Point of Honor — Chapter 4
IV
No man succeeds in everything he undertakes.
In that sense we are all failures.
The great point is not to fail in ordering and sustaining the effort of our life.
In this matter vanity is what leads us astray.
It is our vanity which hurries us into situations from which we must come out damaged.
Whereas pride is our safeguard by the reserve it imposes on the choice of our endeavour, as much as by the virtue of its sustaining power.
General D'Hubert was proud and reserved.
He had not been damaged by casual love affairs successful or otherwise.
In his war-scarred body his heart at forty remained unscratched.
Entering with reserve into his sister's matrimonial plans, he felt himself falling irremediably in love as one falls off a roof.
He was too proud to be frightened.
Indeed, the sensation was too delightful to be alarming.
The inexperience of a man of forty is a much more serious thing than the inexperience of a youth of twenty, for it is not helped out by the rashness of hot blood.
The girl was mysterious, as all young girls are, by the mere effect of their guarded ingenuity; and to him the mysteriousness of that young girl appeared exceptional and fascinating.
But there was nothing mysterious about the arrangements of the match which Madame Léonie had arranged.
There was nothing peculiar, either.
It was a very appropriate match, commending itself extremely to the young lady's mother (her father was dead) and tolerable to the young lady's uncle--an old _émigré_, lately returned from Germany, and pervading cane in hand like a lean ghost of the _ancien régime_ in a long-skirted brown coat and powdered hair, the garden walks of the young lady's ancestral home.
General D'Hubert was not the man to be satisfied merely with the girl and the fortune--when it came to the point.
His pride--and pride aims always at true success--would be satisfied with nothing short of love.
But as pride excludes vanity, he could not imagine any reason why this mysterious creature, with deep and candid eyes of a violet colour, should have any feeling for him warmer than indifference.
The young lady (her name was Adèle) baffled every attempt at a clear understanding on that point.
It is true that the attempts were clumsy and timidly made, because by then General D'Hubert had become acutely aware of the number of his years, of his wounds, of his many moral imperfections, of his secret unworthiness--and had incidentally learned by experience the meaning of the word funk.
As far as he could make it out she seemed to imply that with a perfect confidence in her mother's affection and sagacity she had no pronounced antipathy for the person of General D'Hubert; and that this was quite sufficient for a well-brought-up dutiful young lady to begin married life upon.
This view hurt and tormented the pride of General D'Hubert.
And yet, he asked himself with a sort of sweet despair, What more could he expect?
She had a quiet and luminous forehead; her violet eyes laughed while the lines of her lips and chin remained composed in an admirable gravity.
All this was set off by such a glorious mass of fair hair, by a complexion so marvellous, by such a grace of expression, that General D'Hubert really never found the opportunity to examine, with sufficient detachment, the lofty exigencies of his pride.
In fact, he became shy of that line of inquiry, since it had led once or twice to a crisis of solitary passion in which it was borne upon him that he loved her enough to kill her rather than lose her.
From such passages, not unknown to men of forty, he would come out broken, exhausted, remorseful, a little dismayed.
He derived, however, considerable comfort from the quietist practice of sitting up now and then half the night by an open window, and meditating upon the wonder of her existence, like a believer lost in the mystic contemplation of his faith.
It must not be supposed that all these variations of his inward state were made manifest to the world.
General D'Hubert found no difficulty in appearing wreathed in smiles: because, in fact, he was very happy.
He followed the established rules of his condition, sending over flowers (from his sister's garden and hothouses) early every morning, and a little later following himself to have lunch with his intended, her mother, and her _émigré_ uncle.
The middle of the day was spent in strolling or sitting in the shade.
A watchful deferential gallantry trembling on the verge of tenderness, was the note of their intercourse on his side--with a playful turn of the phrase concealing the profound trouble of his whole being caused by her inaccessible nearness.
Late in the afternoon General D'Hubert walked home between the fields of vines, sometimes intensely miserable, sometimes supremely happy, sometimes pensively sad, but always feeling a special intensity of existence: that elation common to artists, poets, and lovers, to men haunted by a great passion, by a noble thought or a new vision of plastic beauty.
The outward world at that time did not exist with any special distinctness for General D'Hubert.
One evening, however, crossing a ridge from which he could see both houses, General D'Hubert became aware of two figures far down the road.
The day had been divine.
The festal decoration of the inflamed sky cast a gentle glow on the sober tints of the southern land.
The gray rocks, the brown fields, the purple undulating distances harmonised in luminous accord, exhaled already the scents of the evening.
The two figures down the road presented themselves like two rigid and wooden silhouettes all black on the ribbon of white dust.
General D'Hubert made out the long, straight-cut military _capotes_, buttoned closely right up to the black stocks, the cocked hats, the lean carven brown countenances--old soldiers--_vieilles moustaches!
_ The taller of the two had a black patch over one eye;
the other's hard, dry countenance presented some bizarre disquieting peculiarity which, on nearer approach, proved to be the absence of the tip of the nose.
Lifting their hands with one movement to salute the slightly lame civilian walking with a thick stick, they inquired for the house where the General Baron D'Hubert lived and what was the best way to get speech with him quietly.
“If you think this quiet enough,” said General D'Hubert, looking round at the ripening vine-fields framed in purple lines and dominated by the nest of gray and drab walls of a village clustering around the top of a steep, conical hill, so that the blunt church tower seemed but the shape of a crowning rock--“if you think this quiet enough you can speak to him at once.
And I beg you, comrades, to speak openly with perfect confidence.
” They stepped back at this and raised again their hands to their hats with marked ceremoniousness.
Then the one with the chipped nose, speaking for both, remarked that the matter was confidential enough and to be arranged discreetly.
Their general quarters were in that village over there where the infernal clodhoppers--damn their false royalist hearts--looked remarkably cross-eyed at three unassuming military men.
For the present he should only ask for the name of General D'Hubert's friends.
“What friends?
” said the astonished General D'Hubert, completely off the track.
“I am staying with my brother-in-law over there.
” “Well, he will do for one,” suggested the chipped veteran.
“We're the friends of General Feraud,” interjected the other, who had kept silent till then, only glowering with his one eye at the man who had never loved the emperor.
That was something to look at.
For even the gold-laced Judases who had sold him to the English, the marshals and princes, had loved him at some time or other.
But this man had _never_ loved the emperor.
General Feraud had said so distinctly.
General D'Hubert felt a sort of inward blow in his chest.
For an infinitesimal fraction of a second it was as if the spinning of the earth had become perceptible with an awful, slight rustle in the eternal stillness of space.
But that was the noise of the blood in his ears and passed off at once.
Involuntarily he murmured: “Feraud!
I had forgotten his existence.
” “He's existing at present, very uncomfortably it is true, in the infamous inn of that nest of savages up there,” said the one-eyed cuirassier drily.
“We arrived in your parts an hour ago on post horses.
He's awaiting our return with impatience.
There is hurry, you know.
The general has broken the ministerial order of sojourn to obtain from you the satisfaction he's entitled to by the laws of honour, and naturally he's anxious to have it all over before the _gendarmerie_ gets the scent.
” The other elucidated the idea a little further.
“Get back on the quiet--you understand?
Phitt!
No one the wiser.
We have broken out, too.
Your friend the king would be glad to cut off our scurvy pittances at the first chance.
It's a risk.
But honour before everything.
” General D'Hubert had recovered his power of speech.
“So you come like this along the road to invite me to a throat-cutting match with that--that...
” A laughing sort of rage took possession of him.
“Ha!
ha!
ha!
ha!
” His fists on his hips, he roared without restraint while they stood before him lank and straight, as unexpected as though they had been shot up with a snap through a trapdoor in the ground.
Only four-and-twenty months ago the masters of Europe, they had already the air of antique ghosts, they seemed less substantial in their faded coats than their own narrow shadows falling so black across the white road--the military and grotesque shadows of twenty years of war and conquests.
They had the outlandish appearance of two imperturbable bronzes of the religion of the sword.
And General D'Hubert, also one of the ex-masters of Europe, laughed at these serious phantoms standing in his way.
Said one, indicating the laughing general with a jerk of the head: “A merry companion that.
” “There are some of us that haven't smiled from the day the Other went away,” said his comrade.
A violent impulse to set upon and beat these unsubstantial wraiths to the ground frightened General D'Hubert.
He ceased laughing suddenly.
His urgent desire now was to get rid of them, to get them away from his sight quickly before he lost control of himself.
He wondered at this fury he felt rising in his breast.
But he had no time to look into that peculiarity just then.
“I understand your wish to be done with me as quickly as possible.
Then why waste time in empty ceremonies.
Do you see that wood there at the foot of that slope?
Yes, the wood of pines.
Let us meet there to-morrow at sunrise.
I will bring with me my sword or my pistols or both if you like.
” The seconds of General Feraud looked at each other.
“Pistols, general,” said the cuirassier.
“So be it.
_Au revoir_--to-morrow morning.
Till then let me advise you to keep close if you don't want the _gendarmerie_ making inquiries about you before dark.
Strangers are rare in this part of the country.
” They saluted in silence.
General D'Hubert, turning his back on their retreating figures, stood still in the middle of the road for a long time, biting his lower lip and looking on the ground.
Then he began to walk straight before him, thus retracing his steps till he found himself before the park gate of his intended's home.
Motionless he stared through the bars at the front of the house gleaming clear beyond the thickets and trees.
Footsteps were heard on the gravel, and presently a tall stooping shape emerged from the lateral alley following the inner side of the park wall.
Le Chevalier de Valmassigue, uncle of the adorable Adèle, ex-brigadier in the army of the princes, bookbinder in Altona, afterwards shoemaker (with a great reputation for elegance in the fit of ladies' shoes) in another small German town, wore silk stockings on his lean shanks, low shoes with silver buckles, a brocaded waistcoat.
A long-skirted coat _à la Française_ covered loosely his bowed back.
A small three-cornered hat rested on a lot of powdered hair tied behind in a queue.
“_Monsieur le Chevalier_,” called General D'Hubert softly.
“What?
You again here, _mon ami_?
Have you forgotten something?
” “By heavens!
That's just it.
I have forgotten something.
I am come to tell you of it.
No--outside.
Behind this wall.
It's too ghastly a thing to be let in at all where she lives.
” The Chevalier came out at once with that benevolent resignation some old people display towards the fugue of youth.
Older by a quarter of a century than General D'Hubert, he looked upon him in the secret of his heart as a rather troublesome youngster in love.
He had heard his enigmatical words very well, but attached no undue importance to what a mere man of forty so hard hit was likely to do or say.
The turn of mind of the generation of Frenchmen grown up during the years of his exile was almost unintelligible to him.
Their sentiments appeared to him unduly violent, lacking fineness and measure, their language needlessly exaggerated.
He joined the general on the road, and they made a few steps in silence, the general trying to master his agitation and get proper control of his voice.
“Chevalier, it is perfectly true.
I forgot something.
I forgot till half an hour ago that I had an urgent affair of honour on my hands.
It's incredible but so it is!
” All was still for a moment.
Then in the profound evening silence of the countryside the thin, aged voice of the Chevalier was heard trembling slightly.
“Monsieur!
That's an indignity.
” It was his first thought.
The girl born during his exile, the posthumous daughter of his poor brother, murdered by a band of Jacobins, had grown since his return very dear to his old heart, which had been starving on mere memories of affection for so many years.
“It is an inconceivable thing--I say.
A man settles such affairs before he thinks of asking for a young girl's hand.
Why!
If you had forgotten for ten days longer you would have been married before your memory returned to you.
In my time men did not forget such things--nor yet what's due to the feelings of an innocent young woman.
If I did not respect them myself I would qualify your conduct in a way which you would not like.
” General D'Hubert relieved himself frankly by a groan.
“Don't let that consideration prevent you.
You run no risk of offending her mortally.
” But the old man paid no attention to this lover's nonsense.
It's doubtful whether he even heard.
“What is it?
” he asked.
“What's the nature of...
” “Call it a youthful folly, _Monsieur le Chevalier_.
An inconceivable, incredible result of...
” He stopped short.
“He will never believe the story,” he thought.
“He will only think I am taking him for a fool and get offended.
” General D'Hubert spoke up again.
“Yes, originating in youthful folly it has become...
” The Chevalier interrupted.
“Well then it must be arranged.
” “Arranged.
” “Yes.
No matter what it may cost your _amour propre_.
You should have remembered you were engaged.
You forgot that, too, I suppose.
And then you go and forget your quarrel.
It's the most revolting exhibition of levity I ever heard of.
” “Good heavens, Chevalier!
You don't imagine I have been picking up that quarrel last time I was in Paris or anything of the sort.
Do you?
” “Eh?
What matters the precise date of your insane conduct!
” exclaimed the Chevalier testily.
“The principal thing is to arrange it...
” Noticing General D'Hubert getting restive and trying to place a word, the old _émigré_ raised his arm and added with dignity: “I've been a soldier, too.
I would never dare to suggest a doubtful step to the man whose name my niece is to bear.
I tell you that _entre gallants hommes_ an affair can be always arranged.
” “But, _saperlotte, Monsieur le Chevalier_, it's fifteen or sixteen years ago.
I was a lieutenant of Hussars then.
” The old Chevalier seemed confounded by the vehemently despairing tone of this information.
“You were a lieutenant of Hussars sixteen years ago?
” he mumbled in a dazed manner.
“Why, yes!
You did not suppose I was made a general in my cradle like a royal prince.
” In the deepening purple twilight of the fields, spread with vine leaves, backed by a low band of sombre crimson in the west, the voice of the old ex-officer in the army of the princes sounded collected, punctiliously civil.
“Do I dream?
Is this a pleasantry?
Or do you mean me to understand that you have been hatching an affair of honour for sixteen years?
” “It has clung to me for that length of time.
That is my precise meaning.
The quarrel itself is not to be explained easily.
We have been on the ground several times during that time of course.
” “What manners!
What horrible perversion of manliness!
Nothing can account for such inhumanity but the sanguinary madness of the Revolution which has tainted a whole generation,” mused the returned _émigré_ in a low tone.
“Who is your adversary?
” he asked a little louder.
“What?
My adversary!
His name is Feraud.
” Shadowy in his_ tricorne_ and old-fashioned clothes like a bowed thin ghost of the _ancien régime_ the Chevalier voiced a ghostly memory.
“I can remember the feud about little Sophie Derval between Monsieur de Brissac, captain in the Bodyguards and d'Anjorrant.
Not the pockmarked one.
The other.
The Beau d'Anjorrant as they called him.
They met three times in eighteen months in a most gallant manner.
It was the fault of that little Sophie, too, who _would_ keep on playing...
” “This is nothing of the kind,” interrupted General D'Hubert.
He laughed a little sardonically.
“Not at all so simple,” he added.
“Nor yet half so reasonable,” he finished inaudibly between his teeth and ground them with rage.
After this sound nothing troubled the silence for a long time till the Chevalier asked without animation: “What is he--this Feraud?
” “Lieutenant of Hussars, too--I mean he's a general.
A Gascon.
Son of a blacksmith, I believe.
” “There!
I thought so.
That Bonaparte had a special predilection for the _canaille_.
I don't mean this for you, D'Hubert.
You are one of us, though you have served this usurper who...
” “Let's leave him out of this,” broke in General D'Hubert.
The Chevalier shrugged his peaked shoulders.
“A Feraud of sorts.
Offspring of a blacksmith and some village troll....
See what comes of mixing yourself up with that sort of people.
” “You have made shoes yourself, Chevalier.
” “Yes.
But I am not the son of a shoemaker.
Neither are you, Monsieur D'Hubert.
You and I have something that your Bonaparte's, princes, dukes, and marshals have not because there's no power on earth that could give it to them,” retorted the _émigré_, with the rising animation of a man who has got hold of a hopeful argument.
“Those people don't exist--all these Ferauds.
Feraud!
What is Feraud?
A _va-nu-pieds_ disguised into a general by a Corsican adventurer masquerading as an emperor.
There is no earthly reason for a D'Hubert to _s'encanailler_ by a duel with a person of that sort.
You can make your excuses to him perfectly well.
And if the _manant_ takes it into his head to decline them you may simply refuse to meet him.
” “You say I may do that?
” “Yes.
With the clearest conscience.
” “_Monsieur le Chevalier!
_ To what do you think you have returned from your emigration?
” This was said in such a startling tone that the old exile raised sharply his bowed head, glimmering silvery white under the points of the little _tricorne_.
For a long time he made no sound.
“God knows!
” he said at last, pointing with a slow and grave gesture at a tall roadside cross mounted on a block of stone and stretching its arms of forged stone all black against the darkening red band in the sky.
“God knows!
If it were not for this emblem, which I remember seeing in this spot as a child, I would wonder to what we, who have remained faithful to our God and our king, have returned.
The very voices of the people have changed.
” “Yes, it is a changed France,” said General D'Hubert.
He had regained his calm.
His tone was slightly ironic.
“Therefore, I cannot take your advice.
Besides, how is one to refuse to be bitten by a dog that means to bite?
It's impracticable.
Take my word for it.
He isn't a man to be stopped by apologies or refusals.
But there are other ways.
I could, for instance, send a mounted messenger with a word to the brigadier of the _gendarmerie_ in Senlac.
These fellows are liable to arrest on my simple order.
It would make some talk in the army, both the organised and the disbanded.
Especially the disbanded.
All _canaille_.
All my comrades once--the companions in arms of Armand D'Hubert.
But what need a D'Hubert care what people who don't exist may think?
Or better still, I might get my brother-in-law to send for the mayor of the village and give him a hint.
No more would be needed to get the three 'brigands' set upon with flails and pitchforks and hunted into some nice deep wet ditch.
And nobody the wiser!
It has been done only ten miles from here to three poor devils of the disbanded Red Lancers of the Guard going to their homes.
What says your conscience, Chevalier?
Can a D'Hubert do that thing to three men who do not exist?
” A few stars had come out on the blue obscurity, clear as crystal, of the sky.
The dry, thin voice of the Chevalier spoke harshly.
“Why are you telling me all this?
” The general seized a withered, frail old hand with a strong grip.
“Because I owe you my fullest confidence.
Who could tell Adèle but you?
You understand why I dare not trust my brother-in-law nor yet my own sister.
Chevalier!
I have been so near doing these things that I tremble yet.
You don't know how terrible this duel appears to me.
And there's no escape from it.
” He murmured after a pause, “It's a fatality,” dropped the Chevalier's passive hand, and said in his ordinary conversational voice: “I shall have to go without seconds.
If it is my lot to remain on the ground, you at least will know all that can be made known of this affair.
” The shadowy ghost of the _ancien régime_ seemed to have become more bowed during the conversation.
“How am I to keep an indifferent face this evening before those two women?
” he groaned.
“General!
I find it very difficult to forgive you.
” General D'Hubert made no answer.
“Is your cause good at least?
” “I am innocent.
