A Committee-Man of
'The Terror'
We had been
talking of the Georgian glories of our old-fashioned watering-place, which now,
with its substantial russet-red and dun brick buildings in the style of the
year eighteen hundred, looks like one side of a
'I wrote it down
in the shape of a story some years ago, just after my mother's death,' said
Mrs. H—. 'It is locked up in my desk there now.'
'Read it!' said
we.
'No,' said she;
'the light is bad, and I can remember it well enough, word for word, flourishes
and all.' We could not be choosers in the circumstances, and she began.
'There are two in
it, of course, the man and the woman, and it was on an evening in September
that she first got to know him. There had not been such a grand gathering on
the Esplanade all the season. His Majesty King George the Third was present, with
all the princesses and royal dukes, while upwards of three hundred of the
general nobility and other persons of distinction were also in the town at the
time. Carriages and other conveyances were arriving every minute from
'From this dusty
vehicle a man alighted, left his small quantity of luggage temporarily at the
office, and walked along the street as if to look for lodgings.
'He was about
forty-five—possibly fifty—and wore a long coat of faded super-fine cloth, with
a heavy collar, and a bunched-up neck cloth. He seemed to desire obscurity.
'But the display
appeared presently to strike him, and he asked of a rustic he met in the street
what was going on; his accent being that of one to whom English pronunciation
was difficult.
'The countryman
looked at him with a slight surprise, and said, "King Jargeis here and his
royal Cwort."
'The stranger
inquired if they were going to stay long.
"'Don't know,
Sir. Same as they always do, I suppose."
"'How long is
that?"
"'Till some
time in October. They've come here every zummer since eighty-nine."
'The stranger
moved onward down St. Thomas Street, and approached the bridge over the harbour
backwater, that then, as now, connected the old town with the more modern
portion. The spot was swept with the rays of a low sun, which lit up the
harbour lengthwise, and shone under the brim of the man's hat and into his eyes
as he looked westward. Against the radiance figures were crossing in the
opposite direction to his own; among them this lady of my mother's later
acquaintance, Mademoiselle V—. She was the daughter of a good old French
family, and at that date a pale woman, twenty-eight or thirty years of age,
tall and elegant in figure, but plainly dressed and wearing that evening (she
said) a small muslin shawl crossed over the bosom in the fashion of the time,
and tied behind.
'At sight of his
face, which, as she used to tell us, was unusually distinct in the peering
sunlight, she could not help giving a little shriek of horror, for a terrible
reason connected with her history, and after walking a few steps further, she
sank down against the parapet of the bridge in a fainting fit.
'In his
preoccupation the foreign gentleman had hardly noticed her, but her strange
collapse immediately attracted his attention. He quickly crossed the
carriage-way, picked her up, and carried her into the first shop adjoining the
bridge, explaining that she was a lady who had been taken ill outside.
'She soon revived;
but, clearly much puzzled, her helper perceived that she still had a dread of
him which was sufficient to hinder her complete recovery of self-command. She
spoke in a quick and nervous way to the shopkeeper, asking him to call a coach.
'This the
shopkeeper did, Mademoiselle V— and the stranger remaining in constrained
silence while he was gone. The coach came up, and giving the man the address,
she entered it and drove away.
'"Who is that
lady?" said the newly arrived Gentleman.
"'She's of
your nation, as I should make bold to suppose," said the shopkeeper. And
he told the other that she was Mademoiselle V—, governess at General Newbold's,
in the same town.
"'You have
many foreigners here?" the stranger inquired.
"'Yes, though
mostly Hanoverians. But since the peace they are learning French a good deal in
genteel society, and French instructors are rather in demand."
"'Yes, I
teach it," said the visitor. "I am looking for a tutorship in an
academy."
'The information
given by the burgess to the Frenchman seemed to explain to the latter nothing
of his countrywoman's conduct—which, indeed, was the case—and he left the shop,
taking his course again over the bridge and along the south quay to the Old
Rooms Inn, where he engaged a bedchamber.
'Thoughts of the
woman who had betrayed such an agitation at sight of him lingered naturally
enough with the newcomer. Though, as I stated, not much less than thirty years
of age, Mademoiselle V—, one of his own nation, and of highly refined and
delicate appearance, had kindled a singular interest in the middle-aged
gentleman's breast, and her large dark eyes, as they had opened and shrunk from
him, exhibited a pathetic beauty to which hardly any man could have been
insensible.
'The next day,
having written some letters, he went out and made known at the office of the
town "Guide" and of the newspaper, that a teacher of French and
calligraphy had arrived, leaving a card at the bookseller's to the same effect.
He then walked on aimlessly, but at length inquired the way to General
Newbold's. At the door, without giving his name, he asked to see Mademoiselle
V—, and was shown into a little back parlour, where she came to him with a gaze
of surprise.
"'My God! Why
do you intrude here, Monsieur? she gasped in French as soon as she saw his
face.
"'You were
taken ill yesterday. I helped you. You might have been run over if I had not
picked you up. It was an act of simple humanity certainly; but I thought I
might come to ask if you had recovered?"
'She had turned
aside, and had scarcely heard a word of his speech. "'I hate you, infamous
man! she said. "'I cannot bear your helping me. Go away!"
"'But you are
a stranger to me."
"'I know you
too well !"
"'You have
the advantage then, Mademoiselle. I am a newcomer here. I never have seen you
before to my knowledge; and I certainly do not, could not, hate you."
"'Are you not
Monsieur B— ?"
'He flinched.
" 'I am—in
"'That is
trivial. You are the man I say you are."
"'How did you
know my real name, Mademoiselle?"
"'I saw you
in years gone by, when you did not see me. You were formerly Member of the Committee
of Public Safety, under the Convention."
"'I
was."
"'You
guillotined my father, my brother, my uncle—all my family, nearly, and broke my
mother's heart. They had done nothing but keep silence. Their sentiments were
only guessed. Their headless corpses were thrown indiscriminately into the
ditch of the
'He nodded.
'"You left me
without a friend, and here I am now, alone in a foreign land."
'"I am sorry
for you," said he. " Sorry for the consequence, not for the intent.
What I did was a matter of conscience, and, from a point of view indiscernible
by you, I did right. I profited not a farthing. But I shall not argue this. You
have the satisfaction of seeing me here an exile also, in poverty, betrayed by
comrades, as friendless as yourself."
"'It is no
satisfaction to me, Monsieur."
"'Well,
things done cannot be altered. Now to the question: are you quite recovered?
"
"'Not from
dislike and dread of you—otherwise, yes."
"'Good
morning, Mademoiselle."
'"Good
morning."
'They did not meet
again till one evening at the theatre (which my mother's friend was with great
difficulty induced to frequent, to perfect herself in English pronunciation,
the idea she entertained at that time being to become a teacher of English in
her own country later on), She found him sitting next to her, and it made her
pale and restless.
"'You are
still afraid of me?"
"'I am. O
cannot you understand!"
' He signified the
affirmative.
"' I follow
the play with difficulty," he said presently.
"'So do I—now,"
said she.
'He regarded her
long, and she was conscious of his look; and while she kept her eyes on the
stage they filled with tears. Still she would not move, and the tears ran
visibly down her cheek, though the play was a merry one, being noother than Mr.
Sheridan's comedy of "The Rivals," with Mr. S. Kemble as Captain
Absolute. He saw her distress, and that her mind was elsewhere; and abruptly
rising from his seat at candle-snuffing time he left the theatre.
'Though he lived
in the old town, and she in the new, they frequently saw each other at a
distance. One of these occasions was when she was on the north side of the
harbour, by the ferry, waiting for the boat to take her across. Hewas standing
by Cove Row, on the quay opposite. Instead of entering the boat when it arrived
she stepped back from the quay; but looking to see if he remained she beheld
him pointing with his finger to the ferry-boat.
"'Enter!"
he said, in a voice loud enough to reach her.
'Mademoiselle V—
stood still.
"'Enter!"
he said, and, as she did not move, he repeated the word a third time.
'She had really
been going to cross, and now approached and stepped down into the boat. Though
she did not raise her eyes she knew that he was watching her over. At the
landing steps she saw from under the brim of her hat a hand stretched down. The
steps were steep and slippery.
"'No,
Monsieur," she said. " Unless, indeed, you believe in God, and repent
of your evil past!"
"'I am sorry
you were made to suffer. But I only believe in the god called Reason, and I do
not repent. I was the instrument of a national principle. Your friends were not
sacrificed for any ends of mine."
'She thereupon
withheld her hand, and clambered up unassisted. He went on, ascending the
Look-out Hill, and disappearing over the brow. Her way was in the same
direction, her errand being to bring home the two young girls under her charge,
who had gone to the cliff for an airing. When she joined them at the top she
saw his solitary figure at the further edge, standing motionless against the
sea. All the while that she remained with her pupils he stood without turning,
as if looking at the frigates in the roadstead, but more probably in
meditation, unconscious where he was. In leaving the spot one of the children
threw away half a sponge-biscuit that she had been eating. Passing near it he
stooped, picked it up carefully, and put it in his pocket.
'Mademoiselle V—
came homeward, asking herself, "Can he be starving?"
'From that day he
was invisible for so long a time that she thought he had gone away altogether.
But one evening a note came to her, and she opened it trembling.
'I am here ill,'
it said, 'and, as you know, alone. There are one or two little things I want
done, in case my death should occur, and I should prefer not to ask the people
here, if it could be avoided. Have you enough of the gift of charity to come
and carry out my wishes before it is too late?'
'Now so it was
that, since seeing him possess himself of the broken cake, she had insensibly
begun to feel something that was more than curiosity, though perhaps less than
anxiety, about this fellow-countryman of hers; and it was not in her nervous
and sensitive heart to resist his appeal. She found his lodging (to which he
had removed from the Old Rooms inn for economy) to be a room over a shop,
half-way up the steep and narrow street of the old town, to which the
fashionable visitors seldom penetrated. With some misgiving she entered the
house, and was admitted to the chamber where he lay.
'"You are too
good, too good," he murmured. And presently, "You need not shut the
door. You will feel safer, and they will not understand what we say."
"'Are you in
want, Monsieur? Can I give you—"
"'No, no. I
merely want you to do a trifling thing or two that I have not strength enough
to do myself. Nobody in the town but you knows who I really am—unless you have
told?"
"'I have not
told... I thought you might have acted from principle in those sad days,
even—"
'"You are
kind to concede that much. However, to the present. I was able to destroy my
few papers before I became so weak. . , . But in the drawer there you will find
some pieces of linen clothing—only two or three—marked with initials that may
be recognized. Will you rip them out with a penknife?
'She searched as
bidden, found the garments, cut out the stitches of the lettering, and replaced
the linen as before. A promise to post, in the event of his death, a letter he
put in her hand, completed all that he required of her.
'He thanked her.
"I think you seem sorry for me, he murmured. " And I am surprised.
You are sorry?"
'She evaded the
question. "Do you repent and believe? " she asked.
"'No."
'Contrary to her
expectations and his own he recovered, though very slowly; and her manner grew
more distant thenceforward, though his influence upon her was deeper than she
knew. Weeks passed away, and the month of May arrived. One day at this time she
met him walking slowly along the beach to the northward.
"'You know
the news?" he said.
"'You mean of
the rupture between
"'Yes; and
the feeling of antagonism is stronger than it was in the last war, owing to
Bonaparte's highhanded arrest of the innocent English who were travelling in
our country for pleasure. I feel that the war will be long and bitter; and that
my wish to live unknown in
'He took from his
pocket a piece of the single newspaper which circulated in the county in those
days, and she read—
"'The
magistrates acting under the Alien Act have been requested to direct a very
scrutinizing eye to the Academies in our towns and other places, in which
French tutors are employed, and to all of that nationality who profess to be
teachers in this country. Many of them are known to be inveterate Enemies and
Traitors to the nation among whose people they have found a livelihood and a
home."
'He continued:
"I have observed since the declaration of war a marked difference in the
conduct of the rougher class of people here towards me. If a great battle were
to occur—as it soon will, no doubt—feeling would grow to a pitch that would
make it impossible for me, a disguised man of no known occupation, to stay
here. With you, whose duties and antecedents are known, it may be less
difficult, but still unpleasant. Now I propose this. You have probably seen how
my deep sympathy with you has quickened to a warm feeling; and what I say is,
will you agree to give me a title to protect you by honouring me with your
hand? I am older than you, it is true; but as husband and wife we can leave
"'My God! You
surprise me!" said she.
"'But you
accept my proposal?
"'No,
no!"
"'And yet I
think you will, Mademoiselle, some day!"
"'I think
not." "'I won't distress you further now."
"'Much
thanks. . . . I am glad to see you looking better, Monsieur; I mean you are
looking better."
"'Ah, yes. I
am improving. I walk in the sun every day."
'And almost every
day she saw him—sometimes nodding stiffly only, sometimes exchanging formal
civilities. "You are not gone yet," she said on one of these
occasions.
"'No. At
present I don't think of going without you."
"'But you
find it uncomfortable here?"
"'Somewhat.
So when will you have pity on me?"
'She shook her
head and went on her way. Yet she was a little moved. "He did it on
principle," she would murmur. " He had no animosity towards them, and
profited nothing!"
'She wondered how
he lived. It was evident that he could not be so poor as she had thought; his
pretended poverty might be to escape notice. She could not tell, but she knew
that she was dangerously interested in him.
'And he still
mended, till his thin, pale face became more full and firm. A she mended she
had to meet that request of his, advanced with even stronger insistency.
'The arrival of
the King and Court for the season as usual brought matters to a climax for
these two lonely exiles and fellow country-people. The King's awkward preference
for a part of the coast in such dangerous proximity to
'In this tense
state of affairs her answers became more agitated. "O Heaven, how can I
marry you!" she would say.
"'You will;
surely you will!" he answered again. "I don't leave without you. And
I shall soon be interrogated before the magistrates if I stay here; probably
imprisoned. You will come?"
'She felt her
defences breaking down. Contrary to all reason and sense of family honour she
was, by some abnormal craving, inclining to a tenderness for him that was
founded on its opposite. Sometimes her warm sentiments burnt lower than at
others, and then the enormity of her conduct showed itself in more staring hues.
'Shortly after
this he came with a resigned look on his face. "It is as I expected,"
he said. "I have received a hint to go. In good sooth, I am no
Bonapartist—I am no enemy to England; but the presence of the King made it
impossible for a foreigner with no visible occupation, and who may be a spy, to
remain at large in the town. The authorities are civil, but firm, They are no
more than reasonable. Good. I must go. You must come also."
'She did not
speak. But she nodded assent, her eyes drooping.
'On her way back
to the house on the Esplanade she said to herself, " I am glad, I am glad!
I could not do otherwise. It is rendering good for evil!" But she knew how
she mocked herself in this, and that the moral principle had not operated one
jot in her acceptance of him. In truth she had not realized till now the full
presence of the emotion which had unconsciously grown up in her for this lonely
and severe man, who, in her tradition, was vengeance and irreligion
personified. He seemed to absorb her whole nature, and, absorbing, to control
it.
'A day or two
before the one fixed for the wedding there chanced to come to her a letter from
the only acquaintance of her own sex and country she possessed in England, one
to whom she had sent intelligence of her approaching marriage, without
mentioning with whom. This friend's misfortunes had been somewhat similar to
her own, which fact had been one cause of their intimacy; her friend's sister,
a nun of the Abbey of Montmartre, having perished on the scaffold at the hands
of the same Comite de Salut Public which had numbered Mademoiselle V—'s
affianced among its members. The writer had felt her position much again of
late, since the renewal of the war, she said; and the letter wound up with a
fresh denunciation of the authors of their mutual bereavement and subsequent
troubles.
'Coming just then,
its contents produced upon Mademoiselle V— the effect of a pail of water upon a
somnambulist. What had she been doing in betrothing herself to this man! Was
she not making herself a parricide after the event? At this crisis in her
feelings her lover called. He beheld her trembling, and, in reply to his
question, she told him of her scruples with impulsive candour.
'She had not
intended to do this, but his attitude of tender command coerced her into
frankness. Thereupon he exhibited an agitation never before apparent in him. He
said, "But all that is past. You are the symbol of Charity, and we are
pledged to let bygones be."
'His words soothed
her for the moment, but she was sadly silent, and he went away.
'That night she
saw (as she firmly believed to the end of her life) a divinely sent vision. A
procession of her lost relatives—father, brother, uncle, cousin seemed to cross
her chamber between her bed and the window, and when she endeavoured to trace
their features she perceived them to be headless, and that she had recognized
them by their familiar clothes only. In the morning she could not shake off the
effects of this appearance on her nerves. All that day she saw nothing of her
wooer, he being occupied in making arrangements for their departure. It grew
towards evening—the marriage eve; but, in spite of his reassuring visit, her
sense of family duty waxed stronger now that she was left alone. Yet, she asked
herself, how could she, alone and unprotected, go at this eleventh hour and
reassert to an affianced husband that she could not and would not marry him
while admitting at the same time that she loved him? The situation dismayed
her. She had relinquished her post as governess, and was staying temporarily in
a room near the coach office, where she expected him to call in the morning to
carry out the business of their union and departure.
'Wisely or
foolishly, Mademoiselle V— came to a resolution: that her only safety lay in
flight. His contiguity influenced her too sensibly; she could not reason. So
packing up her few possessions and placing on the table the small sum she owed,
she went out privately, secured a last available seat in the London coach, and,
almost before she had fully weighed her action, she was rolling out of the town
in the dusk of the September evening.
'Having taken this
startling step she began to reflect upon her reasons. He had been one of that
tragic Committee the sound of whose name was a horror to the civilized world;
yet he had been only one of several members, and, it seemed, not the most
active. He had marked down names on principle, had felt no personal enmity
against his victims, and had enriched himself not a sou out of the office he
had held. Nothing could change the past. Meanwhile he loved her, and her heart
inclined to as much of him as she could detach from that past. Why not, as he
had suggested, bury memories, and inaugurate a new era by this union? In other
words, why not indulge her tenderness, since its nullification could do no
good.
'Thus she held
self-communion in her seat in the coach, passing through Casterbridge, and
Shottsford, and on to the White Hart at Melchester, at which place the whole
fabric of her recent intentions crumbled down. Better be staunch having got so
far; let things take their course, and marry boldly the man who had so
impressed her. How great he was; how small was she! And she had presumed to
judge him! Abandoning her place in the coach with the precipitancy that had
characterized her taking she waited till the vehicle had driven off, something
in the departing shapes of the outside passengers against the star-lit sky
giving her a start, as she afterwards remembered. Presently the down coach
"The Morning Herald," entered the city, and she hastily obtained a
place on the top.
"'I'll be
firm—I'll be his—if it cost me my immortal soul!" she said. And with
troubled breathings she journeyed back over the road she had just traced.
'She reached our
royal watering-place by the time the day broke, and her first aim was to get
back to the hired room in which her last few days had been spent. When the
landlady appeared at the door in response to Mademoiselle V—'s nervous summons,
she explained her sudden departure and return as best she could; and no
objection being offered to her re-engagement of the room for one day longer she
ascended to the chamber and sat down panting. She was back once more, and her
wild tergiversations were a secret from him whom alone they concerned.
'A sealed letter
was on the mantelpiece. "'Yes, it is directed to you, Mademoiselle,"
said the woman who had followed her. "But we were wondering what to do
with it. A town messenger brought it after you had gone last night."
'When the landlady
had left, Mademoiselle V — opened the letter and read—
"'MY DEAR AND
HONOURED FRIEND.—You have been throughout our acquaintance absolutely candid
concerning your misgivings. But I have been reserved concerning mine. That is
the difference between us. You probably have not guessed that every qualm you
have felt on the subject of our marriage has been paralleled in my heart to the
full. Thus it happened that your involuntary outburst of remorse yesterday,
though mechanically deprecated by me in your presence, was last item in my own
doubts on the wisdom of our union, giving them a force that I could no longer
withstand. I came home; and, on reflection, much as I honour and adore you, I
decide to set you free.
"'As one
whose life has been devoted, and I may say sacrificed, to the cause of Liberty,
I cannot allow your judgment (probably a permanent one) to befettered beyond
release by a feeling which may be transient only.
"'It would be
no less than excruciating to both that I should announce this decision to you
by word of mouth. I have therefore taken the less painful course of writing.
Before you receive this I shall have left the town by the evening coach for
London, on reaching which city my movements will be revealed to none.
"'Regard me,
Mademoiselle, as dead, and accept my renewed assurances of respect,
remembrance, and affection."
'When she had
recovered from her shock of surprise and grief, she remembered that at the
starting of the coach out of Melchester before dawn, the shape of a figure
among the outside passengers against the starlit sky had caused her a momentary
start, from its resemblance to that of her friend. Knowing nothing of each
other's intentions, and screened from each other by the darkness, they had left
the town by the same conveyance. "He, the greater, persevered; I, the
smaller, returned! " she said.
'Recovering from
her stupor, Mademoiselle V— bethought herself again of her employer, Mrs.
Newbold, whom recent events had estranged. To that lady she went with a full
heart, and explained everything. Mrs. Newbold kept to herself her opinion of
the episode, and reinstalled the deserted bride in her old position as
governess to the family.
'A governess she
remained to the end of her days. After the final peace with