Scaramouche: A Romance of the French Revolution

by Rafael Sabatini

  CHAPTER VIII. THE PALADIN OF THE THIRD

  M. Le Chevalier de Chabrillane had been closely connected, you willremember, with the iniquitous affair in which Philippe de Vilmorinhad lost his life. We know enough to justify a surmise that he had notmerely been La Tour d'Azyr's second in the encounter, but actuallyan instigator of the business. Andre-Louis may therefore have felt ajustifiable satisfaction in offering up the Chevalier's life to theManes of his murdered friend. He may have viewed it as an act ofcommon justice not to be procured by any other means. Also it is tobe remembered that Chabrillane had gone confidently to the meeting,conceiving that he, a practised ferailleur, had to deal with a bourgeoisutterly unskilled in swordsmanship. Morally, then, he was littlebetter than a murderer, and that he should have tumbled into the pithe conceived that he dug for Andre-Louis was a poetic retribution.Yet, notwithstanding all this, I should find the cynical note on whichAndre-Louis announced the issue to the Assembly utterly detestable didI believe it sincere. It would justify Aline of the expressed opinion,which she held in common with so many others who had come into closecontact with him, that Andre-Louis was quite heartless.

  You have seen something of the same heartlessness in his conduct when hediscovered the faithlessness of La Binet although that is belied by themeasures he took to avenge himself. His subsequent contempt of the womanI account to be born of the affection in which for a time he held her.That this affection was as deep as he first imagined, I do not believe;but that it was as shallow as he would almost be at pains to make itappear by the completeness with which he affects to have put her fromhis mind when he discovered her worthlessness, I do not believe; nor,as I have said, do his actions encourage that belief. Then, again,his callous cynicism in hoping that he had killed Binet is also anaffectation. Knowing that such things as Binet are better out of theworld, he can have suffered no compunction he had, you must remember,that rarely level vision which sees things in their just proportions,and never either magnifies or reduces them by sentimentalconsiderations. At the same time, that he should contemplate thetaking of life with such complete and cynical equanimity, whatever thejustification, is quite incredible.

  Similarly now, it is not to be believed that in coming straight fromthe Bois de Boulogne, straight from the killing of a man, he should besincerely expressing his nature in alluding to the fact in terms of suchoutrageous flippancy. Not quite to such an extent was he the incarnationof Scaramouche. But sufficiently was he so ever to mask his truefeelings by an arresting gesture, his true thoughts by an effectivephrase. He was the actor always, a man ever calculating the effect hewould produce, ever avoiding self-revelation, ever concerned to overlayhis real character by an assumed and quite fictitious one. There was inthis something of impishness, and something of other things.

  Nobody laughed now at his flippancy. He did not intend that anybodyshould. He intended to be terrible; and he knew that the more flippantand casual his tone, the more terrible would be its effect. He producedexactly the effect he desired.

  What followed in a place where feelings and practices had become whatthey had become is not difficult to surmise. When the session rose,there were a dozen spadassins awaiting him in the vestibule, and thistime the men of his own party were less concerned to guard him. Heseemed so entirely capable of guarding himself; he appeared, for all hiscircumspection, to have so completely carried the war into the enemy'scamp, so completely to have adopted their own methods, that his fellowsscarcely felt the need to protect him as yesterday.

  As he emerged, he scanned that hostile file, whose air and garmentsmarked them so clearly for what they were. He paused, seeking the manhe expected, the man he was most anxious to oblige. But M. de La Tourd'Azyr was absent from those eager ranks. This seemed to him odd. LaTour d'Azyr was Chabrillane's cousin and closest friend. Surely heshould have been among the first to-day. The fact was that La Tourd'Azyr was too deeply overcome by amazement and grief at the utterlyunexpected event. Also his vindictiveness was held curiously in leash.Perhaps he, too, remembered the part played by Chabrillane in the affairat Gavrillac, and saw in this obscure Andre-Louis Moreau, who hadso persistently persecuted him ever since, an ordained avenger. Therepugnance he felt to come to the point, with him, particularly afterthis culminating provocation, was puzzling even to himself. But itexisted, and it curbed him now.

  To Andre-Louis, since La Tour was not one of that waiting pack, itmattered little on that Tuesday morning who should be the next. Thenext, as it happened, was the young Vicomte de La Motte-Royau, one ofthe deadliest blades in the group.

  On the Wednesday morning, coming again an hour or so late to theAssembly, Andre-Louis announced--in much the same terms as he hadannounced the death of Chabrillane--that M. de La Motte-Royau wouldprobably not disturb the harmony of the Assembly for some weeks to come,assuming that he were so fortunate as to recover ultimately from theeffects of an unpleasant accident with which he had quite unexpectedlyhad the misfortune to meet that morning.

  On Thursday he made an identical announcement with regard to the Vidamede Blavon. On Friday he told them that he had been delayed by M. deTroiscantins, and then turning to the members of the Cote Droit, andlengthening his face to a sympathetic gravity:

  "I am glad to inform you, messieurs, that M. des Troiscantins is in thehands of a very competent surgeon who hopes with care to restore him toyour councils in a few weeks' time."

  It was paralyzing, fantastic, unreal; and friend and foe in thatassembly sat alike stupefied under those bland daily announcements. Fourof the most redoubtable spadassinicides put away for a time, one ofthem dead--and all this performed with such an air of indifference andannounced in such casual terms by a wretched little provincial lawyer!

  He began to assume in their eyes a romantic aspect. Even that group ofphilosophers of the Cote Gauche, who refused to worship any forcebut the force of reason, began to look upon him with a respect andconsideration which no oratorical triumphs could ever have procured him.

  And from the Assembly the fame of him oozed out gradually over Paris.Desmoulins wrote a panegyric upon him in his paper "Les Revolutions,"wherein he dubbed him the "Paladin of the Third Estate," a namethat caught the fancy of the people, and clung to him for some time.Disdainfully was he mentioned in the "Actes des Apotres," the mockingorgan of the Privileged party, so light-heartedly and provocativelyedited by a group of gentlemen afflicted by a singular mental myopy.

  The Friday of that very busy week in the life of this young man who eventhereafter is to persist in reminding us that he is not in any sense aman of action, found the vestibule of the Manege empty of swordsmenwhen he made his leisurely and expectant egress between Le Chapelier andKersain.

  So surprised was he that he checked in his stride.

  "Have they had enough?" he wondered, addressing the question to LeChapelier.

  "They have had enough of you, I should think," was the answer. "Theywill prefer to turn their attention to some one less able to take careof himself."

  Now this was disappointing. Andre-Louis had lent himself to thisbusiness with a very definite object in view. The slaying of Chabrillanehad, as far as it went, been satisfactory. He had regarded that as asort of acceptable hors d'oeuvre. But the three who had followed wereno affair of his at all. He had met them with a certain amount ofrepugnance, and dealt with each as lightly as consideration of his ownsafety permitted. Was the baiting of him now to cease whilst the manat whom he aimed had not presented himself? In that case it would benecessary to force the pace!

  Out there under the awning a group of gentlemen stood in earnest talk.Scanning the group in a rapid glance, Andre-Louis perceived M. de LaTour d'Azyr amongst them. He tightened his lips. He must afford noprovocation. It must be for them to fasten their quarrels upon him.Already the "Actes des Apotres" that morning had torn the mask fromhis face, and proclaimed him the fencing-master of the Rue du Hasard,successor to Bertrand des Amis. Hazardous as it had been hitherto for aman of his condition to engage in single comb
at it was rendered doublyso by this exposure, offered to the public as an aristocratic apologia.

  Still, matters could not be left where they were, or he should have hadall his pains for nothing. Carefully looking away from that group ofgentlemen, he raised his voice so that his words must carry to theirears.

  "It begins to look as if my fears of having to spend the remainder of mydays in the Bois were idle."

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught the stir his words created inthat group. Its members had turned to look at him; but for the momentthat was all. A little more was necessary. Pacing slowly along betweenhis friends he resumed:

  "But is it not remarkable that the assassin of Lagron should makeno move against Lagron's successor? Or perhaps it is not remarkable.Perhaps there are good reasons. Perhaps the gentleman is prudent."

  He had passed the group by now, and he left that last sentence of his totrail behind him, and after it sent laughter, insolent and provoking.

  He had not long to wait. Came a quick step behind him, and a handfalling upon his shoulder, spun him violently round. He was brought faceto face with M. de La Tour d'Azyr, whose handsome countenance was calmand composed, but whose eyes reflected something of the sudden blaze ofpassion stirring in him. Behind him several members of the groupwere approaching more slowly. The others--like Andre-Louis' twocompanions--remained at gaze.

  "You spoke of me, I think," said the Marquis quietly.

  "I spoke of an assassin--yes. But to these my friends." Andre-Louis'manner was no less quiet, indeed the quieter of the two, for he was themore experienced actor.

  "You spoke loudly enough to be overheard," said the Marquis, answeringthe insinuation that he had been eavesdropping.

  "Those who wish to overhear frequently contrive to do so."

  "I perceive that it is your aim to be offensive."

  "Oh, but you are mistaken, M. le Marquis. I have no wish to beoffensive. But I resent having hands violently laid upon me, especiallywhen they are hands that I cannot consider clean, In the circumstances Ican hardly be expected to be polite."

  The elder man's eyelids flickered. Almost he caught himself admiringAndre-Louis' bearing. Rather, he feared that his own must suffer bycomparison. Because of this, he enraged altogether, and lost control ofhimself.

  "You spoke of me as the assassin of Lagron. I do not affect tomisunderstand you. You expounded your views to me once before, and Iremember."

  "But what flattery, monsieur!"

  "You called me an assassin then, because I used my skill to dispose of aturbulent hot-head who made the world unsafe for me. But how much betterare you, M. the fencing-master, when you oppose yourself to men whoseskill is as naturally inferior to your own!"

  M. de La Tour d'Azyr's friends looked grave, perturbed. It was reallyincredible to find this great gentleman so far forgetting himself as todescend to argument with a canaille of a lawyer-swordsman. And what wasworse, it was an argument in which he was being made ridiculous.

  "I oppose myself to them!" said Andre-Louis on a tone of amused protest."Ah, pardon, M. le Marquis; it is they who chose to oppose themselvesto me--and so stupidly. They push me, they slap my face, they tread on mytoes, they call me by unpleasant names. What if I am a fencing-master?Must I on that account submit to every manner of ill-treatment fromyour bad-mannered friends? Perhaps had they found out sooner that I am afencing-master their manners would have been better. But to blame me forthat! What injustice!"

  "Comedian!" the Marquis contemptuously apostrophized him. "Does it alterthe case? Are these men who have opposed you men who live by the swordlike yourself?"

  "On the contrary, M. le Marquis, I have found them men who died by thesword with astonishing ease. I cannot suppose that you desire to addyourself to their number."

  "And why, if you please?" La Tour d'Azyr's face had flamed scarletbefore that sneer.

  "Oh," Andre-Louis raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, a manconsidering. He delivered himself slowly. "Because, monsieur, you preferthe easy victim--the Lagrons and Vilmorins of this world, mere sheep foryour butchering. That is why."

  And then the Marquis struck him.

  Andre-Louis stepped back. His eyes gleamed a moment; the next they weresmiling up into the face of his tall enemy.

  "No better than the others, after all! Well, well! Remark, I beg you,how history repeats itself--with certain differences. Because poorVilmorin could not bear a vile lie with which you goaded him, he struckyou. Because you cannot bear an equally vile truth which I have uttered,you strike me. But always is the vileness yours. And now as then for thestriker there is..." He broke off. "But why name it? You will rememberwhat there is. Yourself you wrote it that day with the point of yourtoo-ready sword. But there. I will meet you if you desire it, monsieur."

  "What else do you suppose that I desire? To talk?"

  Andre-Louis turned to his friends and sighed. "So that I am to goanother jaunt to the Bois. Isaac, perhaps you will kindly have a wordwith one of these friends of M. le Marquis', and arrange for nineo'clock to-morrow, as usual."

  "Not to-morrow," said the Marquis shortly to Le Chapeher. "I have anengagement in the country, which I cannot postpone."

  Le Chapelier looked at Andre-Louis.

  "Then for M. le Marquis' convenience, we will say Sunday at the samehour."

  "I do not fight on Sunday. I am not a pagan to break the holy day."

  "But surely the good God would not have the presumption to damn agentleman of M. le Marquis' quality on that account? Ah, well, Isaac,please arrange for Monday, if it is not a feast-day or monsieur has notsome other pressing engagement. I leave it in your hands."

  He bowed with the air of a man wearied by these details, and threadinghis arm through Kersain's withdrew.

  "Ah, Dieu de Dieu! But what a trick of it you have," said the Bretondeputy, entirely unsophisticated in these matters.

  "To be sure I have. I have taken lessons at their hands." He laughed. Hewas in excellent good-humour. And Kersain was enrolled in the ranks ofthose who accounted Andre-Louis a man without heart or conscience.

  But in his "Confessions" he tells us--and this is one of the glimpsesthat reveal the true man under all that make-believe--that on that nighthe went down on his knees to commune with his dead friend Philippe, andto call his spirit to witness that he was about to take the last stepin the fulfilment of the oath sworn upon his body at Gavrillac two yearsago.