somewhat delayed; the enthusiasm for this funereal work was not great. Schneider was furious; he threatened to remain permanently at Eschau and to guillotine the whole village. And he could have done so if he had chosen, so supreme was the omnipotence of these terrible dictators.

This explains the massacres of Collot-d'Herbois at Lyons, and of Carrier at Nantes. The lust of blood took possession of them, just as eighteen hundred years before it had taken possession of Nero, Commodus, and Domitian.

At last, with the combined efforts of men and horses, they succeeded in dragging the cart out of the ruts, and entered the village.

The mayor, his deputy, and the municipal counsellors were awaiting Schneider at the end of the street. Schneider surrounded them with his Hussars of Death without listen ing to a word they had to say.

It was market day; he stopped on the great square, and ordered the guillotine set up before the eyes of the terrified people. Then he gave the order to tie the mayor to one of the pillars of the guillotine, and the deputy to the other, while all the counsellors stood upon the platform. He had invented this sort of pillory for all those who in his opinion did not deserve the extreme sentence, death.

It was noon, and the dinner-hour. He entered an inn which was opposite the scaffold, had his table set on the

balcony, and, guarded by four Hussars of Death, ate his dinner there.

At dessert he rose and lifted his glass, crying: "Long live the Eepublic! Death to the aristocrats!" When the spectators had repeated his cry, even those who were gaz ing at him in fear from the top of the scaffold, not know ing what was to be done with them, he said: "It is well; I pardon you.''

And he ordered the mayor and his deputy to be untied, and permitted the municipal body to descend from the plat form, commanding them, in the interest of "equality and fraternity," to help the executioner and his assistants to take down the guillotine and load it upon the cart, after which he made them escort him in triumph to the other end of the village.

They reached Plobsheim about three in the afternoon. At the first house Schneider asked the way to the dwelling of the Comte de Brumpt. They pointed it out to him.

He lived in the Kue de Khin, the most spacious and pleasant street in the town. When they reached the house, Schneider ordered them to set up the guillotine before it, and leaving four hussars to guard the scaffold, he went away, taking the other four with him.

He stopped at the hotel of the "Phrygian Cap," for merly the "White Cross."

From there he wrote as follows:

To the citizen Brumpt at the town prison :

Upon giving your written word of honor not to escape, you are free. But you will invite me to dinner to-morrow at noon, because I must talk to you on important business.

EULOGE SCHNEIDER.

He sent the letter to the Comte de Brumpt by one of his hussars. Ten minutes later the man brought the answer:

I give my parole to the citizen Schneider to return to my own house, and not to leave it without his permission.

I shall be much pleased to receive him at dinner to morrow, at the hour named. BRUMPT.

CHAPTER XI

THE MARRIAGE PROPOSAL

AT SIGHT of the horrible machine, which stood before her house, Mademoiselle de Brumpt ordered all thg windows in the front closed.

When Comte de Brurnpt, leaving the prison without $ruards and on his own parole, arrived within sight of his own house, he found it shut like a sepulchre, with the scaf fold before it. He asked himself what it meant and whether he dared go forward. But this hesitation did not last long; neither scaffold nor tomb could hold him back. He walked straight to the door and knocked in his accustomed manner —two blows in quick succession, and a third after a long interval.

Clotilde had retired with Madame Gerard, her compan ion, to a room in the back of the house overlooking the garden. She was lying among the sofa-cushions and weep ing, so ominous did Schneider's answer to her petition seem to her. When she heard the first two strokes of the knocker she uttered a cry, at the third she sprang to her feet.

4 'My God!" she cried.

Madame Gerard turned pale.

4 'If your father were not a prisoner/' she said, *'I would swear that was his knock."

Clotilde darted toward the stairs.

14 That is his step," she murmured.

She heard a voice below, asking: "Clotilde, where are you?"

"My father! my father!" cried the young girl, rushing down the stairs.

The count was waiting for her below, and received her in his arms. "My daughter! my daughter 1" he murmured, "what does this mean?"

"I don't know myself.'*

"But what is the meaning of this scaffold before the house, and why are all the windows closed?"

''Schneider had the scaffold put up there, and I ordered all the windows closed; I shut them that I might not have to see you die.''

"But it was Schneider who opened the door of my prison for me, and let me go on my own recognizance, at the same time inviting himself to dinner to-morrow."

"My father," said Clotilde, "perhaps I did wrong, but you must blame my love for you. When you were arrested 1 hastened to Strasbourg and asked for your release.''

"Of Schneider?"

"Of Schneider."

"Poor child! And at what price did he grant it?"

"Papa, the price is yet to be agreed upon between us. Doubtless, he will tell us the conditions to-morrow."

'' We will wait for them.''

Clotilde took her prayer-book and went to a little church so humble that it had not been thought necessary to deprive the Lord of it. She prayed there until evening.

The guillotine remained standing all night.

The next day at noon, Schneider presented himself at the Comte de Brumpt's house.

In spite of the advanced season of the year the house was filled with flowers. It would have seemed like a gala day, had not Clotilde's mourning contradicted the impression, as the snow in the street contradicted the spring within.

The count and his daughter received Schneider. He had not taken the name of Euloge for nothing. At the end of ten minutes Clotilde asked herself if this could be the man who had received her so brutally at Strasbourg.

The count, reassured, left the room to attend to some arrangements. Schneider offered his arm to the young girl, and led her to the window, which he opened.

The guillotine stood opposite, gayly decked with flowers and ribbons.

"Take your choice,'' he said, "between a scaffold and the altar."

"What do you mean?" asked Clotilde, trembling.

"To-morrow you must either be my wife or tie count must die.''

Clotilde blanched to the color of the white cambric hand kerchief which she held in her hand.

4 ' My father would prefer to die,'' she replied.

"And therefore I leave it to you to acquaint him with my request.''

"You are right," said Clotilde, "that would be the only way.''

Schneider closed the window and led Mademoiselle de Brumpt back to her chair.

Clotilde drew a flask of salts from her pocket and held it to her nose. By a supreme effort of the will, her face re gained its usual calm expression, although it was very sad, and the roses which had seemed to fade from her cheeks forever, bloomed there anew. She had evidently made up her mind.

The count returned. He was followed by a servant, who announced dinner.

A magnificent repast was served, messengers having been sent in the night to Strasbourg to bring back the finest game and the rarest fish that the market afforded.

The count, somewhat reassured, did the honors of his table to the commissioner of the Republic, with all the delicacy of the old nobility. They drank in turn the best wines of the Rhine, of Germany, and of Hungary. The pale betrothed alone ate little, and from time to time moistened her lips with a glass of water.

But at the end of the dinner she held out her glass to the count who, much astonished, filled it with Tokay wine. Then she rose, and lifting her glass, said: "To Euloge Schneider, the generous man to whom I owe my father's life; happy and proud will be the woman whom he chooser for his wife."