The Magnificent Montez Part 8

"I don't know why I am fighting," he said.

If it came to that, Dumas shared his ignorance. Still, he insisted that a "meeting" was inevitable.

This was the case. For a Frenchman to refuse to "go out"--no matter what his reason--would be to incur social ignominy. He would be looked upon as a pariah; not a hand would be offered him; and he would have bundles of white feathers showered upon him by his former acquaintances.

It was all very ridiculous. Still, it must be remembered that "the period was one when journalists aped fine gentlemen, and killed themselves for nothing." Ferdinand Bac declares that this practice was "largely the fault of Dumas, who, in his romances, would describe lovely women throwing themselves between the combatants to effect their reconciliation."

Since a meeting could be a serious affair, the seconds were naturally anxious to protect themselves. Accordingly, the four of them, putting their heads together, drew up a doc.u.ment which, in the event of untoward consequences occurring, would, they felt, absolve them of responsibility:

"We, the undersigned, state that, as the result of a disagreement, M.

de Beauvallon has provoked M. Dujarier in a fashion that makes it impossible for him to refuse an encounter. We ourselves have done all we can to reconcile these gentlemen; and it is only at M. de Beauvallon's urgent demand that we are proceeding in the matter."

As the challenged party, Dujarier had the choice of weapons. The privilege, however, was not worth much to him. He had never handled cold steel, while his adversary was an expert fencer, and he was also such a poor marksman that he could not have made sure of hitting a haystack at twenty yards. Still, he reflected that, although de Beauvallon was unlikely to miss him with a rapier, he might possibly do so with a bullet. Accordingly, he elected for pistols.

When Dujarier came back to her that evening, Lola, with womanly intuition, saw that some trouble had befallen him. Under pressure, he admitted that he was about to fight a duel for which he had no stomach. At the same time, however, he led her to believe that his adversary was de Beauvoir, and not de Beauvallon.

Having thus calmed her fears, for she knew that de Beauvoir was no more a fire-eater than was he himself, he went off to have another consultation with his seconds.

"I shall not be back until late," he said, "as I am supping with Dumas. You must not stop up for me."

Instead, however, of returning that night, Dujarier, feeling that he could not face Lola and tell her the truth, stopped with one of his seconds. There he wrote and sealed a couple of letters, charging de Boignes to "deliver them if required by circ.u.mstances." The first was to his mother:

If this letter reaches you, it will be because I shall be dead or else dangerously wounded. To-morrow morning I am going out to fight with pistols. My position requires it; and, as a man of honour, I accept the challenge. If you, my good mother, should have cause to weep, it is better that you should shed tears for a son worthy of yourself than to shed them for a coward. I go to the combat in the spirit of a man who is calm and sure of himself. Justice is on my side.

A more difficult, although less flamboyant, letter to write was the second one, for its recipient would be the woman who had given him her heart: and was even then anxiously awaiting his return:

MY EVER DEAREST LOLA:

I want to explain why it was I slept by myself and did not come to you this morning. It is because I have to fight a duel. All my calmness is required, and seeing you would have upset me. By two o'clock this afternoon everything will be over.

A thousand fond farewells to the dear little girl I love so much, and the thoughts of whom will be with me for ever.

Having written his letters, he proceeded to draw up his will. This doc.u.ment left, among specific bequests to his mother and sister, certain shares that he held in the Palais Royal to Lola Montez.

III

The date of the meeting was March 11, and the rendezvous was a retired spot in the Bois de Boulogne. A bitterly cold morning, with snow on the ground and heavy clouds in a leaden sky. As the clock struck the appointed hour, Dujarier, accompanied by his seconds, and M. de Guise, a medical man, drove up in a cab. They were the first to arrive.

After waiting for more than an hour, Dujarier was in such a nervous condition that his seconds declared he would be justified in leaving the field, since his adversary had not kept the appointment. Instead, however, of jumping at the chance, he took a swig at a flask of cognac. The potent spirit gave him some measure of Dutch courage, and his teeth stopped chattering.

"I will fight," he announced grandiloquently. "I am a Frenchman, and my honour is very dear to me."

It was to be put to the test, for a few minutes later de Beauvallon and his seconds arrived, with a tardy apology.

On behalf of their princ.i.p.al, Dujarier's seconds then made a last appeal for an amicable settlement. It was coldly received; and they were told that "the insult offered was too serious to be wiped out by words." There being nothing else for it, the preliminaries were discussed, the conditions of the combat being that the adversaries should stand thirty paces apart, advance six paces, and then fire.

The pistols were furnished by d'Ecquevillez, and it had been expressly stipulated that his princ.i.p.al should not have handled them until that moment. When, however, Bertrand examined the pair, he remarked that, since the barrels were blackened and still warm to the touch, it was obvious that somebody had already practised with them. As, however, d'Ecquevillez swore that they had not been tried by de Beauvallon, the protest was withdrawn.

The distance being measured and the adversaries placed in position, the seconds stepped aside. Then, at a signal, the word was given. The first to fire was Dujarier. He was, however, so agitated that he sent a bullet wide of the mark. De Beauvallon, on the other hand, was perfectly cool and collected. He lifted his weapon and aimed with such deliberate care that de Boignes, unable to restrain himself, called out excitedly: "_Mais, tirez donc, Monsieur!_" With a nod, de Beauvallon pressed the trigger. There was an answering flash and a report; and, as the smoke drifted away, Dujarier reeled and fell, blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils.

When Dr. de Guise examined him, he looked grave. He saw at once that the injury was serious. As a matter of fact, Dujarier was dead before they returned to Paris.

As the cab reached the house in the rue Lafitte, Lola, waiting there in an agony of suspense, heard the rumble of wheels. Rushing downstairs, she stepped back with a cry of terror, for three men were carrying a heavy burden into the hall. Instinctively, she realised that the worst had happened, that her suspense was at an end.

"Mademoiselle, we have ill tidings for you," said de Boignes.

"I know it," said Lola. "Dujarier is killed. I felt sure this would happen. You should not have let him fight."

The funeral of Dujarier, which took place a couple of days later in the cemetery at Montmartre, was attended by characteristic pomp. The velvet pall above his coffin was held by Balzac, Dumas, and Joseph Mery, and a flowery "oration" delivered at the graveside by Emile de Girardin:

"Whether it endure but a single day, or be deep and prolonged, Man's sorrow is always barren and profitless. It cannot restore to a disconsolate mother, bemoaning her untimely loss, the son for whom she weeps, or give him back to his friends.... Let the words written by Dujarier: 'I am about to fight a duel for the most absurd and futile of causes,' never be effaced from our memory. Farewell, Dujarier! Rest in peace! Let us carry away from the graveside the hope that the recollection of so lamentable an end will last long enough to shield others from a similar one. Let all mothers--still astounded and trembling--derive some measure of confidence from this hope, and pray to G.o.d for poor Dujarier with all the fervour of their souls!"

As may be imagined, talk followed. A vast amount of talk, in the newspapers and elsewhere. "The topic was discussed," one reads, "at the royal table itself by the family of Louis-Philippe; and Queen Amelie and Aunt Adelaide stigmatised the conduct of this wicked hussy, Lola Montez, in severe terms."

IV

After such an experience, Lola felt that she had had enough of France for a time. Accordingly, she went back to Germany. There she resumed relations with Liszt, who took her to a second Beethoven Festival at Bonn. While allowance could be made for the artistic temperament, this was considered to be straining it, and caustic remarks on the subject appeared in the press.

During the absence of Lola from Paris, the relatives of Dujarier had not been idle. Unpleasant whispers were heard that the dead man had not fallen in a fair fight; and that the fatal bullet had come from a weapon with which his adversary had already practised. As this was contrary to the conditions of the encounter, the arm of the law reached out, and de Beauvallon and his seconds were called upon for an explanation. The one they furnished to them was deemed adequate by the authorities. Still, if "honour was satisfied," the friends of de Beauvallon's victim were not. Accordingly, they set to work, and, pulling fresh strings, managed to get the official decision upset.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _f.a.n.n.y Elssler. Predecessor of Lola Montez in Paris_]

An article on the subject that appeared in _Le Droit_ took a severe tone:

"The grounds alleged to be responsible for this deplorable business,"

declared an editorial, "were utterly frivolous. As a result, the public prosecutor has instructed an examining-magistrate to enquire into all the circ.u.mstances, and an autopsy will be held. It is possible that other measures will be adopted."

Other measures _were_ adopted.

"All duels," was the austere comment of the examining-magistrate who conducted the enquiry, "are marked by folly, and some by deliberate baseness." Where this one was concerned, he hinted at something sinister, and asked pointed questions about the pistols that d'Ecquevillez had been obliging enough to furnish. The answer was that they belonged to M. de Ca.s.signac, who, for his part, declared that, until the actual day of the meeting, they had been in the custody of the gunsmith from whom he had bought them. The gunsmith, however, M.

Devismes, said that this was not the case; and another witness declared that he had seen de Beauvallon having a little surrept.i.tious practice with them in the garden.

The next thing that happened was that, before the magisterial enquiry was finished, de Beauvallon and d'Ecquevillez made a hurried departure from Paris. During their absence, it was decided to abandon further proceedings for want of evidence. Thinking himself safe, de Beauvallon then returned. But he was not safe. The Supreme Court cancelled the decision of the inferior one, and announced that he was to stand his trial for murder.

As public feeling ran high, and it was felt that an impartial jury could not have been secured in Paris, the trial was held at Rouen. The date was March 26, 1846. Attracted by the special circ.u.mstances of the case, the court was crowded.

"Nearly all those who were present," says Claudin, "belonged to the world of the boulevards." Albert Vandam was among the spectators; and with him for a companion was a much more distinguished person, Gustave Flaubert.

V

All being in readiness, and the stage set for the drama that was about to be unfolded, the judges, in the traditional red robes, took their seats, with M. Letendre de Tourville as president of the Court. M.

Salveton, the public prosecutor, and M. Rieff, the advocate-general, represented the Government; and Maitre Berryer and M. Leon Duval appeared respectively on behalf of the accused and the dead man's mother and sister.

As it had been suggested that de Beauvallon had purposely arrived late on the ground, in order to have some preliminary practice, he was told to give an account of his movements of the morning of the duel.