CHAPTER IV. THE DUEL
The road was passable only from Avignon to l'Isle. They covered the ninemiles between the two places in an hour. During this hour Roland, as heresolved to shorten the time for his travelling companion, was wittyand animated, and their approach to the duelling ground only served toredouble his gayety. To one unacquainted with the object of thisdrive, the menace of dire peril impending over this young man, withhis continuous flow of conversation and incessant laughter, would haveseemed incredible.
At the village of l'Isle they were obliged to leave the carriage.Finding on inquiry that they were the first to arrive, they entered thepath which led to the fountain.
"Oh! oh!" exclaimed Roland, "there ought to be a fine echo here." And hegave one or two cries to which Echo replied with perfect amiability.
"By my faith!" said the young man, "this is a marvellous echo. I knownone save that of the Seinonnetta, at Milan, which can compare with it.Listen, my lord."
And he began, with modulations which revealed an admirable voice and anexcellent method, to sing a Tyrolean song which seemed to bid defianceto the human throat with its rebellious music. Sir John watched Roland,and listened to him with an astonishment which he no longer took thetrouble to conceal. When the last note had died away among the cavitiesof the mountain, he exclaimed:
"God bless me! but I think your liver is out of order."
Roland started and looked at him interrogatively. But seeing that SirJohn did not intend to say more, he asked:
"Good! What makes you think so?"
"You are too noisily gay not to be profoundly melancholy."
"And that anomaly astonishes you?"
"Nothing astonishes me, because I know that it has always its reason forexisting."
"True, and it's all in knowing the secret. Well, I'm going to enlightenyou."
"Oh! I don't want to force you."
"You're too polite to do that; still, you must admit you would be gladto have your mind set at rest about me."
"Because I'm interested in you."
"Well, Sir John, I am going to tell you the secret of the enigma,something I have never done with any one before. For all my seeming goodhealth, I am suffering from a horrible aneurism that causes me spasms ofweakness and faintness so frequent as to shame even a woman. I spendmy life taking the most ridiculous precautions, and yet Larrey warns methat I am liable to die any moment, as the diseased artery in my breastmay burst at the least exertion. Judge for yourself how pleasant fora soldier! You can understand that, once I understood my condition, Idetermined incontinently to die with all the glory possible. Anothermore fortunate than I would have succeeded a hundred times already.But I'm bewitched; I am impervious alike to bullets and balls; even theswords seem to fear to shatter themselves upon my skin. Yet I never missan opportunity; that you must see, after what occurred at dinner. Well,we are going to fight. I'll expose myself like a maniac, giving myadversary all the advantages, but it will avail me nothing. Thoughhe shoot at fifteen paces, or even ten or five, at his very pistol'spoint, he will miss me, or his pistol will miss fire. And all thiswonderful luck that some fine day when I least expect it, I may diepulling on my boots! But hush I here comes my adversary."
As he spoke the upper half of three people could be seen ascending thesame rough and rocky path that Roland and Sir John had followed, growinglarger as they approached. Roland counted them.
"Three!" he exclaimed. "Why three, when we are only two?"
"Ah! I had forgotten," replied the Englishman. "M. de Barjols, as muchin your interest as in his own, asked permission to bring a surgeon, oneof his friends."
"What for?" harshly demanded Roland, frowning.
"Why, in case either one of you was wounded. A man's life can often besaved by bleeding him promptly."
"Sir John," exclaimed Roland, ferociously, "I don't understand thesedelicacies in the matter of a duel. When men fight they fight to kill.That they exchange all sorts of courtesies beforehand, as your ancestorsdid at Fontenoy, is all right; but, once the swords are unsheathed orthe pistols loaded, one life must pay for the trouble they have takenand the heart beats they have lost. I ask you, on your word of honor,Sir John, to promise that, wounded or dying, M. de Barjols' surgeonshall not be allowed to touch me."
"But suppose, M. Roland--"
"Take it or leave it. Your word of honor, my lord, or devil take me if Ifight at all."
The Englishman again looked curiously at the young man. His face waslivid, and his limbs quivered as though in extreme terror. Sir John,without understanding this strange dread, passed his word.
"Good!" exclaimed Roland. "This, you see, is one of the effects of mycharming malady. The mere thought of surgical instruments, a bistoury ora lance, makes me dizzy. Didn't I grow very pale?"
"I did think for an instant you were going to faint."
"What a stunning climax!" exclaimed Roland with a laugh. "Ouradversaries arrive and you are dosing me with smelling salts like ahysterical woman. Do you know what they, and you, first of all, wouldhave said? That I was afraid."
Meantime, the three new-comers having approached within earshot, SirJohn was unable to answer Roland. They bowed, and Roland, with a smilethat revealed his beautiful teeth, returned their greeting. Sir Johnwhispered in his ear:
"You are still a trifle pale. Go on toward the fountain; I will fetchyou when we are ready."
"Ah! that's the idea," said Roland. "I have always wanted to see thatfamous fountain of Vaucluse, the Hippocrene of Petrarch. You know hissonnet?
"'Chiari, fresche e dolci acque Ove le belle membra Pose colei, che sola a me perdona.'
This opportunity lost, I may never have another. Where is yourfountain?"
"Not a hundred feet off. Follow the path; you'll find it at the turn ofthe road, at the foot of that enormous bowlder you see."
"My lord," said Roland, "you are the best guide I know; thanks!"
And, with a friendly wave of the hand, he went off in the directionof the fountain, humming the charming pastoral of Philippe Desportesbeneath his breath:
"'Rosette, a little absence Has turned thine heart from me; I, knowing that inconstance, Have turned my heart from thee. No wayward beauty o'er me Such power shall obtain; We'll see, my fickle lassie, Who first will turn again.'"
Sir John turned as he heard the modulations of that fresh sweet voice,whose higher notes had something at a feminine quality. His coldmethodical mind understood nothing of that nervous impulsive nature,save that he had under his eyes one of the most amazing organisms onecould possibly meet.
The other two young men were waiting for him; the surgeon stood a littleapart. Sir John carried his box of pistols in his hands. Laying it upona table-shaped rock, he drew a little key from his pocket, apparentlyfashioned by a goldsmith rather than a locksmith, and opened the box.The weapons were magnificent, although of great simplicity. Theycame from Manton's workshop, the grandfather of the man who is stillconsidered one of the best gunsmiths in London. He handed them to M.de Barjols' second to examine. The latter tried the triggers and playedwith the lock, examining to see if they were double-barrelled. They weresingle-barrelled. M. de Barjols cast a glance at them but did not eventouch them.
"Our opponent does not know these weapons?" queried M. Valensolle.
"He has not even seen them," replied Sir John, "I give you my word ofhonor."
"Oh!" exclaimed M. de Valensolle, "a simple denial suffices."
The conditions of the duel were gone over a second time to avoidpossible misunderstanding. Then, these conditions determined, thepistols were loaded. They were then placed, loaded, in the box, the boxleft in the surgeon's charge, and Sir John, with the key in his pocket,went after Roland.
He found him chatting with a little shepherd boy who was herding threegoats on the steep rocky slope of the mountain, and throwing pebblesinto the fountain. Sir John opened his lips to tell Roland that allwas ready; but the latter, without giving the Engl
ishman time to speak,exclaimed:
"You don't know what this child has been telling me, my lord! A perfectlegend of the Rhine. He says that this pool, whose depth is unknown,extends six or eight miles under the mountain, and a fairy, half womanhalf serpent, dwells here. Calm summer nights she glides over thesurface of water calling to the shepherds of the mountains, showingthem, of course, nothing more than her head with its long locks and herbeautiful bare shoulders and arms. The fools, caught by this semblanceof a woman, draw nearer, beckoning to her to come to them, while sheon her side signs to them to go to her. The unwary spirits advanceunwittingly, giving no heed to their steps. Suddenly the earth failsthem, the fairy reaches out her arms, and plunges down into her drippingpalaces, to reappear the next day alone. Where the devil did theseidiots of shepherds get the tale that Virgil related in such noble verseto Augustus and Mecaenas?"
He remained pensive an instant, his eyes bent upon the azure depths,then turning to Sir John:
"They say that, no matter how vigorous the swimmer, none has everreturned from this abyss. Perhaps were I to try it, my lord, it might besurer than M. de Barjols' bullet. However, it always remains as a lastresort; in the meantime let us try the bullet. Come, my lord, come."
Then turning to the Englishman, who listened, amazed by this mobilityof mind, he led him back to the others who awaited them. They in themeantime had found a suitable place.
It was a little plateau, perched as it were on a rocky proclivity,jutting from the mountain side, exposed to the setting sun, on whichstood a ruined castle where the shepherds were wont to seek shelter whenthe mistral overtook them. A flat space, some hundred and fifty feetlong, and sixty wide, which might once have been the castle platform,was now to be the scene of the drama which was fast approaching itsclose.
"Here we are, gentlemen," said Sir John.
"We are ready, gentlemen," replied M. de Valensolle.
"Will the principals kindly listen to the conditions of the duel?" saidSir John. Then addressing M. de Valensolle, he added: "Repeat them,monsieur; you are French and I am a foreigner, you will explain themmore clearly than I."
"You belong to those foreigners, my lord, who teach us poor Provencalsthe purity of our language; but since you so courteously make mespokesman, I obey you." Then exchanging bows with Sir John, hecontinued: "Gentlemen, it is agreed that you stand at forty paces, thatyou advance toward each other, that each will fire at will, and woundedor not will have the right to advance after your adversary's fire."
The two combatants bowed in sign of assent, and with one voice, andalmost at the same moment, they said:
"The pistols!"
Sir John drew the little key from his pocket and opened the box. Thenapproaching M. de Barjols he offered it to him open. The latter wishedto yield the choice of weapons to his opponent; but with a wave of hishand Roland refused, saying in a tone almost feminine in its sweetness:
"After you, M. de Barjols. Although you are the insulted party, youhave, I am told, renounced your advantages. The least I can do is toyield you this one, if for that matter it is an advantage."
M. de Barjols no longer insisted. He took one of the two pistols atrandom. Sir John offered the other to Roland, who took it, and, withouteven examining its mechanism, cocked the trigger, then let it fall atarm's-length at his side.
During this time M. de Valensolle had measured forty paces, staking acane as a point of departure.
"Will you measure after me?" he asked Sir John.
"Needless, sir," replied the latter: "M. de Montrevel and myself relyentirely upon you."
M. de Valensolle staked a second cane at the fortieth pace.
"Gentlemen," said he, "when you are ready."
Roland's adversary was already at his post, hat and cloak removed.The surgeon and the two seconds stood aside. The spot had been so wellchosen that neither had any advantage of sun or ground. Roland tossedoff hat and coat, stationed himself forty paces from M. de Barjols,facing him. Both, one to right the other to the left, cast a glance atthe same horizon. The aspect harmonized with the terrible solemnity ofthe scene about to take place.
Nothing was visible to Roland's right and to M. de Barjols' left, exceptthe mountain's swift incline and gigantic peak. But on the other side,that is to say, to M. de Barjols' right and Roland's left, it was a fardifferent thing.
The horizon stretched illimitable. In the foreground, the plain, itsruddy soil pierced on all sides by rocks, like a Titan graveyard withits bones protruding through the earth. Then, sharply outlined in thesetting sun, was Avignon with its girdle of walls and its vast palace,like a crouching lion, seeming to hold the panting city in its claws.Beyond Avignon, a luminous sweep, like a river of molten gold, definedthe Rhone. Beyond the Rhone, a deep-hued azure vista, stretched thechain of hills which separate Avignon from Nimes and d'Uzes. And faroff, the sun, at which one of these two men was probably looking for thelast time, sank slowly and majestically in an ocean of gold and purple.
For the rest these two men presented a singular contrast. One, with hisblack hair, swarthy skin, slender limbs and sombre eyes, was the type ofthe Southern race which counts among its ancestors Greeks, Romans, Arabsand Spaniards. The other, with his rosy skin, large blue eyes, and handsdimpled like a woman's, was the type of that race of temperate zoneswhich reckons Gauls, Germans and Normans among its forebears.
Had one wished to magnify the situation it were easy to believe thissomething greater than single combat between two men. One might havethought it was a duel of a people against another people, race againstrace, the South against the North.
Was it these thoughts which we have just expressed that filled Roland'smind and plunged him into that melancholy revery.
Probably not; the fact is, for an instant he seemed to have forgottenseconds, duel, adversary, lost as he was in contemplation of thismagnificent spectacle. M. de Barjols' voice aroused him from thispoetical stupor.
"When you are ready, sir," said he, "I am."
Roland started.
"Pardon my keeping you waiting, sir," said he. "You should not haveconsidered me, I am so absent-minded. I am ready now."
Then, a smile on his lips, his hair lifted by the evening breeze,unconcerned as if this were an ordinary promenade, while his opponent,on the contrary, took all the precaution usual in such a case, Rolandadvanced straight toward M. de Barjols.
Sir John's face, despite his ordinary impassibility, betrayed a profoundanxiety. The distance between the opponents lessened rapidly. M. deBarjols halted first, took aim, and fired when Roland was but ten pacesfrom him.
The ball clipped one of Roland's curls, but did not touch him. The youngman turned toward his second:
"Well," said he, "what did I tell you?"
"Fire, monsieur, fire!" said the seconds.
M. de Barjols stood silent and motionless on the spot where he hadfired.
"Pardon me, gentlemen," replied Roland; "but you will, I hope, permit meto be the judge of the time and manner of retaliating. Since I have feltM. de Barjols' shot, I have a few words to say to him which I could notsay before." Then, turning to the young aristocrat, who was pale andcalm, he said: "Sir, perhaps I was somewhat too hasty in our discussionthis morning."
And he waited.
"It is for you to fire, sir," replied M. de Barjols.
"But," continued Roland, as if he had not heard, "you will understandmy impetuosity, and perhaps excuse it, when you hear that I am a soldierand General Bonaparte's aide-de-camp."
"Fire, sir," replied the young nobleman.
"Say but one word of retraction, sir," resumed the young officer. "Saythat General Bonaparte's reputation for honor and delicacy is such thata miserable Italian proverb, inspired by ill-natured losers, cannotreflect discredit on him. Say that, and I throw this weapon away tograsp your hand; for I recognize in you, sir, a brave man."
"I cannot accord that homage to his honor and delicacy until yourgeneral has devoted the influence which his genius gives him over Fr
anceas Monk did--that is to say, to reinstate his legitimate sovereign uponthe throne."
"Ah!" cried Roland, with a smile, "that is asking too much of arepublican general."
"Then I maintain what I said," replied the young noble. "Fire! monsieur,fire!" Then as Roland made no haste to obey this injunction, he shouted,stamping his foot: "Heavens and earth! will you fire?"
At these words Roland made a movement as if he intended to fire in theair.
"Ah!" exclaimed M. de Barjols. Then with a rapidity of gesture andspeech that prevented this, "Do not fire in the air, I beg, or I shallinsist that we begin again and that you fire first."
"On my honor!" cried Roland, turning as pale as if the blood had lefthis body, "this is the first time I have done so much for any man. Go tothe devil! and if you don't want to live, then die!"
At the same time he lowered his arm and fired, without troubling to takeaim.
Alfred de Barjols put his hand to his breast, swayed back and forth,turned around and fell face down upon the ground. Roland's bullet hadgone through his heart.
Sir John, seeing M. de Barjols fall, went straight to Roland and drewhim to the spot where he had thrown his hat and coat.
"That is the third," murmured Roland with a sigh; "but you are mywitness that this one would have it."
Then giving his smoking pistol to Sir John, he resumed his hat and coat.During this time M. de Valensolle picked up the pistol which had escapedfrom his friend's hand, and brought it, together with the box, to SirJohn.
"Well?" asked the Englishman, motioning toward Alfred de Barjols withhis eyes.
"He is dead," replied the second.
"Have I acted as a man of honor, sir?" asked Roland, wiping away thesweat which suddenly inundated his brow at the announcement of hisopponent's death.
"Yes, monsieur," replied M. de Valensolle; "only, permit me to say this:you possess the fatal hand."
Then bowing to Roland and his second with exquisite politeness, hereturned to his friend's body.
"And you, my lord," resumed Roland, "what do you say?"
"I say," replied Sir John, with a sort of forced admiration, "youare one of those men who are made by the divine Shakespeare to say ofthemselves:
"'Danger and I-- We were two lions littered in one day, But I the elder.'"