CHAPTER LXVI. A DUEL TO THE DEATH.
Adrienne and Djalma died on the 30th of May. The following scene tookplace on the 31st, the eve of the day appointed for the last convocationof the heirs of Marius de Rennepont. The reader will no doubt rememberthe room occupied by M. Hardy, in the "house of retreat," in the Rue deVaugirard--a gloomy and retired apartment, opening on a dreary littlegarden, planted with yew-trees, and surrounded by high walls. To reachthis chamber, it was necessary to cross two vast rooms, the doors ofwhich, once shut, intercepted all noise and communication from without.Bearing this in mind, we may go on with our narrative. For the lastthree or four days, Father d'Aigrigny occupied this apartment. He hadnot chosen it, but had been induced to accept it, under most plausiblepretexts, given him at the instigation of Rodin. It was about noon.Seated in an arm-chair, by the window opening on the little garden,Father d'Aigrigny held in his hand a newspaper, in which he read asfollows, under the head of "Paris:"
"Eleven p.m.--A most horrible and tragical event has just excited thegreatest consternation in the quarter of the Rue de Richelieu. A doublemurder has been committed, on the person of a young man and woman.The girl was killed on the spot, by the stroke of a dagger; hopes areentertained of saving the life of the young man. The crime is attributedto jealousy. The officers of justice are investigating the matter. Weshall give full particulars tomorrow."
When he had read these lines, Father d'Aigrigny threw down the paper andremained in deep thought.
"It is incredible," said he, with bitter envy, in allusion to Rodin. "Hehas attained his end. Hardly one of his anticipations has been defeated.This family is annihilated, by the mere play of the passions, good andevil that he has known how to set in motion. He said it would be so.Oh! I must confess," added Father d'Aigrigny, with a jealous and hatefulsmile, "that Rodin is a man of rare dissimulation, patience, energy,obstinacy and intelligence. Who would have told a few months ago, whenhe wrote under my orders, a discreet and humble socius, that he hadalready conceived the most audacious ambition, and dared to lift hiseyes to the Holy See itself? that, thanks to intrigues and corruption,pursued with wondrous ability, these views were not so unreasonable?Nay, that this infernal ambition would soon be realized, were it notthat the secret proceedings of this dangerous man have long been assecretly watched?--Ah!" sneered Father d'Aigrigny, with a smile ofirony and triumph, "you wish to be a second Sixtus V., do you? And,not content with this audacious pretension, you mean, if successful, toabsorb our Company in the Papacy, even as the Sultan has absorbed theJanissaries. Ah! You would make us your stepping-stone to power! And youhave thought to humiliate and crush me with your insolent disdain! Butpatience, patience: the day of retribution approaches. I alone am thedepository of our General's will. Father Caboccini himself does notknow that. The fate of Rodin is in my hands. Oh! it will not be what heexpects. In this Rennepont affair (which, I must needs confess, he hasmanaged admirably), he thinks to outwit us all, and to work only forhimself. But to-morrow--"
Father d'Aigrigny was suddenly disturbed in these agreeable reflections.He heard the door of the next room open, and, as he turned round to seewho was coming, the door of the apartment in which he was turned uponits hinges. Father d'Aigrigny started with surprise, and became almostpurple. Marshal Simon stood before him. And, behind the marshal, in theshadow of the door, Father d'Aigrigny perceived the cadaverous faceof Rodin. The latter cast on him one glance of diabolical delight, andinstantly disappeared. The door was again closed, and Father d'Aigrignyand Marshal Simon were left alone together. The father of Rose andBlanche was hardly recognizable. His gray hair had become completelywhite. His pale, thin face had not been shaved for some days. His holloweyes were bloodshot and restless, and had in them something wild andhaggard. He was wrapped in a large cloak, and his black cravat was tiedloosely about his neck. In withdrawing from the apartment, Rodin had (asif by inadvertence) double-locked the door on the outside. When hewas alone with the Jesuit, the marshal threw back his cloak from hisshoulders, and Father d'Aigrigny could see two naked swords, stuckthrough a silk handkerchief which served him as a belt.
Father d'Aigrigny understood it all. He remembered how, a few daysbefore, Rodin had obstinately pressed him to say what he would do if themarshal were to strike him in the face. There could be no doubt thathe, who thought to have held the fate of Rodin in his hands, had beenbrought by the latter into a fearful peril; for he knew that, the twoouter rooms being closed, there was no possibility of making himselfheard, and that the high walls of the garden only bordered upon somevacant lots. The first thought which occurred to him, one by no meansdestitute of probability, was that Rodin, either by his agents at Rome,or by his own incredible penetration, had learned that his fatedepended on Father d'Aigrigny, and hoped therefore to get rid of him,by delivering him over to the inexorable vengeance of the father ofRose and Blanche. Without speaking a word, the marshal unbound thehandkerchief from his waist, laid the two swords upon the table,and, folding his arms upon his breast, advanced slowly towards Fatherd'Aigrigny. Thus these two men, who through life had pursued each otherwith implacable hatred, at length met face to face--they, who had foughtin hostile armies, and measured swords in single combat, and one of whomnow came to seek vengeance for the death of his children. As the marshalapproached, Father d'Aigrigny rose from his seat. He wore that day ablack cassock, which rendered still more visible the pale hue, which hadnow succeeded to the sudden flush on his cheek. For a few seconds, thetwo men stood face to face without speaking. The marshal was terrificin his paternal despair. His calmness, inexorable as fate, was moreimpressive than the most furious burst of anger.
"My children are dead," said he at last, in a slow and hollow tone. "Icome to kill you."
"Sir," cried Father d'Aigrigny, "listen to me. Do not believe--"
"I must kill you," resumed the marshal, interrupting the Jesuit; "yourhate followed my wife into exile, where she perished. You and youraccomplices sent my children to certain death. For twenty years you havebeen my evil genius. I must have your life, and I will have it."
"My life belongs, first, to God," answered Father d'Aigrigny, piously,"and then to who likes to take it."
"We will fight to the death in this room," said the marshal; "and, as Ihave to avenge my wife and children, I am tranquil as to the result."
"Sir," answered Father d'Aigrigny, coldly, "you forget that myprofession forbids me to fight. Once I accepted your challenge--but myposition is changed since then."
"Ah!" said the marshal, with a bitter smile; "you refuse to fightbecause you are a priest?"
"Yes, sir--because I am a priest."
"So that, because he is a priest, a wretch like you may commit anycrime, any baseness, under shelter of his black gown?"
"I do not understand a word of your accusations. In any case, the law isopen," said Father d'Aigrigny, biting his pale lips, for he felt deeplythe insult offered by the marshal; "if you have anything to complain of,appeal to that law, before which all are equal."
Marshal Simon shrugged his shoulders in angry disdain. "Your crimesescape the law--and, could it even reach you, that would not satisfy myvengeance, after all the evil you have done me, after all you have takenfrom me," said the marshal; and, at the memory of his children, hisvoice slightly trembled; but he soon proceeded, with terrible calmness:"You must feel that I now only live for vengeance. And I must havesuch revenge as is worth the seeking--I must have your coward's heartpalpitating on the point of my sword. Our last duel was play; this willbe earnest--oh! you shall see."
The marshal walked up to the table, where he had laid the two swords.Father d'Aigrigny needed all his resolution to restrain himself. Theimplacable hate which he had always felt for Marshal Simon, added tothese insults, filled him with savage ardor. Yet he answered, in a tonethat was still calm: "For the last time, sir, I repeat to you, that myprofession forbids me to fight."
"Then you refuse?" said the marshal, turning abruptly towards him.
"I ref
use."
"Positively?"
"Positively. Nothing on earth should force me to it."
"Nothing."
"No, sir; nothing."
"We shall see," said the marshal, as his hand fell with its full forceon the cheek of Father d'Aigrigny.
The Jesuit uttered a cry of fury; all his blood rushed to his face, soroughly handled; the courage of the man (for he was brave), his ancientmilitary ardor, carried him away; his eyes sparkled, and, with teethfirmly set, and clenched fists, he advanced towards the marshal,exclaiming: "The swords! the swords!"
But suddenly, remembering the appearance of Rodin, and the interestwhich the latter had in bringing about this encounter, he determined toavoid the diabolical snare laid by his former socius, and so gatheredsufficient resolution to restrain his terrible resentment.
To his passing fury succeeded a calm, full of contrition; and, wishingto play his part out to the end, he knelt down, and bowing his headand beating his bosom, repeated: "Forgive me, Lord, for yielding to amovement of rage! and, above all, forgive him who has injured me!"
In spite of his apparent resignation, the Jesuit's voice was neatlyagitated. He seemed to feel a hot iron upon his cheek, for never beforein his life, whether as a soldier or a priest, had he suffered suchan insult. He had thrown himself upon his knees, partly from religiousmummery, and partly to avoid the gaze of the marshal, fearing that, werehe to meet his eye, he should not be able to answer for himself, butgive way to his impetuous feelings. On seeing the Jesuit kneel down, andon hearing his hypocritical invocation, the marshal, whose sword was inhis hand, shook with indignation.
"Stand up, scoundrel!" he said, "stand up, wretch!" And he spurned theJesuit with his boot.
At this new insult, Father d'Aigrigny leaped up, as if he had been movedby steel springs. It was too much; he could bear no more. Blinded withrage, he rushed to the able, caught up the other sword, and exclaimed,grinding his teeth together: "Ah! you will have blood. Well then! itshall be yours--if possible!"
And the Jesuit, still in all the vigor of manhood, his face purple, hislarge gray eyes sparkling with hate, fell upon his guard with the easeand skill of a finished swordsman.
"At last!" cried the marshal, as their blades were about to cross.
But once more reflection came to damp the fire of the Jesuit. Heremembered how this hazardous duel would gratify the wishes of Rodin,whose fate was in his hands, and whom he hated perhaps even more thanthe marshal. Therefore, in spite of the fury which possessed him,in spite of his secret hope to conquer in this combat, so strong andhealthy did he feel himself, and so fatal had been the effects of griefon the constitution of Marshal Simon, he succeeded in mastering hisrage, and, to the amazement of the marshal, dropped the point of hissword, exclaiming: "I am a minister of the Lord, and must not shedblood. Forgive ne, heaven! and, oh! forgive my brother also."
Then placing the blade beneath his heel, he drew the hilt suddenlytowards him, and broke the weapon into two pieces. The duel was nolonger possible. Father d'Aigrigny had put it out of his own power toyield to a new burst of violence, of which he saw the imminent danger.Marshal Simon remained for an instant mute and motionless with surpriseand indignation, for he also saw that the duel was now impossible. But,suddenly, imitating the Jesuit, the marshal placed his blade alsounder his heel, broke it in half, and picking up the pointed end, abouteighteen inches in length tore off his black silk cravat, rolledit round the broken part so as to form a handle, and said to Fatherd'Aigrigny: "Then we will fight with daggers."
Struck with this mixture of coolness and ferocity, the Jesuit exclaimed:"Is this then a demon of hell?"
"No; it is a father, whose children have been murdered," said themarshal, in a hollow voice, whilst he fitted the blade to his hand, anda tear stood in the eye, that instantly after became fierce and ardent.
The Jesuit saw that tear. There was in this mixture of vindictive rageand paternal grief something so awful, and yet so sacred, that for thefirst time in his life Father d'Aigrigny felt fear--cowardly, ignoblefear--fear for his own safety. While a combat with swords was inquestion, in which skill, agility, and experience are such powerfulauxiliaries to courage, his only difficulty had been to repress theardor of his hate--but when he thought of the combat proposed, bodyto body, face to face, heart to heart, he trembled, grew pale, andexclaimed: "A butchery with knives?--never!"
His countenance and the accent betrayed his alarm, so that the marshalhimself was struck with it, and fearing to lose his revenge, he cried:"After all, he is a coward! The wretch had only the courage orthe vanity of a fencer. This pitiful renegade--this traitor tohis country--whom I have cuffed, kicked--yes, kicked, most noblemarquis!--shame of your ancient house--disgrace to the rank ofgentleman, old or new--ah! it is not hypocrisy, it is not calculation,as I at first thought--it is fear! You need the noise of war, and theeyes of spectators to give you courage--"
"Sir--have a care!" said Father d'Aigrigny, stammering through hisclenched teeth, for rage and hate now made him forget his fear-"Must Ithen spit on you, to make the little blood you have left rise to yourface?" cried the exasperated marshal.
"Oh! this is too much! too much!" said the Jesuit, seizing the pointedpiece of the blade that lay at his feet.
"It is not enough!" said the marshal, panting for breath. "There,Judas!" and he spat in his face.
"If you will not fight now," added the marshal, "I will beat you like adog, base child-murderer!"
On receiving the uttermost insult which can be offered to an alreadyinsulted man, Father d'Aigrigny lost all his presence of mind, forgothis interests, his resolutions, his fears, forgot even Rodin--felt onlythe frenzied ardor of revenge--and, recovering his courage, rejoicedin the prospect of a close struggle, in which his superior strengthpromised success over the enfeebled frame of the marshal for, in thiskind of brutal and savage combat, physical strength offers an immenseadvantage. In an instant, Father d'Aigrigny had rolled his handkerchiefround the broken blade, and rushed upon Marshal Simon, who received theshock with intrepidity. For the short time that this unequal strugglelasted--unequal, for the marshal had since some days been a prey to adevouring fever, which had undermined his strength--the two combatants,mute in their fury, uttered not a word or a cry. Had any one beenpresent at this horrible scene, it would have been impossible for himto tell how they dealt their blows. He would have seen twoheads--frightful, livid, convulsed--rising, falling, now here,now there--arms, now stiff as bars of iron, and now twisting likeserpents--and, in the midst of the undulation of the blue coat of themarshal and the black cassock of the Jesuit, from time to time thesudden gleam of the steel. He would have heard only a dull stamping,and now and then a deep breath. In about two minutes at most, the twoadversaries fell, and rolled one over the other. One of them--it wasFather d'Aigrigny--contrived to disengage himself with a violent effort,and to rise upon his knees. His arms fell powerless by his side; andthen the dying voice of the marshal murmured: "My children! Dagobert!"
"I have killed him," said Father d'Aigrigny, in a weak voice; "but Ifeel--that I am wounded--to death."
Leaning with one hand on the ground, the Jesuit pressed the other tohis bosom. His black cassock was pierced through and through, but theblades, which had served for the combat, being triangular and verysharp, the blood instead of issuing from the wounds, was flowinginwards.
"Oh! I die--I choke," said Father d'Aigrigny, whose features werealready changing with the approach of death.
At this moment, the key turned twice in the door, Rodin appeared on thethreshold, and, thrusting in his head, he said in a humble and discreetvoice: "May I come in?"
At this dreadful irony, Father d'Aigrigny strove to rise, and rush uponRodin; but he fell back exhausted; the blood was choking him.
"Monster of hell!" he muttered, casting on Rodin a terrible glance ofrage and agony. "Thou art the cause of my death."
"I always told you, my dear father, that your old military habits wouldbe fatal to you," a
nswered Rodin with a frightful smile. "Only a fewdays ago, I gave you warning, and advised you take a blow patiently fromthis old swordsman--who seems to have done with that work forever, whichis well--for the Scripture says: 'All they that take the sword shallperish with the sword.' And then this Marshal Simon might have had someclaim on his daughter's inheritance. And, between ourselves, my dearfather, what was I to do? It was necessary to sacrifice you for thecommon interest; the rather, that I well knew what you had in pickle forme to-morrow. But I am not so easily caught napping."
"Before I die," said Father d'Aigrigny, in a failing voice, "I willunmask you."
"Oh, no, you will not," said Rodin, shaking his head with a knowing air;"I alone, if you please, will receive your last confession."
"Oh! this is horrible," moaned Father d'Aigrigny, whose eyes wereclosing. "May God have mercy on me, if it is not too late!--Alas! atthis awful moment, I feel that I have been a great sinner--"
"And, above all, a great fool," said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders, andwatching with cold disdain the dying moments of his accomplice.
Father d'Aigrigny had now but a few minutes more to live. Rodinperceived it, and said: "It is time to call for help." And the Jesuitran, with an air of alarm and consternation, into the courtyard of thehouse.
Others came at his cries; but, as he had promised, Rodin had onlyquitted Father d'Aigrigny as the latter had breathed his last sigh.
That evening, alone in his chamber, by the glimmer of a little lamp,Rodin sat plunged in a sort of ecstatic contemplation, before the printrepresenting Sixtus V. The great house-clock struck twelve. At the laststroke, Rodin drew himself up in all the savage majesty of his infernaltriumph, and exclaimed: "This is the first of June. There are no moreRenneponts!--Methinks, I hear the hour from the clock of St. Peter's atRome striking!"