Volume 11 — XVII MY DUEL WITH MY NEIGHBOR

I went to the rendezvous at the appointed hour. The weather was fine, delightful for walking, and everybody was out of doors. I could not avoid the reflection that my neighbor had selected for our duel an hour when it was very hard not to be seen; I knew that he was very fond of putting himself in evidence, but it seemed to me that that was not an opportune occasion for so doing; he was evidently quite capable of choosing his ground in front of a guardhouse. However, I concluded to be patient and to await events before judging him.

When I arrived at Porte Maillot I did not see Raymond. It was not yet one o’clock, so I strolled about in the neighborhood. Little did I think that morning that I should go to the Bois de Boulogne before night, and alone. Caroline, I thought, must be surprised at my non-appearance. In truth, it did imply rather a lack of warmth; and if she were exacting, she would be justified in scolding me. But I knew a sure way to make peace with her; it is easy enough to find a way when love still exists; only in old liaisons, or between those who have been long married, do quarrels destroy love, because in such cases the methods of reconciliation are no longer the same.

At half-past one, no one had appeared. Could it be that my neighbor had deliberately sent me on a fool’s errand; I realized that he was likely to require a vast deal of preparation before fighting a duel; but it seemed to me that he had had plenty of time since eight o’clock in the morning to make his little arrangements, and to go about to tell all his acquaintances that he had an affair of honor on hand. Could he have gone to warn the police? Such things had been done; but, no, it was he who had sent the challenge; I was doing him an injustice. Poor Raymond! the dinner episode was terrific, beyond question, and he must have been terribly incensed at me, especially if he believed me to be the author also of the ingenious trick of pasting his picture on the wall on Rue Vivienne. But why that rhodomontade of sending me a challenge by the concierge? if he had no intention of fighting, he should have come to see me at my rooms; I would have confessed my faults, while laughing at the affair, for I am not one of those men who refuse to atone for the foolish pranks they have committed except by cutting the throats of the persons they have offended. I consider that there is more glory in avowing one’s fault frankly, and fighting afterward if the avowal does not give satisfaction.

Almost two o’clock! I lost my patience; I was tired of walking; moreover, the weather had changed, and the sky was overcast; a storm seemed impending, and I had no desire to await it in the woods. The idlers had become fewer, the riders were digging their spurs into their horses’ sides, the coachmen cracking their whips; everybody was hurrying back to the city. I determined to go with the rest. But who were the three men walking so fast toward the woods? I soon recognized the one who marched so proudly at their head: it was Raymond. He had brought two seconds, after telling me that he would come alone. But, no matter; doubtless he would be obliging enough to let me have one of them. I began to think that he had urged me not to bring one because he preferred to choose one for me.

As the three drew near, I recognized Raymond’s seconds: one was Vauvert the melomaniac, the other Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche. Parbleu! thought I, there is sport ahead! I had a strong suspicion that my neighbor was preparing some trick he had conceived. What in the devil had induced him to choose such seconds? Friquet only was lacking; I should not have been surprised to find him standing guard a short distance away, ready to summon the police at the first signal from his uncle.

All three were drenched with perspiration; and yet, they had had time enough to make the trip. Apparently, they had postponed their decision long enough to be sure of warming themselves up on the road. Raymond was as red as a turkey cock, Vauvert pale as a bride, and the baron made such fiendish grimaces that I could not tell just the color of his face. They seemed more at ease when they saw that I was alone. I very much regretted that I had not brought a second; I had an idea that by doing so I should have disarranged Raymond’s plan.

They saluted me as soon as they caught sight of me; I returned their salutation, then went back into the woods I had just left.

“Where are you going? Wait, wait!” cried Vauvert, stammering and hardly able to speak at all, he was so excited. I pretended not to hear, and went farther into the woods.

Vauvert started to run after me; he overtook me and seized my hand, and I felt that he was trembling like a rabbit.

“Where on earth are you going, my dear fellow? why do you go so far into the woods? Don’t you see that we’re going to have a storm?”

“It seems to me that the affair that brings us here can hardly be adjusted on the highroad; it would be as sensible to choose Boulevard Saint-Denis for the battlefield.”

“My friend, I hope that—at all events——”

“As for the storm, that needn’t disturb us; on the contrary, it will keep bystanders away.”

While I was talking with Vauvert, I heard my neighbor shouting in the distance:

“No adjustment, Monsieur Vauvert, no adjustment! I don’t propose to consent to any compromise; I am determined to fight!”

“You hear him!” said Vauvert; “he’s crazy. Oh! he’s a terrible fellow when he gets started. He has said everywhere that he proposed to have your life, or that you should have his.”

I could not help laughing at Raymond’s bluster; and I ventured to reassure poor Vauvert, who did not know which way to turn, having never been present at such a function. At last we were joined by my adversary and the Baron de Witcheritche, the latter of whom wore a three-cornered hat, eight inches high, cocked over his left ear, which gave him the aspect of a bully from the Rue Coquenard.

“Monsieur!” said Raymond, striding toward me with a warlike air, “I wrote you that I should come alone, and that was my intention; but, as I passed through the Palais-Royal, I met my friend Vauvert, who had come out to buy a roll for his second breakfast, and who, when he learned that I had an affair of honor with you, dropped everything to come with me, and——”

“That is to say,” interrupted Vauvert, “that you didn’t tell me that that was what was up, and that I didn’t find it out till we got to the barrier; for, when you saw me, you grabbed my arm and didn’t give me time to pay for my newspaper.”

Raymond pretended not to hear what Vauvert said, and continued:

“So I yielded to his urgent entreaties. Besides, he is as much your friend as mine, and his presence cannot be disagreeable to you. As for Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche, we met him at the barrier, going out to dine in the country with his good wife. I thought it better to have two seconds than one, because then I could let you have one of them. Monsieur de Witcheritche consented to leave madame la baronne, who is waiting for him under the trees not far away. He will be my second then, and Monsieur Vauvert yours, if agreeable to you.”

Monsieur le baron, who had bowed every time that his name was mentioned, took his place beside Raymond, and Vauvert stood behind me.

“Monsieur Raymond,” said I, “it seems to me that we might very well settle this affair between ourselves, without troubling these gentlemen. I am afraid that madame la baronne may get wet during our engagement, and Vauvert would be better off at his desk than here.”

“That is true enough,” said Vauvert, who asked nothing better than to go away; “I have a great deal of work to do to-day, and I’m afraid I shall be reproved by my deputy chief clerk.”

“Matame la paronne, she haf ov te shtorm no fear; she loaf mooch to see te lidening flashes,” said Monsieur de Witcheritche, smiling so expansively that his mouth seemed to reach from ear to ear.

“Well, since these gentlemen have been good enough to come,” said I, with a smile, “it must not be for nothing; so I accept Monsieur Vauvert for my second.”

Vauvert fell back with an air of dismay.

“Don’t be alarmed,” I said to him; “seconds rarely fight; if, however, I should fall, and you should choose to avenge me, it will be in your power.”

“I, my dear friend! I do not need to tell you how fond I am of you; and certainly—I wish the affair might be settled amicably. Friends ought not to fall out!—Monsieur de Witcheritche, we ought not to allow these gentlemen to fight.”

The baron seemed much more deeply interested in something that he had in his pocket than in our combat, and to no purpose did Vauvert, with tears in his eyes, strive frantically to make him understand that it was their duty to reconcile Raymond and myself. But my neighbor was obstinate.

“I intend to fight,” he said; “nobody shall insult me with impunity! I have seen Monsieur Gerville, and I know that he did not dine with you and Agathe; I need say no more! And my silhouette on the wall—that was a betrayal of confidence! You must give me satisfaction, Monsieur Dorsan; this affair will make a sensation.”

“Oh! bless my soul, neighbor, I am at your service! Let us get through with it, for it is going to rain, and I shall be distressed to have these gentlemen get wet, and especially madame la baronne, who is under the trees.”

“I am the insulted party; I have the choice of weapons.”

“That is true.”

“I am very skilful with the sword; I have taken lessons from the most expert teacher in Paris; but I will not fight with anything but pistols, because I don’t wish to make an unfair use of my advantages.”

“That is very generous on your part; I divined your purpose and brought some pistols along.”

As I spoke, I took mine from my pocket; I saw that Raymond was disturbed and changed color; then he produced a pair of great holster pistols and showed them to me.

“That’s all right,” said I; “each of us will have his own pistols.”

“No, no! put yours back in your pocket; we must use mine. You understand what an advantage I should have in using one of my pistols against one of yours, which are two inches shorter.”

“Your behavior is truly noble. Very well, since you insist upon it.”

“I do, monsieur; besides, I have the choice of weapons, and I fight with none but my own.”

“Very well; let us call our friends to load them.”

I turned to look for Vauvert, who, as soon as we produced our pistols, had walked away in the direction of the highroad and could with difficulty be induced to come near us.

“The pistols are loaded,” said Raymond; “I always look after that in advance.”

“Ordinarily, my dear neighbor, that is the duty of the seconds.”

“Oh! but I don’t trust anybody but myself with that. Besides, my friend Witcheritche has examined them;—isn’t that so, monsieur le baron?”

The baron was busily engaged in wrapping in two thicknesses of paper some small Neufchâtel cheeses, which he seemed to fear would be dissolved in his pocket by the rain; so he replied to my adversary’s question only by a smile of assent. Everything that I saw tended to confirm my suspicions: Raymond’s valor was unnatural; his insistence upon using his own pistols, the pains he had taken to load them at home, certainly implied some trickery on his part, which I was determined. He handed me his pistols and asked me to choose one.

“How many paces apart shall we stand?” I asked.

“Why—about twenty-five.”

“Great God!” cried Vauvert; “why, that’s point-blank range. Forty paces, messieurs! that’s quite near enough when you’re hit!”

“No; let’s call it thirty; that’s the most I can consent to.—Monsieur de Witcheritche, come and measure the ground.”

Monsieur le baron regretfully parted from his cheeses, which he laid on the grass, taking care to put his hat over them, for the rain was beginning to fall violently. He came toward us; I took my place, and he measured thirty gigantic paces, so that I could hardly see Raymond. As for my second, he was so afraid of being hit that he did not know where to go. He urged us to be very careful not to aim at the wrong man, and I reassured him. Monsieur de Witcheritche gave the signal by beating time, as if we were to play a Haydn quartette.

Raymond fired, and either the noise or downright terror felled Vauvert to the ground, where he lay with his face buried in the grass. I was not touched; I did not even hear the bullet whistle by my ears.

I suggested to my neighbor that we let it go at that.

“No, no, fire!” he cried.

“He is ein Zazar!” exclaimed the baron, in his admiration of Raymond’s courage.

I was desirous to ascertain the truth. My second still lay at full length on the ground; Monsieur de Witcheritche had thought it better to retire to a considerable distance, behind a clump of trees; my adversary turned his head aside, waiting for me to take aim, which I had no purpose of doing, although convinced that his weapons were not dangerous; but the baron’s cheeses were within two yards of me, and I discharged my pistol at them. The explosion blew the three-cornered hat away, and a multitude of scraps of paper adhered to the little Neufchâtels. While I was laughing over the end of my duel, Raymond came toward me with outstretched hand, shouting at a distance:

“It’s all settled, my friend; I am satisfied, embrace me!”

“What!” said I; “you don’t want another shot? I have pistols, too.”

“No, my dear fellow, let’s forget it all; embrace me, I beg you.”

“So be it; I will do whatever is agreeable to you.”

While my neighbor threw himself into my arms, the baron ran to his cheeses, and was like one turned to stone when he saw that they were all speckled with bits of paper.

“Mein jheese, tay shmell ov te bowder lige te teffel!” he said, putting his nose to them.

“A thousand pardons, monsieur le baron; but as I did not wish to fire at my friend Raymond, I aimed in this direction; the bullet must have gone through them.”

Raymond flushed to his ears; my ironical manner led him to fear that I had detected his little fraud; but I did not care to deprive him of the pleasure of being able to say everywhere that he had fought a duel. I ran to my second, who was still on the ground, and urged him to rise; he did not stir, and I saw that the poor devil had swooned during our battle. I called Raymond to my assistance; he had a flask of strong aromatic vinegar in his pocket, with which we inundated Vauvert’s face, and he finally came to himself. After feeling himself all over and making sure that he was not wounded, he tried to make us think that his swoon was caused by his affection for us both. We thanked him and set him on his legs; but we had to take an arm each to help him to walk; for he was in no condition to stand erect without our support.

Monsieur de Witcheritche put the remains of his cheeses in his pocket handkerchief, and we left the wood. The rain continued, but my second could not walk fast, so that we were compelled to endure it. Raymond was in the highest spirits; he was overjoyed by his day’s experience. He knew Vauvert, and he was sure that his duel would soon be the absorbing topic of the whole company of amateur musicians, even if he himself should not take pains to spread it everywhere.

“You showed extraordinary courage, messieurs,” said Vauvert, as we marched along; “such sang-froid! such calmness! that was true valor!”

“Oh! yez! yez! tese two chentlemens pe fery prave.”

“Oh! my neighbor Raymond’s not like other men; I am sure that he would fight the same way ten times a day.”

Raymond bowed, but said nothing. I fancied that he realized that I knew how his pistols were loaded.

At last, we spied madame la baronne seated under a large tree; her husband ran to her and took her arm, and we walked toward the barrier.

“I haf mooch abbetide,” said Madame de Witcheritche to her husband.

“Ve vill tine soon, matame.”

The couple bowed to us and quickened their pace. I presumed that they were on the lookout for a restaurant; but I noticed that, all the way from the barrier, two huge dogs had been following monsieur le baron, who did all that he could to drive them away, but to no purpose.

“Do those two dogs belong to Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche?” I asked Vauvert.

“No, I don’t think so; I never saw at his place anything but poodles.”

“It’s strange,” said Raymond; “he must have something in his pocket that attracts them.”

I looked for a cab, but the rain had caused them all to be taken up. We had lost sight of Monsieur de Witcheritche and his wife, when we heard loud cries, and soon saw the two dogs running for their lives, one with a bologna sausage, the other with a bit of salt pork in its mouth. The baron and baroness came running after them, crying:

“Shtop tief! shtop tief! Ach! te file peasts! tey haf shtole our tinner!”

Madame la baronne, being weaker than her husband, was obliged to stop, and told us how the two dogs had succeeded in extracting from monsieur le baron’s pocket the dinner she and her dear spouse, who had been a long time arranging that little outing for her, expected to eat in the country.

While we were consoling the poor woman, Monsieur de Witcheritche, who was not the man to abandon his sausage and his pork, kept on in pursuit of the dogs, at which he threw all the stones he could find on the road. He had already wounded one and compelled it to slacken its pace. Hoping to hit the other, which was just passing the barrier, he threw a great stone at it with all his force. But the stone was ill-aimed, and, instead of striking the dog, struck the customs clerk in the eye, as he was looking up at the sky to see if the storm were passing away.

The poor man fell, crying:

“I am dead!”

His comrades ran to him. One of the dogs, which was then passing the city limits, ran among the clerks’ legs and made them stagger. The second dog, trying to escape, was seized by monsieur le baron, who thought of nothing but his dinner and pursued his course, unmindful of anything else. He succeeded in catching the dog by the tail, and a battle ensued between him and the animal, which refused to give up the sausage. The soldiers from the neighboring post ran up in response to the outcries of the clerks. The vehicles of all kinds passing in or out were compelled to stop; the soldiers would allow no one to pass until they had found out what the matter was. A crowd gathered to see what was going on, and everyone put forward some conjecture.

“It’s an important prisoner whom they arrested just as he was leaving the city,” said one, “and it seems that he wounded the clerk who seized him.”

“No; they’ve just discovered some contraband goods in one of those wagons; it was being smuggled in.”

Amid the tumult, which was augmented by the barking of the dogs, the baron shouted triumphantly:

“I haf him! I haf him!” and he waved aloft the bologna sausage, which he had snatched from his enemy’s jaws; then, before the poor devil whose eye he had put out had recovered consciousness, Monsieur de Witcheritche slipped into the crowd and returned to his wife, leaving the clerks, soldiers, and bystanders asking one another what it was all about. Madame la baronne had recovered her husband, Vauvert was in a condition to walk unaided, and Raymond began to play the dandy. I left the company and took a cab to return to Paris.