CHAPTER X. THE DUEL
SYME sat down at a cafe table with his companions, his blue eyessparkling like the bright sea below, and ordered a bottle of Saumur witha pleased impatience. He was for some reason in a condition of curioushilarity. His spirits were already unnaturally high; they rose as theSaumur sank, and in half an hour his talk was a torrent of nonsense. Heprofessed to be making out a plan of the conversation which was going toensue between himself and the deadly Marquis. He jotted it down wildlywith a pencil. It was arranged like a printed catechism, with questionsand answers, and was delivered with an extraordinary rapidity ofutterance.
I shall approach. Before taking off his hat, I shall take off my own. Ishall say, 'The Marquis de Saint Eustache, I believe.' He will say,'The celebrated Mr. Syme, I presume.' He will say in the most exquisiteFrench, 'How are you?' I shall reply in the most exquisite Cockney, 'Oh,just the Syme--'
Oh, shut it, said the man in spectacles. Pull yourself together, andchuck away that bit of paper. What are you really going to do?
But it was a lovely catechism, said Syme pathetically. Do let me readit you. It has only forty-three questions and answers, and some of theMarquis's answers are wonderfully witty. I like to be just to my enemy.
But what's the good of it all? asked Dr. Bull in exasperation.
It leads up to my challenge, don't you see, said Syme, beaming. Whenthe Marquis has given the thirty-ninth reply, which runs--
Has it by any chance occurred to you, asked the Professor, with aponderous simplicity, that the Marquis may not say all the forty-threethings you have put down for him? In that case, I understand, your ownepigrams may appear somewhat more forced.
Syme struck the table with a radiant face.
Why, how true that is, he said, and I never thought of it. Sir, youhave an intellect beyond the common. You will make a name.
Oh, you're as drunk as an owl! said the Doctor.
It only remains, continued Syme quite unperturbed, to adopt someother method of breaking the ice (if I may so express it) between myselfand the man I wish to kill. And since the course of a dialogue cannot bepredicted by one of its parties alone (as you have pointed out with suchrecondite acumen), the only thing to be done, I suppose, is for the oneparty, as far as possible, to do all the dialogue by himself. And so Iwill, by George! And he stood up suddenly, his yellow hair blowing inthe slight sea breeze.
A band was playing in a cafe chantant hidden somewhere among the trees,and a woman had just stopped singing. On Syme's heated head the bray ofthe brass band seemed like the jar and jingle of that barrel-organ inLeicester Square, to the tune of which he had once stood up to die. Helooked across to the little table where the Marquis sat. The man had twocompanions now, solemn Frenchmen in frock-coats and silk hats, one ofthem with the red rosette of the Legion of Honour, evidently people ofa solid social position. Besides these black, cylindrical costumes,the Marquis, in his loose straw hat and light spring clothes, lookedBohemian and even barbaric; but he looked the Marquis. Indeed, one mightsay that he looked the king, with his animal elegance, his scornfuleyes, and his proud head lifted against the purple sea. But he was noChristian king, at any rate; he was, rather, some swarthy despot, halfGreek, half Asiatic, who in the days when slavery seemed natural lookeddown on the Mediterranean, on his galley and his groaning slaves. Justso, Syme thought, would the brown-gold face of such a tyrant have shownagainst the dark green olives and the burning blue.
Are you going to address the meeting? asked the Professor peevishly,seeing that Syme still stood up without moving.
Syme drained his last glass of sparkling wine.
I am, he said, pointing across to the Marquis and his companions,that meeting. That meeting displeases me. I am going to pull thatmeeting's great ugly, mahogany-coloured nose.
He stepped across swiftly, if not quite steadily. The Marquis, seeinghim, arched his black Assyrian eyebrows in surprise, but smiledpolitely.
You are Mr. Syme, I think, he said.
Syme bowed.
And you are the Marquis de Saint Eustache, he said gracefully. Permitme to pull your nose.
He leant over to do so, but the Marquis started backwards, upsetting hischair, and the two men in top hats held Syme back by the shoulders.
This man has insulted me! said Syme, with gestures of explanation.
Insulted you? cried the gentleman with the red rosette, when?
Oh, just now, said Syme recklessly. He insulted my mother.
Insulted your mother! exclaimed the gentleman incredulously.
Well, anyhow, said Syme, conceding a point, my aunt.
But how can the Marquis have insulted your aunt just now? said thesecond gentleman with some legitimate wonder. He has been sitting hereall the time.
Ah, it was what he said! said Syme darkly.
I said nothing at all, said the Marquis, except something about theband. I only said that I liked Wagner played well.
It was an allusion to my family, said Syme firmly. My aunt playedWagner badly. It was a painful subject. We are always being insultedabout it.
This seems most extraordinary, said the gentleman who was decore,looking doubtfully at the Marquis.
Oh, I assure you, said Syme earnestly, the whole of your conversationwas simply packed with sinister allusions to my aunt's weaknesses.
This is nonsense! said the second gentleman. I for one have saidnothing for half an hour except that I liked the singing of that girlwith black hair.
Well, there you are again! said Syme indignantly. My aunt's was red.
It seems to me, said the other, that you are simply seeking a pretextto insult the Marquis.
By George! said Syme, facing round and looking at him, what a cleverchap you are!
The Marquis started up with eyes flaming like a tiger's.
Seeking a quarrel with me! he cried. Seeking a fight with me! By God!there was never a man who had to seek long. These gentlemen will perhapsact for me. There are still four hours of daylight. Let us fight thisevening.
Syme bowed with a quite beautiful graciousness.
Marquis, he said, your action is worthy of your fame and blood.Permit me to consult for a moment with the gentlemen in whose hands Ishall place myself.
In three long strides he rejoined his companions, and they, who had seenhis champagne-inspired attack and listened to his idiotic explanations,were quite startled at the look of him. For now that he came back tothem he was quite sober, a little pale, and he spoke in a low voice ofpassionate practicality.
I have done it, he said hoarsely. I have fixed a fight on the beast.But look here, and listen carefully. There is no time for talk. You aremy seconds, and everything must come from you. Now you must insist, andinsist absolutely, on the duel coming off after seven tomorrow, so as togive me the chance of preventing him from catching the 7.45 for Paris.If he misses that he misses his crime. He can't refuse to meet you onsuch a small point of time and place. But this is what he will do. Hewill choose a field somewhere near a wayside station, where he can pickup the train. He is a very good swordsman, and he will trust to killingme in time to catch it. But I can fence well too, and I think I can keephim in play, at any rate, until the train is lost. Then perhaps he maykill me to console his feelings. You understand? Very well then, letme introduce you to some charming friends of mine, and leading themquickly across the parade, he presented them to the Marquis's seconds bytwo very aristocratic names of which they had not previously heard.
Syme was subject to spasms of singular common sense, not otherwise apart of his character. They were (as he said of his impulse about thespectacles) poetic intuitions, and they sometimes rose to the exaltationof prophecy.
He had correctly calculated in this case the policy of his opponent.When the Marquis was informed by his seconds that Syme could onlyfight in the morning, he must fully have realised that an obstaclehad suddenly arisen between him and his bomb-throwing business in thecapital. Naturally he could not explain this objection to his friends,so he chose the course which Syme had predicted. He induced his secondsto settle on a small meadow not far from the railway, and he trusted tothe fatality of the first engagement.
When he came down very coolly to the field of honour, no one could haveguessed that he had any anxiety about a journey; his hands were in hispockets, his straw hat on the back of his head, his handsome facebrazen in the sun. But it might have struck a stranger as odd that thereappeared in his train, not only his seconds carrying the sword-case, buttwo of his servants carrying a portmanteau and a luncheon basket.
Early as was the hour, the sun soaked everything in warmth, and Syme wasvaguely surprised to see so many spring flowers burning gold and silverin the tall grass in which the whole company stood almost knee-deep.
With the exception of the Marquis, all the men were in sombre and solemnmorning-dress, with hats like black chimney-pots; the little Doctorespecially, with the addition of his black spectacles, looked like anundertaker in a farce. Syme could not help feeling a comic contrastbetween this funereal church parade of apparel and the rich andglistening meadow, growing wild flowers everywhere. But, indeed, thiscomic contrast between the yellow blossoms and the black hats was but asymbol of the tragic contrast between the yellow blossoms and the blackbusiness. On his right was a little wood; far away to his left lay thelong curve of the railway line, which he was, so to speak, guarding fromthe Marquis, whose goal and escape it was. In front of him, behind theblack group of his opponents, he could see, like a tinted cloud, a smallalmond bush in flower against the faint line of the sea.
The member of the Legion of Honour, whose name it seemed was ColonelDucroix, approached the Professor and Dr. Bull with great politeness,and suggested that the play should terminate with the first considerablehurt.
Dr. Bull, however, having been carefully coached by Syme upon this pointof policy, insisted, with great dignity and in very bad French, that itshould continue until one of the combatants was disabled. Syme had madeup his mind that he could avoid disabling the Marquis and preventthe Marquis from disabling him for at least twenty minutes. In twentyminutes the Paris train would have gone by.
To a man of the well-known skill and valour of Monsieur de St.Eustache, said the Professor solemnly, it must be a matter ofindifference which method is adopted, and our principal has strongreasons for demanding the longer encounter, reasons the delicacy ofwhich prevent me from being explicit, but for the just and honourablenature of which I can--
Peste! broke from the Marquis behind, whose face had suddenlydarkened, let us stop talking and begin, and he slashed off the headof a tall flower with his stick.
Syme understood his rude impatience and instinctively looked over hisshoulder to see whether the train was coming in sight. But there was nosmoke on the horizon.
Colonel Ducroix knelt down and unlocked the case, taking out a pair oftwin swords, which took the sunlight and turned to two streaks of whitefire. He offered one to the Marquis, who snatched it without ceremony,and another to Syme, who took it, bent it, and poised it with as muchdelay as was consistent with dignity.
Then the Colonel took out another pair of blades, and taking one himselfand giving another to Dr. Bull, proceeded to place the men.
Both combatants had thrown off their coats and waistcoats, and stoodsword in hand. The seconds stood on each side of the line of fight withdrawn swords also, but still sombre in their dark frock-coats and hats.The principals saluted. The Colonel said quietly, Engage! and the twoblades touched and tingled.
When the jar of the joined iron ran up Syme's arm, all the fantasticfears that have been the subject of this story fell from him like dreamsfrom a man waking up in bed. He remembered them clearly and in order asmere delusions of the nerves--how the fear of the Professor had beenthe fear of the tyrannic accidents of nightmare, and how the fear of theDoctor had been the fear of the airless vacuum of science. The first wasthe old fear that any miracle might happen, the second the more hopelessmodern fear that no miracle can ever happen. But he saw that these fearswere fancies, for he found himself in the presence of the great fact ofthe fear of death, with its coarse and pitiless common sense. He feltlike a man who had dreamed all night of falling over precipices, and hadwoke up on the morning when he was to be hanged. For as soon as he hadseen the sunlight run down the channel of his foe's foreshortened blade,and as soon as he had felt the two tongues of steel touch, vibratinglike two living things, he knew that his enemy was a terrible fighter,and that probably his last hour had come.
He felt a strange and vivid value in all the earth around him, in thegrass under his feet; he felt the love of life in all living things.He could almost fancy that he heard the grass growing; he could almostfancy that even as he stood fresh flowers were springing up and breakinginto blossom in the meadow--flowers blood red and burning gold andblue, fulfilling the whole pageant of the spring. And whenever hiseyes strayed for a flash from the calm, staring, hypnotic eyes of theMarquis, they saw the little tuft of almond tree against the sky-line.He had the feeling that if by some miracle he escaped he would be readyto sit for ever before that almond tree, desiring nothing else in theworld.
But while earth and sky and everything had the living beauty of a thinglost, the other half of his head was as clear as glass, and he wasparrying his enemy's point with a kind of clockwork skill of which hehad hardly supposed himself capable. Once his enemy's point ran alonghis wrist, leaving a slight streak of blood, but it either was notnoticed or was tacitly ignored. Every now and then he riposted, and onceor twice he could almost fancy that he felt his point go home, but asthere was no blood on blade or shirt he supposed he was mistaken. Thencame an interruption and a change.
At the risk of losing all, the Marquis, interrupting his quiet stare,flashed one glance over his shoulder at the line of railway on hisright. Then he turned on Syme a face transfigured to that of a fiend,and began to fight as if with twenty weapons. The attack came so fastand furious, that the one shining sword seemed a shower of shiningarrows. Syme had no chance to look at the railway; but also he hadno need. He could guess the reason of the Marquis's sudden madness ofbattle--the Paris train was in sight.
But the Marquis's morbid energy over-reached itself. Twice Syme,parrying, knocked his opponent's point far out of the fighting circle;and the third time his riposte was so rapid, that there was no doubtabout the hit this time. Syme's sword actually bent under the weight ofthe Marquis's body, which it had pierced.
Syme was as certain that he had stuck his blade into his enemy as agardener that he has stuck his spade into the ground. Yet the Marquissprang back from the stroke without a stagger, and Syme stood staring athis own sword-point like an idiot. There was no blood on it at all.
There was an instant of rigid silence, and then Syme in his turn fellfuriously on the other, filled with a flaming curiosity. The Marquiswas probably, in a general sense, a better fencer than he, as hehad surmised at the beginning, but at the moment the Marquis seemeddistraught and at a disadvantage. He fought wildly and even weakly, andhe constantly looked away at the railway line, almost as if he fearedthe train more than the pointed steel. Syme, on the other hand, foughtfiercely but still carefully, in an intellectual fury, eager to solvethe riddle of his own bloodless sword. For this purpose, he aimed lessat the Marquis's body, and more at his throat and head. A minute and ahalf afterwards he felt his point enter the man's neck below the jaw.It came out clean. Half mad, he thrust again, and made what should havebeen a bloody scar on the Marquis's cheek. But there was no scar.
For one moment the heaven of Syme again grew black with supernaturalterrors. Surely the man had a charmed life. But this new spiritual dreadwas a more awful thing than had been the mere spiritual topsy-turvydomsymbolised by the paralytic who pursued him. The Professor was only agoblin; this man was a devil--perhaps he was the Devil! Anyhow, thiswas certain, that three times had a human sword been driven into himand made no mark. When Syme had that thought he drew himself up, and allthat was good in him sang high up in the air as a high wind sings in thetrees. He thought of all the human things in his story--of the Chineselanterns in Saffron Park, of the girl's red hair in the garden, of thehonest, beer-swilling sailors down by the dock, of his loyal companionsstanding by. Perhaps he had been chosen as a champion of all these freshand kindly things to cross swords with the enemy of all creation. Afterall, he said to himself, I am more than a devil; I am a man. I can dothe one thing which Satan himself cannot do--I can die, and as the wordwent through his head, he heard a faint and far-off hoot, which wouldsoon be the roar of the Paris train.
He fell to fighting again with a supernatural levity, like a Mohammedanpanting for Paradise. As the train came nearer and nearer he fancied hecould see people putting up the floral arches in Paris; he joined inthe growing noise and the glory of the great Republic whose gate hewas guarding against Hell. His thoughts rose higher and higher withthe rising roar of the train, which ended, as if proudly, in a long andpiercing whistle. The train stopped.
Suddenly, to the astonishment of everyone the Marquis sprang back quiteout of sword reach and threw down his sword. The leap was wonderful,and not the less wonderful because Syme had plunged his sword a momentbefore into the man's thigh.
Stop! said the Marquis in a voice that compelled a momentaryobedience. I want to say something.
What is the matter? asked Colonel Ducroix, staring. Has there beenfoul play?
There has been foul play somewhere, said Dr. Bull, who was a littlepale. Our principal has wounded the Marquis four times at least, and heis none the worse.
The Marquis put up his hand with a curious air of ghastly patience.
Please let me speak, he said. It is rather important. Mr. Syme,he continued, turning to his opponent, we are fighting today, ifI remember right, because you expressed a wish (which I thoughtirrational) to pull my nose. Would you oblige me by pulling my nose nowas quickly as possible? I have to catch a train.
I protest that this is most irregular, said Dr. Bull indignantly.
It is certainly somewhat opposed to precedent, said Colonel Ducroix,looking wistfully at his principal. There is, I think, one case onrecord (Captain Bellegarde and the Baron Zumpt) in which the weaponswere changed in the middle of the encounter at the request of one of thecombatants. But one can hardly call one's nose a weapon.
Will you or will you not pull my nose? said the Marquis inexasperation. Come, come, Mr. Syme! You wanted to do it, do it! You canhave no conception of how important it is to me. Don't be so selfish!Pull my nose at once, when I ask you! and he bent slightly forward witha fascinating smile. The Paris train, panting and groaning, had gratedinto a little station behind the neighbouring hill.
Syme had the feeling he had more than once had in these adventures--thesense that a horrible and sublime wave lifted to heaven was justtoppling over. Walking in a world he half understood, he took two pacesforward and seized the Roman nose of this remarkable nobleman. He pulledit hard, and it came off in his hand.
He stood for some seconds with a foolish solemnity, with the pasteboardproboscis still between his fingers, looking at it, while the sun andthe clouds and the wooded hills looked down upon this imbecile scene.
The Marquis broke the silence in a loud and cheerful voice.
If anyone has any use for my left eyebrow, he said, he can have it.Colonel Ducroix, do accept my left eyebrow! It's the kind of thingthat might come in useful any day, and he gravely tore off one of hisswarthy Assyrian brows, bringing about half his brown forehead with it,and politely offered it to the Colonel, who stood crimson and speechlesswith rage.
If I had known, he spluttered, that I was acting for a poltroon whopads himself to fight--
Oh, I know, I know! said the Marquis, recklessly throwing variousparts of himself right and left about the field. You are making amistake; but it can't be explained just now. I tell you the train hascome into the station!
Yes, said Dr. Bull fiercely, and the train shall go out of thestation. It shall go out without you. We know well enough for whatdevil's work--
The mysterious Marquis lifted his hands with a desperate gesture. Hewas a strange scarecrow standing there in the sun with half his old facepeeled off, and half another face glaring and grinning from underneath.
Will you drive me mad? he cried. The train--
You shall not go by the train, said Syme firmly, and grasped hissword.
The wild figure turned towards Syme, and seemed to be gathering itselffor a sublime effort before speaking.
You great fat, blasted, blear-eyed, blundering, thundering, brainless,Godforsaken, doddering, damned fool! he said without taking breath.You great silly, pink-faced, towheaded turnip! You--
You shall not go by this train, repeated Syme.
And why the infernal blazes, roared the other, should I want to go bythe train?
We know all, said the Professor sternly. You are going to Paris tothrow a bomb!
Going to Jericho to throw a Jabberwock! cried the other, tearing hishair, which came off easily.
Have you all got softening of the brain, that you don't realise whatI am? Did you really think I wanted to catch that train? Twenty Paristrains might go by for me. Damn Paris trains!
Then what did you care about? began the Professor.
What did I care about? I didn't care about catching the train; I caredabout whether the train caught me, and now, by God! it has caught me.
I regret to inform you, said Syme with restraint, that your remarksconvey no impression to my mind. Perhaps if you were to remove theremains of your original forehead and some portion of what was once yourchin, your meaning would become clearer. Mental lucidity fulfils itselfin many ways. What do you mean by saying that the train has caught you?It may be my literary fancy, but somehow I feel that it ought to meansomething.
It means everything, said the other, and the end of everything.Sunday has us now in the hollow of his hand.
Us! repeated the Professor, as if stupefied. What do you mean by'us'?
The police, of course! said the Marquis, and tore off his scalp andhalf his face.
The head which emerged was the blonde, well brushed, smooth-haired headwhich is common in the English constabulary, but the face was terriblypale.
I am Inspector Ratcliffe, he said, with a sort of haste that vergedon harshness. My name is pretty well known to the police, and I can seewell enough that you belong to them. But if there is any doubt aboutmy position, I have a card, and he began to pull a blue card from hispocket.
The Professor gave a tired gesture.
Oh, don't show it us, he said wearily; we've got enough of them toequip a paper-chase.
The little man named Bull, had, like many men who seem to be of a merevivacious vulgarity, sudden movements of good taste. Here he certainlysaved the situation. In the midst of this staggering transformationscene he stepped forward with all the gravity and responsibility of asecond, and addressed the two seconds of the Marquis.
Gentlemen, he said, we all owe you a serious apology; but I assureyou that you have not been made the victims of such a low joke as youimagine, or indeed of anything undignified in a man of honour. You havenot wasted your time; you have helped to save the world. We are notbuffoons, but very desperate men at war with a vast conspiracy. A secretsociety of anarchists is hunting us like hares; not such unfortunatemadmen as may here or there throw a bomb through starvation or Germanphilosophy, but a rich and powerful and fanatical church, a church ofeastern pessimism, which holds it holy to destroy mankind like vermin.How hard they hunt us you can gather from the fact that we are drivento such disguises as those for which I apologise, and to such pranks asthis one by which you suffer.
The younger second of the Marquis, a short man with a black moustache,bowed politely, and said--
Of course, I accept the apology; but you will in your turn forgive meif I decline to follow you further into your difficulties, andpermit myself to say good morning! The sight of an acquaintance anddistinguished fellow-townsman coming to pieces in the open air isunusual, and, upon the whole, sufficient for one day. Colonel Ducroix, Iwould in no way influence your actions, but if you feel with me that ourpresent society is a little abnormal, I am now going to walk back to thetown.
Colonel Ducroix moved mechanically, but then tugged abruptly at hiswhite moustache and broke out--
No, by George! I won't. If these gentlemen are really in a mess with alot of low wreckers like that, I'll see them through it. I have foughtfor France, and it is hard if I can't fight for civilization.
Dr. Bull took off his hat and waved it, cheering as at a public meeting.
Don't make too much noise, said Inspector Ratcliffe, Sunday may hearyou.
Sunday! cried Bull, and dropped his hat.
Yes, retorted Ratcliffe, he may be with them.
With whom? asked Syme.
With the people out of that train, said the other.
What you say seems utterly wild, began Syme. Why, as a matter offact--But, my God, he cried out suddenly, like a man who sees anexplosion a long way off, by God! if this is true the whole bally lotof us on the Anarchist Council were against anarchy! Every born man wasa detective except the President and his personal secretary. What can itmean?
Mean! said the new policeman with incredible violence. It means thatwe are struck dead! Don't you know Sunday? Don't you know that his jokesare always so big and simple that one has never thought of them? Can youthink of anything more like Sunday than this, that he should put all hispowerful enemies on the Supreme Council, and then take care that it wasnot supreme? I tell you he has bought every trust, he has captured everycable, he has control of every railway line--especially of that railwayline! and he pointed a shaking finger towards the small waysidestation. The whole movement was controlled by him; half the world wasready to rise for him. But there were just five people, perhaps, whowould have resisted him... and the old devil put them on the SupremeCouncil, to waste their time in watching each other. Idiots that we are,he planned the whole of our idiocies! Sunday knew that the Professorwould chase Syme through London, and that Syme would fight me in France.And he was combining great masses of capital, and seizing great linesof telegraphy, while we five idiots were running after each other like alot of confounded babies playing blind man's buff.
Well? asked Syme with a sort of steadiness.
Well, replied the other with sudden serenity, he has found us playingblind man's buff today in a field of great rustic beauty and extremesolitude. He has probably captured the world; it only remains to him tocapture this field and all the fools in it. And since you really wantto know what was my objection to the arrival of that train, I will tellyou. My objection was that Sunday or his Secretary has just this momentgot out of it.
Syme uttered an involuntary cry, and they all turned their eyes towardsthe far-off station. It was quite true that a considerable bulk ofpeople seemed to be moving in their direction. But they were too distantto be distinguished in any way.
It was a habit of the late Marquis de St. Eustache, said the newpoliceman, producing a leather case, always to carry a pair of operaglasses. Either the President or the Secretary is coming after us withthat mob. They have caught us in a nice quiet place where we are underno temptations to break our oaths by calling the police. Dr. Bull, Ihave a suspicion that you will see better through these than throughyour own highly decorative spectacles.
He handed the field-glasses to the Doctor, who immediately took off hisspectacles and put the apparatus to his eyes.
It cannot be as bad as you say, said the Professor, somewhat shaken.There are a good number of them certainly, but they may easily beordinary tourists.
Do ordinary tourists, asked Bull, with the fieldglasses to his eyes,wear black masks half-way down the face?
Syme almost tore the glasses out of his hand, and looked through them.Most men in the advancing mob really looked ordinary enough; but itwas quite true that two or three of the leaders in front wore blackhalf-masks almost down to their mouths. This disguise is very complete,especially at such a distance, and Syme found it impossible to concludeanything from the clean-shaven jaws and chins of the men talking inthe front. But presently as they talked they all smiled and one of themsmiled on one side.