MANICHAEAN
11-22-2010, 05:48 AM
THE DUEL.
They were friends and they were musketeers and they were rivals. Naturally, being Frenchmen there was a woman involved.
Both men had different characters, which most likely had been the basis of the bond that had existed between them over the years. But for the moment, there was tension that had, like a “pot du feu” boiled over and had now resulted in this planned duel.
Henri, the taller of the two, had a strong and robust appearance & one could, upon initial viewing, ascertain that he was one of those men who could put an end to horses between his knees. He felt in the present circumstances that he had the character & perception to realize that he dreaded death not as a man, but as a lover; not as a foe to life, but as an obstacle to a woman’s affections. The night before he had grudged the risk of his life which appeared to him as magnificent and worthy of preservation. He had known moments when, the love involved seemed to be already his and his threatened life a still more magnificent opportunity of devotion. In reality it was merely a paroxysm of delirious conceit, for to men that have been sobered by the victorious issue of a duel, life will invariably appear robbed of its charm, simply because it is no longer menaced.
Charles, his adversary was more highly strung. A man, lithe in body and sensitive in soul and raised by a strong father in the codes of honour expected of a gentleman. To him, if an oppressed nation had a right to appeal to arms in defense of its liberty, there could be no argument used in support of such appeal, which would not apply with equal force to individuals. Even the elements themselves war together, and the angels of heaven have, on occasion, met in fierce encounter. Nothing was to him more derogatory to the honor of a gentleman, than to wound the feelings of any one, even friends. The object of his, (and his rival’s), affections, and over whom the perceived slight had arisen was a young lady called Natalie. Charles felt in the short time that he had known her that she had understood him, had realized his nobility of ideal, his gifts, his occasional grandeur of soul,—like all artistic men he was desultory in the manifestation of his talent. To her he had been always, so he told himself, a cavalier in his devotion. He had kept the soles of her little feet from touching the sidewalks of life.
A mutual friend of many years had endeavored to desist both parties from the course they were now resolved upon. His name was Dr Maurice Le Clair. Early that morning he had called upon Henri & he recalled that, even he as a non participant, he had not slept a wink.
"Have you made your will?" the doctor asked of Henri, endeavoring to bring upon him the seriousness of his situation.
"No."
"What if you are killed?"
"The heirs will turn up themselves."
"Have you no friends to whom you would wish to send your last farewell?"
Henri shook his head. "When I think of imminent and possible death, I think only of myself. Friends, who will forget me tomorrow, or, worse still, who will weave God knows what stories about me; what do I care for them?”
The night before, Dr Le Clair had likewise & with similar good intentions called upon Charles in his lodgings.
"Ah! My dear friend, you are late!" was Charles’s greeting.
"I thought I had been moderately expeditious," said the doctor.
"But with an affair of this sort hanging over one, the minutes drag. And yet, Heaven knows, mine may be few enough."
"Then you no longer need my services?"
“Stay—you might witness my will here, to which I am about to affix my signature."
"With pleasure," said the doctor, “as we seem between you and Henri to now be on the point of exchanging time for eternity"
“That thought is peculiarly unpleasant to me just now," Charles responded quietly. "May I beg you not to enlarge upon it?"
The day of the duel arrived and for one perverse reason or another it was to be held in a small tavern—'The Hand and Flower'
Now 'The Hand and Flower' enjoyed a low reputation, and for a citizen of ordinary respectability to be seen entering it —well, it invited surmise. Both Henri & Charles in measured steps and accompanied by the good doctor walked in. The landlord, who for a suitable fee had agreed to this unseemly event, sat concealed in his corner like a thief in the presence of a gendarme.
For several minutes there was an awkward silence. At last the doctor broke it, turning to both men.
"I believe," he said, "that having both shown your readiness to fight and thereby duly discharged your debt of honor, you might, gentlemen, come to an understanding and end this affair in a friendly fashion."
"I am ready to do so," said Henri.
Charles thinking that his rival was showing the white feather, assumed a haughty air, although his face had been sickly gray until that moment. Now, for the first time since their arrival, his glance was uneasy and it betrayed his inner conflict.
"Tell me your conditions," he said, "and you may rest assured that I will do all I can for you..."
"These are my conditions: you will today publicly retract your unwarranted attentions upon Nicole and apologize to me . . ."
"My dear sir, I am amazed that you dare suggest anything of the kind..."
"What else could I suggest?"
"We'll fight it out."
They both shrugged their shoulders.
"So be it” Henri said. “Only remember that one of us is bound to be killed."
"I hope it'll be you."
"I'm quite certain of the contrary."
"We are ready then," said the doctor. "Take your places, gentlemen!”
Charles led the doctor aside and began to talk to him very heatedly.
"Dr Le Clair" interjected Henri. "You are not here to take confession. Let us get it over and done with as quickly as possible.”
It was as if a spirit had entered the room and endowered both men’s awareness of the reality of the history of their friendship and the frankness that they had enjoyed over the years in each others company.
"Charles, my friend, I only beg you to do me the favor not to cut my face, since a slash might use it so ill that my mother who bore me would not know me, and I should not like to be considered ugly; neither is it right to mar and destroy what God made in His likeness."
"Agreed," replied Charles; "I will aim lower."
"Except—except my stomach also, for I was ever a friend to cleanliness, and I should not like to see myself fouled in a bad way, if your sword played havoc with my liver and intestines."
"I will strike higher; but let us go on."
"Take care of my chest, it was always weak."
"Then just tell me, mon ami, where am I to touch you?"
"My dear Charles, there's always plenty of time and space to hack at a man; I have here on my left arm a spot, of which you can make meat as much as you like."
The duel commenced. And one would never have known how this scene would have ended, had not there crossed the threshold a personage who came to take a part in the development of this drama. There entered, a woman of twenty to twenty-two years of age, diminutive in body, superlative in audacity and grace. She advanced to the field of battle. A ribbon as black as her sin of apparent pride tied her hair.
Charles and Henri when they saw Natalie appear, increased their feints, flourishes, curvets, onsets, crouching, and bounds—all, however, without touching a hair. Our Mademoiselle witnessed in silence for a long time this scene with that feminine pleasure which the daughters of Eve enjoy at such critical moments. But gradually her pretty brow clouded over, until, drawing from her delicate ear, a flower she hurled it amidst the jousters.
"And is this affair for me?"
"Attends, mes braves," said she sarcastically. "For females such as I, of my charms and descent—daughter of La Guitane, niece of Le Compte de Alois, and grand-daughter of La Guimorais—know that there are neither pacts nor compacts, nor any such futile things, nor are any of them worth a sou. And when men challenge each other, let the blade do its work and the red blood flow, so as not to have my mother's daughter present without giving her the pleasure of snapping her fingers in the face of the other. If you pretend you are fighting for me, it's a lie; you are wholly mistaken, and that not by halves. I love neither of you. Philippe Le Breton is to my taste, and he and I look upon you with scorn and contempt. Good-by, and, if you like, call my man to account."
She went out with the same vindictive expression etched, upon her carved features with which she entered.
The two protagonists followed Natalie with their eyes; and then with a gesture drew their swords across their sleeves as though wiping off the blood there might have been. They sheathed same weapons as one and Henri remarked:
"Through woman the world was lost, through a woman France was lost; but it has never been known, nor do ballads relate, that two valiant men killed each other for another lover."
"Give me that hand, Henri mon ami."
"Your hand, Charles."
They strode out into the street, the best friends in the world.
It was too late for repentance and too early for eternity.
They were friends and they were musketeers and they were rivals. Naturally, being Frenchmen there was a woman involved.
Both men had different characters, which most likely had been the basis of the bond that had existed between them over the years. But for the moment, there was tension that had, like a “pot du feu” boiled over and had now resulted in this planned duel.
Henri, the taller of the two, had a strong and robust appearance & one could, upon initial viewing, ascertain that he was one of those men who could put an end to horses between his knees. He felt in the present circumstances that he had the character & perception to realize that he dreaded death not as a man, but as a lover; not as a foe to life, but as an obstacle to a woman’s affections. The night before he had grudged the risk of his life which appeared to him as magnificent and worthy of preservation. He had known moments when, the love involved seemed to be already his and his threatened life a still more magnificent opportunity of devotion. In reality it was merely a paroxysm of delirious conceit, for to men that have been sobered by the victorious issue of a duel, life will invariably appear robbed of its charm, simply because it is no longer menaced.
Charles, his adversary was more highly strung. A man, lithe in body and sensitive in soul and raised by a strong father in the codes of honour expected of a gentleman. To him, if an oppressed nation had a right to appeal to arms in defense of its liberty, there could be no argument used in support of such appeal, which would not apply with equal force to individuals. Even the elements themselves war together, and the angels of heaven have, on occasion, met in fierce encounter. Nothing was to him more derogatory to the honor of a gentleman, than to wound the feelings of any one, even friends. The object of his, (and his rival’s), affections, and over whom the perceived slight had arisen was a young lady called Natalie. Charles felt in the short time that he had known her that she had understood him, had realized his nobility of ideal, his gifts, his occasional grandeur of soul,—like all artistic men he was desultory in the manifestation of his talent. To her he had been always, so he told himself, a cavalier in his devotion. He had kept the soles of her little feet from touching the sidewalks of life.
A mutual friend of many years had endeavored to desist both parties from the course they were now resolved upon. His name was Dr Maurice Le Clair. Early that morning he had called upon Henri & he recalled that, even he as a non participant, he had not slept a wink.
"Have you made your will?" the doctor asked of Henri, endeavoring to bring upon him the seriousness of his situation.
"No."
"What if you are killed?"
"The heirs will turn up themselves."
"Have you no friends to whom you would wish to send your last farewell?"
Henri shook his head. "When I think of imminent and possible death, I think only of myself. Friends, who will forget me tomorrow, or, worse still, who will weave God knows what stories about me; what do I care for them?”
The night before, Dr Le Clair had likewise & with similar good intentions called upon Charles in his lodgings.
"Ah! My dear friend, you are late!" was Charles’s greeting.
"I thought I had been moderately expeditious," said the doctor.
"But with an affair of this sort hanging over one, the minutes drag. And yet, Heaven knows, mine may be few enough."
"Then you no longer need my services?"
“Stay—you might witness my will here, to which I am about to affix my signature."
"With pleasure," said the doctor, “as we seem between you and Henri to now be on the point of exchanging time for eternity"
“That thought is peculiarly unpleasant to me just now," Charles responded quietly. "May I beg you not to enlarge upon it?"
The day of the duel arrived and for one perverse reason or another it was to be held in a small tavern—'The Hand and Flower'
Now 'The Hand and Flower' enjoyed a low reputation, and for a citizen of ordinary respectability to be seen entering it —well, it invited surmise. Both Henri & Charles in measured steps and accompanied by the good doctor walked in. The landlord, who for a suitable fee had agreed to this unseemly event, sat concealed in his corner like a thief in the presence of a gendarme.
For several minutes there was an awkward silence. At last the doctor broke it, turning to both men.
"I believe," he said, "that having both shown your readiness to fight and thereby duly discharged your debt of honor, you might, gentlemen, come to an understanding and end this affair in a friendly fashion."
"I am ready to do so," said Henri.
Charles thinking that his rival was showing the white feather, assumed a haughty air, although his face had been sickly gray until that moment. Now, for the first time since their arrival, his glance was uneasy and it betrayed his inner conflict.
"Tell me your conditions," he said, "and you may rest assured that I will do all I can for you..."
"These are my conditions: you will today publicly retract your unwarranted attentions upon Nicole and apologize to me . . ."
"My dear sir, I am amazed that you dare suggest anything of the kind..."
"What else could I suggest?"
"We'll fight it out."
They both shrugged their shoulders.
"So be it” Henri said. “Only remember that one of us is bound to be killed."
"I hope it'll be you."
"I'm quite certain of the contrary."
"We are ready then," said the doctor. "Take your places, gentlemen!”
Charles led the doctor aside and began to talk to him very heatedly.
"Dr Le Clair" interjected Henri. "You are not here to take confession. Let us get it over and done with as quickly as possible.”
It was as if a spirit had entered the room and endowered both men’s awareness of the reality of the history of their friendship and the frankness that they had enjoyed over the years in each others company.
"Charles, my friend, I only beg you to do me the favor not to cut my face, since a slash might use it so ill that my mother who bore me would not know me, and I should not like to be considered ugly; neither is it right to mar and destroy what God made in His likeness."
"Agreed," replied Charles; "I will aim lower."
"Except—except my stomach also, for I was ever a friend to cleanliness, and I should not like to see myself fouled in a bad way, if your sword played havoc with my liver and intestines."
"I will strike higher; but let us go on."
"Take care of my chest, it was always weak."
"Then just tell me, mon ami, where am I to touch you?"
"My dear Charles, there's always plenty of time and space to hack at a man; I have here on my left arm a spot, of which you can make meat as much as you like."
The duel commenced. And one would never have known how this scene would have ended, had not there crossed the threshold a personage who came to take a part in the development of this drama. There entered, a woman of twenty to twenty-two years of age, diminutive in body, superlative in audacity and grace. She advanced to the field of battle. A ribbon as black as her sin of apparent pride tied her hair.
Charles and Henri when they saw Natalie appear, increased their feints, flourishes, curvets, onsets, crouching, and bounds—all, however, without touching a hair. Our Mademoiselle witnessed in silence for a long time this scene with that feminine pleasure which the daughters of Eve enjoy at such critical moments. But gradually her pretty brow clouded over, until, drawing from her delicate ear, a flower she hurled it amidst the jousters.
"And is this affair for me?"
"Attends, mes braves," said she sarcastically. "For females such as I, of my charms and descent—daughter of La Guitane, niece of Le Compte de Alois, and grand-daughter of La Guimorais—know that there are neither pacts nor compacts, nor any such futile things, nor are any of them worth a sou. And when men challenge each other, let the blade do its work and the red blood flow, so as not to have my mother's daughter present without giving her the pleasure of snapping her fingers in the face of the other. If you pretend you are fighting for me, it's a lie; you are wholly mistaken, and that not by halves. I love neither of you. Philippe Le Breton is to my taste, and he and I look upon you with scorn and contempt. Good-by, and, if you like, call my man to account."
She went out with the same vindictive expression etched, upon her carved features with which she entered.
The two protagonists followed Natalie with their eyes; and then with a gesture drew their swords across their sleeves as though wiping off the blood there might have been. They sheathed same weapons as one and Henri remarked:
"Through woman the world was lost, through a woman France was lost; but it has never been known, nor do ballads relate, that two valiant men killed each other for another lover."
"Give me that hand, Henri mon ami."
"Your hand, Charles."
They strode out into the street, the best friends in the world.
It was too late for repentance and too early for eternity.