LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2675, 2 November 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

MY FIBST DUEL. [Translated from the French.] Concluded. "We call in at the doctor's—a mutual friend and old school-fellow. A regular bon vivant, with a frank aud happy face and a jovial to be able to please us. He takas his case of surgical instruments and slips it into his pocket slyly, so that I may not see it; there are linen bandages, lint, a few microscopical phials, and a bottle of pure water, which he hands to the coachman. We all breakfast at De B.'s. The breakfast is merry, but nevertheless just a little more solemn than usual. Despite the natural confidence of my character, I feel greatly afraid that I may seem to be showing off. When nobody is looking at me, I steal an underhand look at the clock. It is evident that this waiting is making me nervous and thoughtful at .the same time. What I fear most is not a wound or death ; it is the Unknown : in short, it is that emotion which is inseparable from one's first debut and has become proverbial. I feel the need of locomotion, of some more physical occupation —every once in a while I find myself giving a sudden start, making an involuntary nervous gesture, bursting into a strident laugh. And, nevertheless, I am not afraid. We chat. Every time that the conversation manifests a tendency to depart from the palpitating question of the occasion, some one involuntarily leads it back to the old subject again. ' Tell me,' said I to'the jEscuiapius, ' do you think that four o'clock in the afternoon is good time to fight ?' ' Most assuredly/ replied L. with great tranquility; ' at that time you are not annoyed by the uncertainties and nervous trembling consequent upon too early

rising ; you feel at ease -, digestion has been effected and that renders it much more facile to perform an operation in safety.' That surgical .phrase ' perform, an operation'/ pronounced with such facility, makes me shudder in spite of myself. I ;take my seat at the piano in the hope of distracting myself. The valet de chambre enters to announce that our. landeau is rea 3y- ~ , • c ' Come, come ! exclaims George ; we have not got any too much time to lose.. We have still to call for those other gentlemen ; they are going to introduce us into Saint V.'s park ; the duel is to he fought on hjs grounds ; we will not he disturbed there by anybody. Come ! En route !' I seize my hat. I make it a point of honor to be out first; but within myself I think that my friend George would make an accomplished torturer. We get into the landeau. The other gentlemen were already waiting for us. They .go on in advance. The journey begins; it is long ; long—too long. It seems to me absolutely interminable. From my seat in the back of the vehicle I examine the country—smoking my londres with a thoughtful mien. Before me I have the face of George, whose eyes never lcayo me. His black moustache seems to cut his stern face in two; and from time to time he gives me an energetic grasp of the hand. . . Beside me is the doctor, with his jolly, good-natured face. In the bottom of the carriage lie the swords, light, with their curved guards, large, fitting the hand well, not too long, not too flexible, so that they will not bend if they strike a rib. I feel a childish pleasure in unsheathing them in the carriage. They are bright, freshly ground and sharpened from the evening before. I pass my finger over the point, as a gourmand might pass the tip of his tongue over his lips, and I cannot help thinking within myself that they are very sharp indeed. Here is the end of the route ; we turn to the left. I see the railings of the park —there is a little gripping at my heart again. I light another cigar, which I smoke with the most apparent indifference. The carriages stop. We stop talking ; when we do speak our voices sound deep and hollow in spite of us. I put my head out of the window. George jumps down. The other gentleman talks with the gate keeper, who opens the iron gates. There is not a soul visible near the chateau. The first carriage slowly rolls up the shady alley, preceded by the gate keeper, holding his cap in hand. No one speaks. The alley is narrow and heavily shadowed by trees. The iron gates shut. behind us. There is no sound audible except the slow grinding of the wheels over the fine sand of the carriage drive. We turn to the right, then to the left, stopping often enough to make one think of a funeral cortege passing through a cemetery. I bend over and whisper into the doctor's ear wi£h the greatest sang froid : ' Do you know whether the family vault is very far away ?' He looks at me with a puzzled expression for a moment and then bursts into a roar of laughter. George's head suddenly appears at the -window.

De B. takes the swords. We jump out. I' still smoke my cigar mechanically, because I feel that it is now an absolute assistance to me. The carriages halt a few yards away. The four seconds meet and chat together for a few seconds. They are discussing the ground. I look at the doctor with a smile.

'Bah!' he says, 'that will be all right.' I look at my adversary out of the corner of my eye; he is also smoking, and seems to be quite indifferent."' The witnesses throw up some pieces of money in the air.

George strides back to me. •You have lost the sun/ he says,

'"Why/ I, 'with my ill-luck you might as well have thrown lots for the moon. I would lose all the stars of the firmament to-day, one after the other.* ' And you have lost the swords. The duel will have to be fought with your adversary's weapons. Quick, now! off with your coat; and don't forget what I told you. Above all things, keep cool!* All my sang froid has come back to me ; my heart beats a little fast, but I walk very deliberately to my post, lighted by a few slanting sunbeams, and fling away my hat, coat and vest. My adversary and myself find ourselves face to face at a distance of three yards, measuring each other with our eyes. This is certainly the most trying moment of all. With as much outward coolness as possible, I stoop to turn up my pantaloons at the bottom ; then I tighten the strap as much as I can so as to keep them well above my hips and I pull up the shirt a little all round, so as to puff it out about the chest, in order that the sword might catch and- be entangled without penetrating the wearer.

George steps forward and hands me one of the two swords, which he and one of the other seconds have been measuring ; then, crossing one blade over the other, he utters the sacramental — ' Allez messieurs '.'

Like an experienced duellist, accustomed to the surprise of the first few minutes, my adversary retreats a step. The swords were hardly engaged. Out of the corner of my eye I look at Saint V.'s red gloves which seem to gleam under the sun. The marquis advances fwo paces and executes a rapid disengage. I parry, retreating quickly, and give him a repost which forces him to retreat in his turn. Then there is no sound but the rubbing of steel upon steel; in the silence our panting becomes audible ; we are both soon exhausted ; I feel a terrible palpitation of the heart, and my irregular breathing makes me think of the effect of those first two or three terrible minutes of submersion one suffers when one is learning to swim.

All of a sudden the marquis leaves his shoulder exposed for perhaps half a second ; I thrust my arm forward and feel a feeble resistance ; the blade had entered the flesh. I drop the sword as if its hilt had burned my hand. ' Oh ! excuse me, sir !' I exclaim. The first impulse—and a very involuntary impulse it is—is to beg pardon, just as when one inflicts a hurt without intending it. The feeling is just the same as when you step on somebody else's foot by mistake or inadvertance. The blood gushes out through a rather large gash, the flow is rather strong, the shoulder and arm are forthwith congested; the marquis smiles sadly as they lay him down under a tree. I slip away to dress myself j I confess that feel a certain pleasure in putting' my coat on again while I watch the group, formed by my friend the doctor, who sounds the wounds and sponges the marquis with fresh water as he lies upon his side, and Saint V. leaning over him, with his inseparable red gloves that look like the inside of new boot legs. George wipes the blades and sheathes them.' °Then he walkes over to me. His black moustache hides the smile he has the good breeding to keep down; his eyes laugh with pleasure. ' Bravo ! my little Gaston,* he mutters in a low voice ; * now, my dear boy, go over there and shake hands with him !' I make no objection, and approach the little group just as the marquis is in the act of saying to Saint V.: 'See here, Saint V., with queen of spades ; second, and two trumps, what would you do with four aces in your hand ?' ' "Why, my dear fellow, there «ould be j no question what to do—you must play in : such a case ?'

' Then it is all right. I made a mistake, but couldn't help it. Well, it is strange, my dear Saint V., I would have wagered'— At this moment I break with : ' Monsieur, will you permit me to offer you my humblest excuses ?' ' Don't mention it, my dear fellow/ he answers, taking my hand, ' you were perfectly right; you had to play.' I must acknowledge that in returning, I think the colors of the sunset were unusually exquisite. I feel that my heart is full; I feel an inexpressible desire of self-expansion—a gayety even more artificial, perhaps, than what I had felt on the way out. George moderates me, keeps me down with a side glance. They talk about the details of the duel.

' Doctor, do you think that the marquis will be laid up for any length of t me P

' Pooh! —have to keep his arm in a sling for a fortnight or three weeks—that's all!'

' Did you notice,' George asks me, * how awfully serious Saint V. was ?' 'My dear fellow, I saw nothing of him, except his red gloves.' :;;Well, since that day, I have often had a visit early in the morning from a couple of gentlemen, who came to awake me with a cartel at that hour when only washerwomen and servants are up. But I never again exjaerienced the strange sensation —at once replete with fear and pleasure—of the first duel. Never again did I feel those nervous impulses, those fits of impatience, those feverish ardors and strange sinkings of the heart which I felt upon my first visit to Le Vesinet.