Chapter 11 Chapter 10 Duel
Syme sat down with his companions at a coffee-table, his blue eyes glistening like the bright sea below, and he ordered a bottle of Saumur with pleasure and impatience.For some reason, he was in a state of curiosity and excitement at the moment.His uncharacteristically high spirits continued to rise with the wine, and half an hour later he was talking nonsense.He proclaimed a conversation with the sworn Marquis, and jotted down the plan in pencil.By design it was like a printed catechism with questions and answers, and Syme announced it very rapidly.
"I'm going to go up to him. I'm going to take off my hat before he takes it off. I'll say, 'I believe you're the Marquess of St. Eustache.' He'll say, 'I guess you It's the famous Monsieur Syme.' And he'll say, in the most elegant French, 'How are you?' And I'll answer, in the most elegant Cockney English, 'Oh, it's just Syme—'"
"Oh, shut up," said the man with the glasses, "you're going to get yourself together and throw that paper away. What the hell are you going to do?"
"But it's a lovely catechism," said Syme pitifully. "Let me read it to you. It's only forty-three questions and answers, and some of the Marquis's are brilliant. fairer enemies."
"But what good is it?" asked Dr. Bull angrily.
"Don't you see, it leads to my cross-examination," said Syme, beaming, "and when the Marquis gives the thirty-ninth answer, it goes like this—"
"Haven't it occurred to you," asked the professor in a dull but terse tone, "that the Marquis might not talk about the forty-three topics you have devised for him, and I think your plan seems a little too far-fetched for that."
Bright Syme tapped the table.
"Well, you're quite right," said he, "I never thought of that. Sir, you have an intelligence beyond the ordinary. You'll be famous."
"Oh, you're as drunk as an owl!" said the doctor.
"I need," continued Syme calmly, "to take another way of breaking the ice (if I may say so) between myself and the man I wish to kill. expected by one side of the conversation (as you have pointed out with your own wisdom), then I think the only thing to do is to have the whole conversation as far as possible done by one side of the conversation. And that's exactly what I'm going to do!" He stood suddenly He got up, his yellow hair fluttering in the gentle sea breeze.
In a music cafe hidden among trees, a band is playing and a woman has just stopped singing.In Syme's excited head, the clamor of the brass band was like the piercing sound of the accordion in Leicester Square, to whose tune he once faced death bravely.He glanced at the little table where the Marquis sat.This man was presently accompanied by two serious Frenchmen in frock coats and silk caps, one of whom wore a red rosette of the Legion of Honor, both obviously of a certain social rank.In addition to these black barrel-shaped costumes, the Marquis in loose straw hats and light spring clothes looked wild and dissolute; but he looked like a Marquis.In fact, it could be said that his brute grace, his scornful eyes, and his proud head held high against the purple sea made him look like a king.But he was by no means a Christian king, but a dark, half-Greek, half-Asiatic tyrant who, in the days of slavery, had ruthlessly despised the Mediterranean, his galleons, and his groaning slaves.Syme thought that the golden brown face of this tyrant with such manners would contrast sharply with the dark green olive trees and the fiery blue sea.
"Are you going to lead this conversation?" asked the Professor impatiently, finding Syme still standing motionless.
Syme drank his last glass of sparkling wine.
"I am," he said, pointing to the Marquis and his companions, "this interview. This interview displeases me. I will tear off the ugly big red nose of this interview."
He walked swiftly and unsteadily.Seeing him, the Marquis raised his black Assyrian brow in surprise, but smiled politely.
"I think you are Mr. Syme," said he.
Syme saluted.
"You are the Marquess of St Eustarchy," he said politely, "and let me tear your nose off."
He leaned forward to strike, but the Marquis backed away, overturning his chair, while his two top-hatted companions held Syme by the shoulders.
"This man insulted me!" said Syme, explaining with gestures.
"Insulting you?" cried the gentleman in the red rosette of the Medal of Honor. "When?"
"Oh, just now," said Syme desperately, "he insulted my mother."
"Insulting your mother!" cried the gentleman incredulously.
"Then, at least," said Syme stepping back, "my aunt."
"But how did the Marquis insult your aunt just now?" asked the second gentleman, with some reasonable suspicion. "He's been sitting here all this time."
"Oh, what he said insulted my aunt!" said Syme angrily.
"I didn't say anything," said the Marquis, "except about the band. All I said was that I liked how well they played Wagner."
"That's the hint to my family," said Syme firmly. "My aunt plays Wagner badly. It's a painful subject. We're used to being insulted by it."
"This is very strange," said the dignified gentleman, looking at the Marquis suspiciously.
"Oh, I tell you," said Syme earnestly, "your whole conversation was filled with vicious allusions to my aunt's weakness."
"Nonsense!" said the second gentleman. "I haven't said anything for half an hour except that I like the singing of that dark-haired girl."
"Hey, another insult!" said Syme angrily. "My aunt's hair is red."
"In my opinion," said the other, "you are just making excuses to insult the Marquis."
"Indeed!" said Syme, turning to look at him. "What a clever fellow you are!"
The Marquis jumped to his feet, his eyes blazing.
"You mean to quarrel with me!" he cried. "You mean to quarrel with me! By God! It's so easy to pick a quarrel. These two gentlemen will help me. Four hours before dark." .Let's have a fight tonight."
Syme bowed gracefully and affectionately.
"Marquis," said he, "your conduct is worthy of your name and your blood. But first let me consult with those gentlemen whom I trust."
With three strides he was at the side of his companions, who were astonished at him as they witnessed his provocations with wine, and heard his idiotic self-justification.But he came back wide awake, a little pale, and his deep voice sounded excited and businesslike.
"It's done," he said hoarsely, "I'm sure I'm going to fight that brute. But look here, listen. There's no time for chatting. You are my assistants, and it's up to you. Now you must Insist, must absolutely insist, let this duel take place after seven o'clock tomorrow, so that I have the opportunity to prevent him from catching the train to Paris at 7:45. Once he misses the train, he misses it Opportunity for crime. He can't refuse your little request for time and place. But he will. He will choose a vacant lot near the railway station on the roadside, so he can catch a train. He is a very good swordsman He'll be looking forward to killing me as soon as possible so he can catch the train in time. I'm good at fencing though, and I think I'll be able to hold him off anyway until the train leaves. Then he might kill me to appease him. Emotions. You get it? Well, then, let me introduce you to some charming friends of mine." With that, he quickly led them across the street, using two very aristocratic characters they hadn't heard of before. The name introduced them to the Marquis' assistant.
Syme had occasional flashes of extraordinary judgment that had not originally been part of his reputation.They are (as he speaks of the urge to glasses) poetic intuitions that sometimes manifest as heightened prophetic abilities.
In this case, Syme was right about his opponent's strategy.When the Marquis learned from his assistant that Syme would only wish to duel in the morning, he must have been fully aware that an obstacle had popped up between him and his mission to drop a bomb in the French capital.Of course, the Marquis explained this obstacle to his friend, so he chose the course that Syme predicted.He asked his assistant to agree with the opponent on a small piece of grass not far from the railway track, and he was sure that the opponent would be killed in the first round.
When the Marquis came to the duel with great calm, one could not see that he was anxious to go out; his hands were in his pockets, his straw hat was hung behind his head, and his handsome face was bronzed in the sun.It may surprise the stranger, however, that among his retinue not only his assistant carried the sword-box, but two of his servants also carried a traveling case and a lunch-basket.
It was early, and the warm sun was soaking in everything, and Syme was a little surprised to see countless golden and silver spring flowers blooming in the tall grass, which almost covered the knees of those present.
All but the Marquis were in stately dark frock coats and black chimney hats; the little doctor in particular, with his black spectacles, looked like an undertaker in a farce.It was, Syme realized, the ludicrous contrast between the well-dressed church funeral procession and the gorgeous, shining meadow, full of wildflowers.But in reality, the comical contrast between the yellow flower and the black hat symbolizes the poignant contrast between the yellow flower and the sinister event.To the right of the Marquis was a small wood, and to the far left was the long and winding railway line, which was the Marquis' aim and escape route, and which, so to speak, was blocked from the Marquis by Syme.Ahead of him, behind his team of black rivals, he could see a small clump of fawn-flowered shrubs against the blurred sea level like colored clouds.
Colonel Ducloet, a member of the Legion of Honor, approached the professor and Dr. Bull very politely, and suggested that the duel should be terminated as soon as anyone was seriously injured.
On this point, however, Dr. Bull, whom Syme had carefully instructed, insisted with strong dignity and broken French that the duel must continue until one of the combatants was struck down.Syme was confident that for at least twenty minutes he would be able to avoid knocking the Marquis down, and prevent the Marquis from knocking him out.And in twenty minutes the train bound for Paris will leave.
"For a man of known skill and courage, M. de Saint-Eustache," said the professor gravely, "could not have cared what method was taken, but our chief has every reason to demand a duel. Longer, the subtlety of these reasons prevents me from saying much, but of their just and noble nature I can—"
"Stop talking nonsense!" The Marquis interrupted him from behind, his face suddenly gloomy, "Let's stop talking, let's start." He cut off a towering corolla with his walking stick.
Syme understood his rudeness and impatience, and instinctively turned his head to see if the train appeared.But there was no smoke on the horizon.
Colonel Ducloue knelt on the ground and opened the sword case, and took out a pair of identical swords, reflecting two white flames in the sunlight.He handed one of them to the Marquis, and the other to Syme; the Marquis took the sword informally, Syme took it, bent it, and held it that way for as long as his dignity would allow. posture.
Then the colonel took out another pair of swords, took one for himself, handed the other to Dr. Bull, and stepped forward to confirm the personnel on both sides.
Both combatants threw off their coats and waistcoats and stood with swords in hand.The assistants of both sides also stood on their respective sides with swords, but they still looked gloomy in their black long coats and black top hats.The leaders of both sides saluted.The colonel said calmly, "Go!" Then the two swords clanged.
When the shock of the clash of swords hit Syme's arms, all the grotesque horrors that had been the subject of this story faded from him as quickly as a dream vanishes when one wakes up in bed.In his memory, though, they were clear and coherent—how the fear of the professor turned into the fear of a brutal nightmare, how the fear of the doctor became the fear of the hermetic vacuum of science.The first fear is an ancient fear that any miracle is possible; the second is a more desperate modern fear that no miracle is possible.But he saw that these fears were fantasies, for he found himself facing the fear of death with a stern and cruel reason.He felt like a man who dreams all night that he is falling off a cliff, only to wake up in the morning to be hanged.As soon as he saw the sunlight streaming down the grooves of his opponent's blade, and felt the clash of two irons shake like two living things, he knew that his enemy was a fearsome swordsman, and that his Arrived.
Everything around him felt a strange and vivid value; all living things made him feel a love of life.Whenever his eyes escaped for a moment from the calm, persistent, bewildering gaze of the Marquis, he saw a small cluster of almond trees against the sky.He thought that if he miraculously escaped, he would sit forever before that almond tree, and he had no other hopes.
The earth, the sky, and everything else had a lost beauty of life, while the other side of his head was clear as glass, and he parried the sword with a skill so masterful that even He didn't think of it himself.The tip of his opponent's sword once stabbed his wrist, leaving a slight bloodstain, but he either didn't notice it, or ignored it on purpose.Now and then he struck back quickly, and once or twice he almost felt his sword go through, but since there was no blood on the sword or on his shirt, he thought he had made a mistake.Then the fighting paused, and he changed his moves again.
The Marquis took the risk of losing everything. He no longer stared at the opponent calmly, but turned his head and quickly glanced at the railway line on the right.Then suddenly he pretended to be a friend to Syme, and began a violent fight.His strikes are swift and furious, swinging his gleaming sword in a rain of shining swords.Syme had no chance of looking at the railroad again, but he didn't need to.He could guess the reason for the Marquis's sudden and frenzied attack—the train bound for Paris was about to arrive.
But the Marquis's sick physical fitness has been overdrawn.Twice Syme parried his sword and shook it far out of the ring; the third time he countered so swiftly that there was no doubt that he hit it.Syme's sword pierced the Marquis' body, bending under his weight.
Syme was as sure he had driven his sword into his opponent as a gardener was sure he had driven his shovel into the ground.But the Marquis jumped back under the attack without even staggering, and Syme stared like an idiot at the point of his own sword, which had not a trace of blood on it.
There was a dull silence for a moment, and then it was Syme's turn to fling himself on the other man, burning with curiosity.In all fairness, the Marquis may be a better swordsman than he is, just as he estimated at the beginning, at this moment the Marquis seems to be distracted and at a disadvantage. More than worrying about a stabbing sword.And Syme swung fiercely and carefully, full of rational rage, eager to unravel the mystery of the bloodlessness of his blade.For this purpose he attacked the Marquis less on the body and more on his throat and head.A minute and a half later, he felt the point of his sword penetrate the opponent's neck under the jaw, but there was no trace of blood when he drew it back.Half mad, he stabbed again, and this time should have left a bloody scar on the Marquis' cheek.But still no scars.
All of a sudden Syme passed from exhilaration to depression again with unimaginable terror.The man's life must have been protected by magic.But this new psychic fear was worse than the mere insanity symbolized by the stroke professor who had previously tracked him down.The professor is just a goblin; this man is a demon—maybe even Satan!In short, one thing is certain, that is, an ordinary sword pierced his body three times without leaving any trace.With this thought Syme straightened himself, and all the power of justice in him sang in the air, like the wind howling in the woods.He thought of all the human things in his stories—the Chinese lanterns at Sevron, the red hair of the girls in the garden, the honest sailors drinking beer by the docks, and the faithful companions who stood by him.Perhaps he was chosen to be the defender of all these living and good people and things against the enemies of the universe. "After all," he told himself, "I'm going to outrun the devil. I'm a human being. I can do one thing Satan can't—I can die." When the word flashed through his mind, he listened. With the faint sound of the siren coming from a distance, the train bound for Paris is about to roar past.
Like a cultist longing for heaven, he returned to the fight with an incredible variety of moves.As the train drew nearer, he pictured himself walking past the arches of flowers in Paris, and he was among the tumultuous crowds sharing in the glory of the great republic whose gates he guarded, making it Free from hell.As the roar of the train grew louder, so did his thoughts.Then the roar of the train ends with a drawn-out screech that seems proud.The train stopped.
Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, the Marquis leaped back out of range and dropped his own sword on the ground.It was a good jump, a very good one, for Syme had just thrust his sword into the Marquis' thigh.
"Stop!" The Marquis' voice was strong enough to force the opponent to obey briefly, "I have something to say."
"What's the matter?" asked Colonel Ducloet, staring at him. "Any foul?"
"There's been a foul here," said Dr. Bull, who looked a little pale. "Our chief hit the Marquis at least four times, and he wasn't hurt at all."
The Marquis raised his hand with a curious air of astonishing patience.
"Let me speak, please," said he, "this is very important. Mr. Syme," he went on to his opponent, "if I remember correctly, we are dueling today because of your expressed desire to pull my nose. (I thought it was unreasonable at the time). Please, can you pluck my nose as soon as possible now? I have to catch a train."
"I protest, this is against the rules." Dr. Bull said angrily.
"It's certainly a bit of a violation of convention," finished Colonel Ducloet, looking anxiously at his leader. "I think there is only one precedent on record (Captain Belgarde and Baron Zapter) when weapons were exchanged in the middle of a duel at the request of one of them. But we cannot call a man's nose a weapon."
"Won't you pull my nose?" said the Marquis angrily. "Come on, come on, Mr Syme! You've meant to do it, now do it! You never know how much it means to me. Don't be so selfish." !Since I call you, pull my nose right away!" Then he leaned forward slightly with a charming smile.And the train bound for Paris, panting and whistling, drove into the small station behind the nearby hill.
Syme had a feeling that he had had more than once in these adventures—that the terrible waves that had been thrown up to heaven were capsizing.With only a half-knowledge of the world, he took two steps forward and grabbed the nobleman's hooked nose.He pulled it hard, and the nose was torn off by him.
For a few seconds he stood like a fool, the cardboard nose still in his fingers, and he looked at it while the sun and the clouds and the forested mountains looked down on the stupid scene.
The Marquis broke the silence with a loud and joyful voice.
"If anyone wants to use my left eyebrow," he said, "he can take it. Colonel Ducloet, please accept my left eyebrow! This kind of thing may be useful someday." He plucked his dark Assyrian left eyebrow and brought down half of his brown forehead as well, and handed it politely to the Colonel, who stood flushed and said nothing.
"If I'd known," said the Colonel in a rage, "I was fighting a coward who stuffed himself with something—"
"Oh, I see, I see!" said the Marquis, waving desperately from side to side across the grass. "You are wrong, but the matter is still unexplained. I tell you that the train has come in!"
"Yes," said Dr. Bull fiercely, "but the train will leave the station too. It won't pick you up when it leaves. We see through your devil's game."
The mysterious Marquis raised his hands in despair.He was like a strange scarecrow standing in the sun, half of his face had been torn off, and the remaining half of his face was grinning cheekily and staring.
"Are you driving me crazy?" he cried. "The train—"
"You can't leave by train," said Syme firmly, taking his sword in his hand.
The crazy fellow turned toward Syme, as if gathering strength for a hard fight before he could speak.
"You fat, damned, short-sighted, rude, frightening, stupid, unlucky, feeble, odious fool!" he continued without breathing, "you stupid, Pink-faced, yellowish-haired kohlrabi! You—”
"You can't leave by train," repeated Syme.
"What the hell," growled the other, "do I have to take the train away?"
"We know everything," said the professor sternly. "You're going to bomb Paris!"
"Nonsense!" cried the other, pulling at his hair, which was easily ripped out.
"Are you all so demented that you can't see who I am? Did you really think I wanted to catch that train? It doesn't matter to me that twenty trains to Paris pass. Let these To hell with the train!"
"So what was your concern just now?" asked the professor.
"What did I care about just now? I didn't care if I could catch the train; I cared if the train would catch me, and now, for God's sake! It caught me."
"I regret to tell you," said Syme with restraint, "that your words conveyed no meaning to me. Perhaps if you tore off your forehead and chin, your meaning would become clearer. A sane mind would There are many ways to realize your own function. What do you mean this train has caught up with you? This may be my literary imagination at work, but I think your words should have a certain meaning anyway."
"It means everything," said the Marquis, "and the end of everything. Sunday has us firmly in our hands now."
"We!" repeated the professor, dumbfounded. "Who do you mean by 'we'?"
"The police, of course!" said the Marquis, tearing off his scalp and half of his face.
The exposed head was the blond, neatly combed crew cut common to British police officers, but his face was frighteningly pale.
"I'm Inspector Ratcliffe," he said almost harshly, "my name is known to the police, and I know you are the police, too. If anyone suspects my identity, I have a card to prove it. ’ He took a blue card from his pocket.
The professor made a weary gesture.
"Oh, don't show us," he said impatiently. "We've got enough blue cards for a dog-and-rabbit chase."
The little Dr. Bull, like so many people who seem lively and rough, suddenly made a show of subtlety.He definitely saved the whole situation here.In the middle of this astonishing scene of transfiguration, he addresses the two assistants of the Marquis with all the gravity and responsibility of an assistant.
"Gentlemen," said he, "we all owe you a solemn apology; but I assure you that you have not been the victims of a low joke, nor the infamy of a noble gentleman, as you imagine. You did not waste your time; it was your help that saved the world. We are not clowns, but desperate men battling a gigantic conspiracy. A secret anarchist group is hunting us like hares ;They are not a bunch of hapless lunatics who throw bombs around because of hunger or German philosophy, but a rich, powerful, fanatical, misanthropic church who insist on the sacred goal of exterminating human beings like vermin. They hunt us The severity of this, you can guess from the fact that, firstly, we were forced to disguise ourselves (for which I apologize), and secondly, we were forced to stage this farce (here you suffer)."
One of the younger assistants of the Marquis, the short man with the black upper lip beard bowed politely and said: "Of course, I accept the apology. But if I refuse to follow you to further adventures, please forgive me, let Let me start by saying good morning! It is not normal to see a well-known fellow countryman tear himself apart in broad daylight, and I have had enough of the day. Colonel Ducloet, I absolutely It won't affect your actions, but if you feel as much as I do about how dysfunctional our present society is, I'm going back to my small town right now."
Colonel Duclouet moved expressionlessly, then pulled his white beard hard and said suddenly: "No, I'm sure I won't go back. If these gentlemen really got into this because of a bunch of despicable villains This is a difficult situation and I will help them through it. I have fought for France, now I must fight for civilization."
Dr. Bull took off his hat and waved it, as if cheering a public meeting.
"Not too loudly," said Inspector Ratcliffe, "it might be heard on Sunday."
"Sunday!" cried Bull, lowering his hat.
"Yes," Ratcliffe retorted, "he's probably with them."
"With whom?" asked Syme.
"With the people who got off the train," he said.
"What you say seems outrageous," said Syme. "Hey, actually—but, my God," he exclaimed suddenly, as if one had seen an explosion in the distance, "for God's sake! If that's the case, we belong to these people on the Anarchist Council It's all against anarchism! Every parent's man is a detective except Sunday and his private secretary. What does that mean?"
"It means!" said the new policeman with disbelief, "it means we are all dead! Don't you know Sunday? Don't you know that his jokes are always so blunt and outlandish that no People take it to heart? Can you think of anything more Sunday-esque than that? He just puts all his mighty enemies in the Supreme Council and goes out of his way to make the Supreme Council a show. I tell you He's bought every monopoly, every cable, every railroad line—especially that one!" He pointed with a trembling finger to the little station by the side of the road. "The whole operation is under his control; half the world is ready to revolt for him. But maybe only five will rise against him...and this old devil put them all in the Supreme Council and made them waste their time watching each other We are all idiots, and he engineered all our follies! Knowing on Sunday the professor will chase Syme all over London, and Syme will fight me in France. He has amassed a huge capital and controlled important telegrams line, and us five idiots chasing each other like a bunch of distressed kids playing hide-and-seek."
"And then?" asked Syme steadily.
"Then," replied the other, suddenly and calmly, "he found out that we were playing hide-and-seek today on a meadow of great rural beauty and remoteness. He may have taken control of the world; all he had to do next was to control the meadow and the All fools on the grass. And since you really want to know why I object to this train coming, I'll tell you. My objection is that Sunday or his secretary is off the train at this moment."
Syme gave an involuntary cry, and they all cast their eyes on the distant station.Indeed, a great crowd seemed to be coming their way.But it was too far away to see them clearly.
"It was the custom of the late Marquis de Saint-Eustache," said the new policeman, producing a leather case, "to always carry a pair of theater glasses. Sunday and his secretary, One of them must have been following us with the crowd. They've cornered us in a nice and quiet place where we wouldn't think of breaking our oath and calling the police. Dr. Bull, I guess you'd use this pair of binoculars more than you would use yourself. You can see better with the glasses that look like you."
He handed the binoculars to the doctor, who immediately took off his glasses and put the binoculars in front of his eyes.
"You're very unlucky," said the professor, a little tremblingly. "There must be a lot of them, but they are probably ordinary tourists."
"A normal tourist," asked Bull, using a telescope, "with a black visor half covering his face?"
Syme almost half-scrambled to get the telescope into his hands, and began to look around for himself.Most of the advancing crowd were ordinary indeed; but the two or three who led the way in front wore half-covered black visors that extended to their mouths.The camouflage was perfect, especially at this distance, and Syme found it impossible to deduce anything from the clean-shaven mouths and chins of the leaders who were chatting.But now they were chatting and laughing, and one of them was smiling at the person next to him.
Notes:
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