And bowing to the Duke, the reference could not be mistaken. Some of
the company did not repress the answering smile that flickered on every
lip. It was too much for the incensed pride of Ripperda, and starting
from his chair he turned indignantly to the Cardinal.
"When Your Eminence understands the distinction between the accredited
representative of the King of Spain, and the lurking emissary of a
dethroned, and medicant Sovereign; then the Ambassador of His Catholic
Majesty may appear where he is not to be insulted."
Every person had risen from their seats in consternation; and
Giovenozzo, not the least alarmed of the party, seized the Duke's arm,
and began a confused apology for the attention he had paid to Wharton;
and even attempted an excuse for the English Duke.
"I beg Your Eminence, not to trouble yourself with my apology," cried
the unruffled Wharton;--"I meant all I said. And, I am obliged to
the candour of the Spanish Ambassador, for so publickly declaring
the distinction that is indeed between us! He is the representative
of a King in the plenitude of power; at the head of the fountain of
riches and honours; and the stream flows bounteously! I am the lurking
emissary of a dethroned and mendicant monarch: but it has not yet been
my good fortune to play the successful _Gaberlunzie_ in the courts of
rival sovereigns, or to beg alms for my Prince, at the gate of the Duke
de Ripperda!"
Ripperda, turned on him with an eye of flame. His soul was on fire;
and, at that moment insensible to every thing but the expression of his
burning hatred, he sternly exclaimed:
"Were not Duke Wharton as impotent as he is vain, I might stoop to
chastise what offends me: but I pardon, what I pity."
"And I," replied the Duke, "am proud to imitate so great an example!"
Ripperda, almost beside himself with wrath, struck the hilt of his
sword fiercely with his hand. Wharton turned gaily on his heel, and
asked some indifferent question of the Duke de Richelieu.
The Cardinal followed Ripperda out of the apartment. Alarmed at the
consequence of suffering him, who seemed to hold the balance of
Christendom in his hands, to quit his roof unappeased, he drew the
enraged Duke into another room, and vainly tried to assuage his fury.
Ripperda's pride was in arms, at being so insolently braved before
all the nations of Europe, in the persons of their Ambassadors. He
was angry with himself, at having shewn himself susceptible of insult
from the man, it was his policy to teach others to despise; and in a
disorder of mind he had never known before, he poured on the Cardinal
all his resentments against the Duke and himself. He saw that nothing
could redeem him to the vantage ground he had so intemperately
abandoned, but an ample and formal apology from Wharton; and, he told
Giovenozzo, he must force the English Duke to make that restitution;
else he should act from a conviction that they had been invited
together, to insult the politics of Spain in the person of its minister.
The Cardinal feared Ripperda; and flattered himself, that he might work
upon the zeal and good-nature of Wharton, to serve the interest of His
Holiness by this concession. When Ripperda arose to withdraw, on being
informed that his carriage was ready, Giovenozzo attended him to the
foot of the stairs, and absolutely promised to bring him the demanded
apology next day.
But unfortunately, the company in the dining-room, supposing that
Ripperda had been sometime gone, moved to depart also. In the hall,
Wharton again met his proud antagonist; and, in the instant when most
unhappily the spirit of discord seemed to have extended itself to
their respective domestics. Wharton's carriage and that of Ripperda
had drawn up at the same moment; and their coachmen were disputing the
right to maintain the door. From words, they had recourse to whips.
"A comfortable way of settling a controversy!" exclaimed Wharton, who
stepped forward, to order his servant to draw off; but Ripperda, who
felt the late scene festering in his heart, and supposing a different
intention, and a new affront in the Duke's prompt advance; cried aloud,
with an air of derision:--"Less haste, my Lord! or the whip of my
coachman, may chance to brush Your Grace's skirts!"
"If it did," replied Wharton, with a glance that told he understood the
remark; "I should know where to repay the impertinence."
Ripperda was again in a blaze.
"Insolent!" cried he.
Wharton, who had checked his advancing step, on the first word from
his antagonist, now leaned towards him; and whispered:
"The lion may be chafed beyond its bearing! It is possible for the
father of Louis de Montemar to go too far with the Duke of Wharton!"
This assumption of forbearance to him, Ripperda felt as the climax of
insult; and starting back, with all the pride and resentments of his
nature rushing through his veins, he touched the hilt of his sword with
a significant glance, and in a subdued voice, replied:
"If you do not shroud cowardice under the name of my son, you will
follow me!"
This had cleft the threatened cord; and, in one moment the two Dukes
had vanished through the colonades of the hall, into an interior and
lonely court of the building.
In the same instant they found themselves alone, the drawn sword of
Ripperda was in his hand, and he called on Wharton to defend himself.
There was no time for further forbearance or parley. Wharton had hardly
warded off the first thrust of his determined antagonist, before a
second and a third were repeated with the quickness of lightning.
The glimmer of the lamps, which lit this little solitary quadrangle,
marked each movement of the weapon with a gleam on its polished steel;
and Wharton continued rather to defend than attack. But a noise of
approaching steps, withdrawing his attention for a moment from his
guard, a desperate lunge from the infuriate arm of his adversary, ran
him through the breast, and he fell. The blood sprang over his hand, as
he laid it on the wound.--His proud destroyer stood confounded at the
sight.
"I forgive you my death!" cried Wharton, "but I guess your son will
not. Rash Duke, to you he dies in me!" The tongue of Ripperda clove
to the roof of his mouth; and in the next instant the Cardinal and the
French Ambassador appeared at his side. As the bloody scene presented
itself, Giovenozzo shut the door, and bolted it behind him, to prevent
further entrance. Richelieu hurried to the prostrate Duke, and spoke
to him. Wharton looked up, and in hardly articulate accents, said,
"bear witness, Richelieu, that I acquit the Duke de Ripperda. He was in
wrath, and I provoked him. Let not his high character be dishonoured by
my death."
This was the first time that Ripperda's lofty consciousness of
consistent greatness had ever shrunk before the eye of man; he could
not brook the strange humiliation, and with asperity he haughtily
exclaimed; "my honour does not require protection. I know that I have
been intemperate and rash. But let the world know it as it is: I have
done nothing that I am not prepared to defend." Wharton raised himself
on his arm to reply; but in the exertion he fainted and fell.
The Cardinal, (in consternation at the report he must give to the Pope
of such an affray under his holy roof,) implored his implacable guest
to pass into the oratory, which was on the opposite side of the court,
and await him there, till the French Ambassador and he had borne the
insensible Wharton to a place where his state might be examined.
Ripperda complied in silence; and Giovenozzo, wrapping his scarlet
scarf around the bleeding body of Wharton, between him and Richelieu,
bore him round the back of the oratory, into one of the penitential
cells. His Eminence having been a brother of the Order of Mercy,
understood surgery; and staunching the Duke's wound, so as to leave
him for a short time in safety, though still insensible; he came forth
with Richelieu. The French Duke gave him his word of honour, that if
Ripperda could be induced to keep silence on this terrible affair,
whether Wharton lived or died, the secret should never escape from him.
Richelieu had his own views in this secrecy; and took his part, in
returning to the hall to quench suspicion there. Those who had lingered
to know the issue, with what degree of credence suited them, listened
to his hasty account, that he and the Cardinal had just arrived in time
to laugh at their zeal; for Wharton had given a merry explanation of
his ill-timed raillery to the Duke; laying it to the account of the
Cardinal's bright Falernian; and Ripperda, with the dignity of a great
mind, having accepted the apology; no more was said about it.
All appeared to believe this statement, for there was no disputing
the _word of honour_ of an ambassador!--But there were a few drops
of blood on the point ruffles and bosom of Richelieu; which, being
observed by Count Routemberg alone, told him a different story; and he
remained a few minutes behind the rest. When the hall was cleared of
all but himself and the French minister, he did not speak, but pointed
significantly to the testimonies on the ruffles and frill. Richelieu
was hurrying out some excuse, invented on the moment; but Routemberg,
(who was president of the Emperor's council,) whispered something in
the embassador's ear. They both smiled, shook hands, and parted.
When Ripperda returned to his palace, he entered the room where his son
was completing some especial communications to Spain. Louis put them
into the hand of his father. As he did so, he beheld that form and face
which, a few hours before, had left him gallantly habited, and bright
in lofty complacency; now discomposed, pale and haggard. He gazed
on the alteration with surprise, while Ripperda seemed to read the
dispatch with a moveless eye. "It will do," said he, laying it on the
table. He mechanically took up one of the candles, and was turning away
to his own chamber. Louis could keep silence no longer.
"You are ill, my Lord!" cried he, "or something terrible has happened!"
"What is there terrible to have happened?" returned Ripperda, pausing
as he approached the door, and looking on his son.
"Nothing, that I can guess," replied Louis, "but your looks, my father,
are not as when you left me!"
"How often have I told you, de Montemar," returned the Duke, "never to
guess at a stateman's looks! I have come from a party of many vizards,
and you must not be surprised that mine has changed in the contact. I
am well; let that satisfy you."
With these words the Duke withdrew.