ONLY A TRIFLE
The fox was taken. Out of the far distance a triumphant "Halali!" was
heard, and then the horn sounded to collect the scattered members of
the hunt. Countess Angela and her escort were by this time at the
border of the wood. Ivan sounded his horn in answer to the summons,
and to show the others that they were already on their way home. They
arrived at the castle a quarter of an hour before the rest of the
company. Then they separated, and did not meet again until
supper-time. The huntsmen spent the interval talking over the day's
exploits, and the ladies were occupied with their toilettes.
Countess Angela told her aunt what had happened. She was incapable of
any sort of deceit. Lies, which come so easily to the lips of some
women, were impossible to her. If she did not tell a thing she kept
silent; but to speak what was not true--never! But what if Ivan
related to the men what had occurred? It was so much the habit to talk
over the day's sport, and make a jest of everything. Why should he not
make capital of such an adventure--a rescued lady--a beauty in
_déshabille_?
When supper-time came it struck every one that the countess had a
constrained manner, and closer observers noticed that she avoided
looking at Ivan. She was dressed all in black, which was, perhaps,
the reason that she was so pale. She was silent and preoccupied; she
was wondering if they all knew what Ivan knew. The gentlemen tried to
amuse her. They were full of the day's run, how the fox had doubled,
how they thought they would never catch him, how they regretted that
the countess had not been present, how unfortunate it was that she had
been on the opposite side of the mountain, but that it was far better
for her to have lost the run than to have ventured to leap the
crevice. That would, indeed, have been madness; an accident would
certainly have been the result. No one alluded to the fact that she
had met an ugly one; but, then, well-bred people never do allude to
anything unpleasant, which, though otherwise agreeable, has this
drawback, that one never knows how much or how little they know.
It was a remark of her cousin Edmund that convinced Angela eventually
that Ivan had kept his own counsel as to her accident.
"Did Behrend accompany you to the house?" he asked. (No one now called
him Ritter Magnet, nor were there any familiar jokes with him).
"Yes."
"And his escort was not agreeable to you?"
"What makes you say that?" inquired Angela, hastily.
"From Ivan's manner; he seems terribly down in his luck. He hasn't a
word to say to a dog, and he avoids looking at you. Don't you remark
it? You have, I think, made the place too hot for him; he won't stay
longer. Have I guessed right?"
"Yes, quite right."
"Shall I give him a hint to go?"
"Do, for my sake; but without harshness. I will not have him
offended."
"Do you think I am such a bungler? I have an excellent plan to get him
away quietly."
"You must tell me what it is. I am not vexed with the man, only he
bores me. Do you understand? I won't have him driven away by any of
you; but if he goes by his own free choice, I should be glad if he
were at the antipodes."
"Well, I have no objection to tell you what I mean to do. This man is
a scholar, a philosopher, as you know. He holds very different
opinions from us who live in the world. For one thing, he abhors
duelling. Don't spoil your pretty face by frowning. I am not going to
call him out, neither is any one else, so far as I know; that would be
a stupid joke. But this evening, in the smoking-room, Salista and I
will get up a dispute about some trifle or another; the end of it will
be a challenge. I will ask Behrend and Geza to be my seconds. Now,
what will happen? If Behrend refuses, which is most likely, he will
have to withdraw from our party--that is the etiquette--and we will
have nothing more to say to him. If, on the contrary, he accepts, then
the other seconds will manage to fall out about the arrangements of
our meeting--Salista's and mine--and the regular consequence of such a
falling out is that the seconds challenge one another; then our
philosopher packs up his traps, thanks us for our hospitality, goes
back to brew his gas. He doesn't fight, not he; for I hold that,
although it is within the bounds of possibility that even a
philosopher, if deeply insulted, may have recourse to his pistol to
punish the offender, yet, when it is a matter of pure, worldly
etiquette, it is only your born gentleman who will stand up in a
duel."
"But suppose he does consent to fight this duel?"
"Then my plot has failed. We should then have a sort of court-martial,
and it would have to decide that no offence was meant and none given.
We would all shake hands, and the little comedy would be at an end."
Angela yawned, as if weary of the subject. "Do as you like," she said.
"But take care. This man can show his teeth; he can bite."
"Leave that to me."
That evening at supper the conversation was purposely turned on
duelling, for the purpose of convincing Angela that Ivan's views on
the subject were sound as regarded his own safety. The opportunity
offered, for the latest event in fashionable life was a duel, in which
the only son of a well-known and distinguished family had lost his
life for some silly dispute about a trifle.
"I hold the duel to be not merely a mistake, but a crime," said Ivan.
"It is flying in the face of God to take the law into our own hands.
The _Te Deum_ which the conqueror sings over his murderous act is a
disgrace; it cries to Heaven for vengeance. The appeal to weapons as
satisfaction is likewise an offence against society, for it hinders
the possibility of telling the truth. The man who tells us our faults
openly to our face is a benefactor, but by the present laws of society
we are bound to challenge him, and to kill him if we can; we have no
other course, so it must be false compliments or the duello."
Edmund continued the discussion. "I take a different view of the
matter," he said. "If duelling were not a law of society it would be
in a sense a denial of God's mercy, for if you look at it in this way
it cannot be denied that one man is weak, another man strong, and
that this is a decree of Providence. The result of this difference in
many instances would be that the weaker would be the slave of the
stronger, who could box his ears, insult him, and all the law would
give him would be, perhaps, a couple of pounds. This chasm between the
law of God and the law of man is filled by the pistol-ball, which puts
the strong and the weak on the same level. The pistol is not a judge,
for it often decides the cause unjustly. Nevertheless, this unwritten
law, and the respect, not to say fear, it infuses, has a salutary
effect, and makes it impossible for the bully to tyrannize over a man
of more education but less physical strength."
"But that it should be so is a crime of society," answered Ivan. "A
false sentiment of honor has dictated this law. The world has no right
to make such a rule; it should honor those equally, be they poor or
rich, well-born or humble, who keep the law of the land as it is
constituted. But what does society do? If a gentleman gets a box on
the ear from another, and does not immediately demand satisfaction for
the insult, and, _nolens volens_, make himself a target to be shot at
by perhaps a better marksman than himself, what happens? He is at once
dishonored; society ostracizes him. The world, if it pretend to any
justice in the matter, should reform this absurd principle, and punish
the man who has given the first offence. Then society, and not a
leaden ball, would be judge."
"That is all very fine in theory, my dear sir; but I ask you, as a man
of honor, to put yourself in the position in which, for some reason or
another, you find it necessary to have satisfaction for an affront."
"I could not imagine myself placed in any such position," Ivan
answered, quietly. "I offend no one intentionally, and should I do so
inadvertently, I would at once apologize. I give no man the
opportunity to asperse my honor, and if he were foolish enough to do
so I would call upon those who know, and I should deem myself indeed
unfortunate if they did not clear me of any such accusation."
"But suppose the honor of some one near and dear to you were
attacked?"
"I have no one who stands to me in that close relationship."
This last remark cut short the discussion. Nevertheless, before many
hours had passed the Marquis Salista proved to Ivan that there was one
person whose good name was dear to him.
It was at supper, and Angela was present. The marquis was entertaining
her with anecdotes of the revolution, in which he had taken part. He
was bragging fearfully that when he was lieutenant of the cuirassiers
he performed prodigies. At the battle of Izsasseg, with only a handful
of men, he routed the entire regiment of Lehel Hussars, and at Alt
Gzoney he cut the Wilhelm Hussars to pieces, and didn't spare a man.
Not a feature in Ivan's face moved. He listened silently to these
wonderful tales. Angela at last grew weary of all this boasting and
glorification of the Austrians over the degraded Hungarians; she
turned to Ivan, and put to him a direct question:
"Is this all true?"
Ivan shrugged his shoulders. "What can I, a poor miner who lives
underground, know of what goes on on the surface of the great earth?"
Angela need not have anxiety about him. He is a philosopher, and there
is no fear he will go too near the fire.
After supper the company separated; Count Stefan, with Countess
Theudelinde and some other ladies, went into the drawing-room. The
moon shone through the bow-windows. The countess played the piano, and
Angela came and spoke to Ivan.
"Here is your pin," she said. "You know the old superstition--a
present of sharp-pointed instruments dissolves friendship, and those
who wish to be friends never give them?"
"But," answered Ivan, smiling, "the superstition provides an antidote
which breaks the spell. Both friends must laugh over the present."
"Ah, that is why you laughed when I spoke of the iron goads. There,
take back your pin, and let us laugh for superstition's sake!"
And they laughed together, because it was a superstition so to do.
Then Angela went out on the balcony, and took counsel from the soft
air of the summer's evening; she leaned over the balustrade, waiting
for Count Edmund, who had promised to bring her the first news of how
the plot had worked.
The gentlemen stayed late in the smoking-room; the night is their time
for enjoying themselves, so Angela had a long vigil. The moon had long
disappeared behind the high tops of the poplar-trees before Angela
heard Edmund's step coming through the drawing-room to the bow-window.
The ladies were still playing the piano; they could talk unreservedly.
"Well, what has happened?" asked Angela.
Edmund was agitated. "Our trifle has turned out a rank piece of
folly," he said, crossly.
"How?"
"I should not tell you, Angela, but the situation is such that it
would be wrong to conceal anything from you. We had it all arranged
just as I told you. When we were in the smoking-room we began to play
our practical joke. Some one said how pleased you seemed to be with
Hungary--"
"Oh, how stupid of you!" said Angela, angrily.
"I know now it was a stupid thing to do. I wish I had seen it before;
but it always happens the knowledge comes too late."
"What business had you, or any one, to mention my name? I gave no
permission to have it done."
"I know, I know; but in men's society, unfortunately, no one asks a
lady's permission to mention her name. It was only a joke. It had been
settled among us that I, being your cousin, should protest against
this chatter in connection with your name; then Salista was to say
that he knew well that what kept you in Pesth was the fine eyes of a
certain gentleman, that I was to get angry, and forbid him to say any
more, and that then we should get up the mock duel."
Angela was trembling with anger, but, anxious to hear more, she
controlled herself with difficulty.
"I never heard such a childish joke," she said. "It was a college
trick."
"It would have been good for us all if it had ended like a college
trick. When I told you that we had prepared a trick you approved of
it, Angela; you know you did. None of us thought for a moment that it
would end as it has done. Behrend was sitting at the chess-table;
Salista was opposite to him, leaning against the chimney-piece. After
Salista had said the words, 'I know that a certain pair of eyes keeps
Countess Angela in Pesth,' and before I had time to make the answer
agreed upon, Ivan threw down the gauntlet. 'That is a lie!' he said."
"Ah!" cried Angela, while an electric thrill ran through her veins.
"We all sprang to our feet; the joke had ended badly. Salista grew
pale; he had not counted upon this. 'Sir,' he said to Behrend, 'take
back that word of yours; it is a word that in my life no man has said
to me.'"
"And Behrend?" asked Angela, seizing Edmund's hand.
"Behrend stood up from the table, and answered quietly, in a cold
voice, 'It is possible that up to the present you have given no
occasion for this reproach to be cast in your face; but to-night I
repeat that you have lied.' Then he left the room. I ran after him to
try and smooth down matters. I met him in the hall. He turned to me
and said, quietly, 'My dear friend, you know what must now happen. I
beg that you will ask Count Geza in my name, and that you and he will
be my seconds. You will communicate to me what has been settled; all
is in your hands.' In this way he invited me to play the part which I
had destined for him. Now he is the duellist, and I am the second. I
tried to drive him into a corner. I represented to him that it was not
his right to throw down the gauntlet for the Countess Angela. He
answered, 'It is the right and the duty of every gentleman to protect
the lady whose guest he is.' This answer, from a chivalrous point of
view, is perfectly correct, but it sounds strangely from the lips of
the man who a couple of hours ago told us there was no one in the
world for whose good name he would fight a duel."
Angela sank back in her chair. "Oh, what terrible folly it has all
been!" she wailed. "No, no, this duel cannot be! I shall prevent it!"
"I wish you would tell me what means you intend to take to prevent
it."
"I will at once speak with Ivan Behrend--this moment; do you hear?"
"Unfortunately, that is impossible. When he left me he gave the order
to put his horses to. There, you hear those wheels? That is his
carriage. Geza has gone with him, and we four are to follow him
presently. One cannot arrange this sort of thing in a strange house;
that is done only on the stage. The principals must wait in their own
houses to hear what we have decided to do."
"But, my God! I will not let it be done; do you hear? I will speak to
Uncle Stefan."
"I have told you everything, so that our sudden departure should not
surprise you; but I can tell you exactly what Count Stefan will
say--that no fuss must be made; let the whole thing be done quickly
and quietly. The seconds, too, must act with great prudence, and not
irritate the principals by much delay."
"What do you mean by saying the seconds should act with prudence?"
"So far as depends upon them they must determine the issue of the
duel, and either soften or accentuate the conditions according to
circumstances. In this case we will soften. Your name will not appear
as the cause of the challenge. We will induce Behrend to say that he
used the word 'lie' in connection with Salista's expressions
concerning the Hungarian troops. This plausible ground for a challenge
will be accepted as sufficient by both sides, and in this way your
name need never be mentioned."
"But I do not care! What does that matter? If any one is killed for my
sake--"
"Compose yourself, my dear cousin; the seconds will be prudent. We
shall place them thirty feet apart, and give them worn-out pistols
with which, at half the distance, the aim would be uncertain; then we
shall not allow them to take aim more than a minute, and you may be
certain if they were both as thick as an elephant and protected like
robin red-breasts they couldn't be safer; they may fire away for hours
and never hit one another. Now, my dear child, be sensible, I beg of
you. When you have a husband he will have many an affair of this kind
upon his hands, and all for your beautiful eyes. But I must be going,
the carriage is at the door, and we start at daylight."
And Edmund took himself off with a hasty good-bye.
This little joke had spoiled all the sport. The loss of six men made
it impossible to continue hunting the next day; therefore every one
resolved to return to Pesth in the morning. The night was disturbed.
The companion of the Countess Angela, who slept in her room, told
everyone that her mistress had hardly slept a wink, that she was
constantly getting up and lighting the candle, saying that it must be
daylight and time to set off for the city.
The next morning, at ten o'clock, when all the guests had left, and
Countess Theudelinde and her suite were already in Pesth, Countess
Angela went to her room, and walked up and down restlessly until about
eleven o'clock, when Count Edmund was announced.
He came in pale and disturbed, and Angela, who tried to read his face,
concluded that something had happened.
"In God's name, what is it?" she asked. "Who is hurt?"
"No one," replied Edmund, dryly; "but the affair is in a worse state
than it was."
"Has the duel taken place?"
"Yes and no. It has begun, but is not finished."
"I do not understand."
"I own it is something quite new. I have never known such a thing in
my experience. If you wish, I will tell you all about it."
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, do!"
"As agreed, I called at Behrend's house at six o'clock to fetch him;
Geza went on with the doctor. When we got to Lassloosky, Salista was
just getting out of his carriage. Ivan lifted his cap and wished him
good-morning; he probably did not know that this is not usual. The
principals never greet one another. Salista did not return his bow,
although he might have done so, seeing that Ivan was evidently
ignorant of the proper etiquette. From Lassloosky we all drove
together to Leopold's Field, where we got out of the carriages and
went on foot through the forest. When we reached the appointed place,
a clearing in the wood, we stopped, and the seconds on both sides
asked the principals, according to precedent, whether they would not
make up their difference. Both sides refused. Upon which we measured
the distance, marked the barrier with our pocket-handkerchiefs, and
loaded the pistols. When this was over, the principals, who had been
pulling blades of grass and standing about, took their places. We
handed them their pistols; the signal was given by Geza clapping his
hands. Salista made two steps forward and shot. Just as I expected, he
did not hit his man. Ivan called out in a loud voice, 'To the
barrier!' and Salista advanced to where the white pocket-handkerchief
lay, while Ivan went to his barrier. Then he said, addressing Salista,
'You did not return my salutation, but if I hit your head-piece you
will have to take off your cap to me.' He then took aim; the
half-minute during which he held his pistol showed us his nerve was
perfect. The pistol went off, and Salista stood opposite his adversary
bareheaded; his helmet lay two perches behind him, with the gold rose
torn from its front."
"Ah!" cried Angela.
"This man shoots as well as Robin Hood. We loaded the pistols again,
because, according to the agreement, they were to have three shots
each."
"Three shots!" exclaimed Angela.
"Yes. We all agreed it was better to have the affair on a proper
footing, so far as the conditions went. Thirty steps is a great
distance; besides, the pistols were bad. In addition, both men were
wrapped up to the chin; one had a black coat, the other a dark gray
military cloak--colors bad for hitting; and both had their
shirt-collars concealed. There was not a point about either that would
serve for a target. But the cap business had changed the nature of the
whole affair, and made much bad blood. It proved, for one thing, that
Behrend was a first-rate shot, and this put Salista's military spirit
on its metal. The barriers were withdrawn for the second shot. Salista
took off his gray cloak, tied back his hussar jacket, so that his red
waistcoat and white shirt stood out clear, and instead of standing, as
is usual in a duel, with one side to your adversary, he presented to
him a full front, and this with red and white, the best colors, as
every one knows, for a mark. Yes, and while we were loading the
pistols, what do you think he did? But Salista is a madman when he is
roused! He took his cigar-case out of his pocket, and lighted one to
show his indifference. For the second time it was his turn to begin.
He took much more pains than the first time; in fact, he was such a
time taking aim that we had to call to him to shoot. Again he missed.
The leaves of the branches under which Ivan stood fell upon his head;
the ball had gone into the tree."
Angela shuddered.
"Ivan now addressed his opponent. 'Sir,' he said, 'it is not fitting
that at such a supreme moment as this you should smoke a cigar.'
Salista made no answer, but stood fronting Behrend; his face was
slightly turned to one side, and he blew clouds of smoke into the air.
Ivan raised his pistol for a second, took deliberate aim, then a sharp
report, and Salista's cigar flew from his mouth into space."
An involuntary smile spread over Angela's lips, but it was gone in an
instant, and her face resumed its immovable expression, as if cut out
of stone.
Count Edmund went on. "In a fury Salista threw his pistol upon the
ground. 'The devil take me,' he cried, stamping with rage, 'if I shoot
any more with this man! He is Beelzebub in person. He has shot the cap
from my head, the cigar from my mouth, and the third time he will
shoot the spurs from my boots. He shoots all round me; he is like a
Chinese juggler. I will not shoot any more with him; that's flat!' His
seconds in vain tried to persuade him; he would not listen to them; he
was furious; he would hear nothing. He wasn't going to be such a fool
as to stand up there to be a mark for a second William Tell, who would
not only shoot the apple from his head, but aim right at his heart. If
they wanted to have a fair fight, with all his heart--but let it be
with swords; then one would see who was the best man. We all talked to
him, told him not to play the fool, that he must stand his adversary's
fire no matter where he was shot, in his spur or his head. The
duellist has no power to refuse; he is in the hands of his seconds. At
last Behrend got curious to know what the row was about; he called to
me and Geza, and we had to tell him that Salista would not stand
another shot, but had demanded that the duel should be decided by
swords. To our surprise Ivan answered, coolly, 'With all my heart.
Give us the sabres.' 'Do you consent?' 'I consent to fight with
scythes if he wishes.' So it was agreed. Salista's seconds heard this
discussion with great satisfaction; they were very much put out by his
outbreak, it being quite unusual to change the weapons in a duel; and
there would have been a regular scandal if Ivan had used his right of
refusing any such alteration in the conditions under which the duel
was to be fought."
"And you have allowed such an innovation to be made?" said Angela,
looking at her cousin with contracted eyebrows.
"Certainly, when the challenger has agreed to it."
"It was shameful of you!" Angela continued, with suppressed tears in
her voice--"ungenerous to allow such an unequal fight. One man has
practised fencing all his life; it is his profession; the other has
never had a sword in his hand."
"The fight will be drawn at the first blood," said Edmund, in a
soothing voice.
"But you had no right to agree to such a bloodthirsty idea; you have
overstepped your duty as second. You should have said to Salista's
seconds that the affair should conclude then or never."
"That is quite true; and we should have done so, only Behrend chose to
interfere."
"You should not have allowed it; you could have stopped it. When does
the duel take place?"
"As we had no swords we could not fight this morning. It is against
the law to have a duel in the afternoon, therefore we have postponed
the second meeting until to-morrow at daylight."
"Before daylight to-morrow I will put a stop to the duel."
"How so?"
"I shall speak to Behrend; I shall explain everything to him."
"If you tell him that this affair has arisen out of a joke, the result
will be that, instead of fighting a duel with one man, Behrend will
have six duels on his hands."
"I will tell him in such a way that he will not ask to fight with any
of you."
"Then you will have ruined Salista."
"How so? What has he to do with it?"
"If this half-finished _rencontre_ gets wind, and it reaches the ears
of the authorities that an officer refused his adversary's third fire,
Salista will have to leave his regiment, he will be received nowhere,
and he would have to go back to the pope's army as zouave."
"For my part, I don't care if he becomes the devil's zouave! What do I
care about him? Let him go to the Sultan of Dahomey. He is only fit to
be the general of his army. For my part, he may go quite to the bad;
he is half-way there already. But who cares what happens to him? _I_
don't. Your duty is clear; you should protect your man. Isn't that
so?"
Edmund looked with astonishment at the excitement into which the
countess had thrown herself; she was trembling, and her eyes gleamed
with passion.
"This is quite a new view of the affair," he said. "If you look upon
it in this light, I must agree that we have been wrong, and you most
certainly right. I shall go at once and look for Geza; we will both
repair to Behrend, and tell him our opinion."
He bowed low before his cousin, and left. In an hour he returned. He
found Angela in the same place.
"Well, what is done? Is it all settled?"
"Listen. Geza and I went to Ivan. I explained to him that we
considered it our duty not to infringe the conditions laid down in
such matters, and that we were resolved not to allow the duel with
swords to proceed. He pressed both our hands warmly. 'I thank you,' he
said, 'for the friendship you have shown me, and since your
convictions will not allow you to stand by me in this affair, I shall
not try to persuade you. I shall go to the nearest barracks, the Karls
Kaserne, and I shall tell the first two officers I may meet that I am
engaged in an affair of honor to be fought with swords, that I am a
stranger in the town, and that I throw myself upon their kindness to
be my seconds.'"
Angela, with a despairing gesture, clasped her hands together.
"You said the truth," continued Edmund, "when you prophesied that this
man would show his teeth. He has the grip of a bull-dog when he gets
an idea. We told him that Salista was a celebrated swordsman. He took
it quite coolly. 'If the devil himself was my adversary, I should look
him in the face,' was all he said."
Angela sat down and hid her face in her hands.
"We had no other course than to assure him, so far as our services
went, he was free to make use of us. So it was settled. We go for him
to-morrow at daybreak. How it will all end, God only knows!"
With these words Edmund took himself away. Angela never noticed he had
left the room.
That night she never lay down. All through the long hours of the night
she walked to and fro in her room. When fatigue forced her to sit
down for a moment she could not rest. Once only the thought that was
in her mind found expression in words:
"I have treated him as Julia Gonzaga treated the man who saved her
life."
When daylight broke she threw herself, dressed as she was, upon her
bed. The maid next morning found the pillow, in which she had buried
her face, wet with tears.