Complete Works of Joseph Conrad (Illustrated), page 586
The merits of the two officers as combatants were frankly discussed; but their attitude to each other after the duel was criticised lightly and with caution. It was irreconcilable, and that was to be regretted. But after all they knew best what the care of their honour dictated. It was not a matter for their comrades to pry into over-much. As to the origin of the quarrel, the general impression was that it dated from the time they were holding garrison in Strasbourg. The musical surgeon shook his head at that. It went much farther back, he thought.
“Why, of course! You must know the whole story,” cried several voices, eager with curiosity. “What was it?”
He raised his eyes from his glass deliberately. “Even if I knew ever so well, you can’t expect me to tell you, since both the principals choose to say nothing.”
He got up and went out, leaving the sense of mystery behind him. He could not stay any longer, because the witching hour of flute-playing was drawing near.
After he had gone a very young officer observed solemnly, “Obviously, his lips are sealed!”
Nobody questioned the high correctness of that remark. Somehow it added to the impressiveness of the affair. Several older officers of both regiments, prompted by nothing but sheer kindness and love of harmony, proposed to form a Court of Honour, to which the two young men would leave the task of their reconciliation. Unfortunately they began by approaching Lieut. Feraud, on the assumption that, having just scored heavily, he would be found placable and disposed to moderation.
The reasoning was sound enough. Nevertheless, the move turned out unfortunate. In that relaxation of moral fibre, which is brought about by the ease of soothed vanity, Lieut. Feraud had condescended in the secret of his heart to review the case, and even had come to doubt not the justice of his cause, but the absolute sagacity of his conduct. This being so, he was disinclined to talk about it. The suggestion of the regimental wise men put him in a difficult position. He was disgusted at it, and this disgust, by a paradoxical logic, reawakened his animosity against Lieut. D’Hubert. Was he to be pestered with this fellow for ever — the fellow who had an infernal knack of getting round people somehow? And yet it was difficult to refuse point blank that mediation sanctioned by the code of honour.
He met the difficulty by an attitude of grim reserve. He twisted his moustache and used vague words. His case was perfectly clear. He was not ashamed to state it before a proper Court of Honour, neither was he afraid to defend it on the ground. He did not see any reason to jump at the suggestion before ascertaining how his adversary was likely to take it.
Later in the day, his exasperation growing upon him, he was heard in a public place saying sardonically, “that it would be the very luckiest thing for Lieut. D’Hubert, because the next time of meeting he need not hope to get off with the mere trifle of three weeks in bed.”
This boastful phrase might have been prompted by the most profound Machiavellism. Southern natures often hide, under the outward impulsiveness of action and speech, a certain amount of astuteness.
Lieut. Feraud, mistrusting the justice of men, by no means desired a Court of Honour; and the above words, according so well with his temperament, had also the merit of serving his turn. Whether meant so or not, they found their way in less than four-and-twenty hours into Lieut. D’Hubert’s bedroom. In consequence Lieut. D’Hubert, sitting propped up with pillows, received the overtures made to him next day by the statement that the affair was of a nature which could not bear discussion.
The pale face of the wounded officer, his weak voice which he had yet to use cautiously, and the courteous dignity of his tone had a great effect on his hearers. Reported outside all this did more for deepening the mystery than the vapourings of Lieut. Feraud. This last was greatly relieved at the issue. He began to enjoy the state of general wonder, and was pleased to add to it by assuming an attitude of fierce discretion.
The colonel of Lieut. D’Hubert’s regiment was a grey-haired, weather-beaten warrior, who took a simple view of his responsibilities. “I can’t,” he said to himself, “let the best of my subalterns get damaged like this for nothing. I must get to the bottom of this affair privately. He must speak out if the devil were in it. The colonel should be more than a father to these youngsters.” And indeed he loved all his men with as much affection as a father of a large family can feel for every individual member of it. If human beings by an oversight of Providence came into the world as mere civilians, they were born again into a regiment as infants are born into a family, and it was that military birth alone which counted.
At the sight of Lieut. D’Hubert standing before him very bleached and hollow-eyed the heart of the old warrior felt a pang of genuine compassion. All his affection for the regiment — that body of men which he held in his hand to launch forward and draw back, who ministered to his pride and commanded all his thoughts — seemed centred for a moment on the person of the most promising subaltern. He cleared his throat in a threatening manner, and frowned terribly. “You must understand,” he began, “that I don’t care a rap for the life of a single man in the regiment. I would send the eight hundred and forty-three of you men and horses galloping into the pit of perdition with no more compunction than I would kill a fly!”
“Yes, Colonel. You would be riding at our head,” said Lieut. D’Hubert with a wan smile.
The colonel, who felt the need of being very diplomatic, fairly roared at this. “I want you to know, Lieut. D’Hubert, that I could stand aside and see you all riding to Hades if need be. I am a man to do even that if the good of the service and my duty to my country required it from me. But that’s unthinkable, so don’t you even hint at such a thing.” He glared awfully, but his tone softened. “There’s some milk yet about that moustache of yours, my boy. You don’t know what a man like me is capable of. I would hide behind a haystack if . . . Don’t grin at me, sir! How dare you? If this were not a private conversation I would . . . Look here! I am responsible for the proper expenditure of lives under my command for the glory of our country and the honour of the regiment. Do you understand that? Well, then, what the devil do you mean by letting yourself be spitted like this by that fellow of the 7th Hussars? It’s simply disgraceful!”
Lieut. D’Hubert felt vexed beyond measure. His shoulders moved slightly. He made no other answer. He could not ignore his responsibility.
The colonel veiled his glance and lowered his voice still more. “It’s deplorable!” he murmured. And again he changed his tone. “Come!” he went on, persuasively, but with that note of authority which dwells in the throat of a good leader of men, “this affair must be settled. I desire to be told plainly what it is all about. I demand, as your best friend, to know.”
The compelling power of authority, the persuasive influence of kindness, affected powerfully a man just risen from a bed of sickness. Lieut. D’Hubert’s hand, which grasped the knob of a stick, trembled slightly. But his northern temperament, sentimental yet cautious and clear-sighted, too, in its idealistic way, checked his impulse to make a clean breast of the whole deadly absurdity. According to the precept of transcendental wisdom, he turned his tongue seven times in his mouth before he spoke. He made then only a speech of thanks.
The colonel listened, interested at first, then looked mystified. At last he frowned. “You hesitate? — mille tonnerres! Haven’t I told you that I will condescend to argue with you — as a friend?”
“Yes, Colonel!” answered Lieut. D’Hubert, gently. “But I am afraid that after you have heard me out as a friend you will take action as my superior officer.”
The attentive colonel snapped his jaws. “Well, what of that?” he said, frankly. “Is it so damnably disgraceful?”
“It is not,” negatived Lieut. D’Hubert, in a faint but firm voice.
“Of course, I shall act for the good of the service. Nothing can prevent me doing that. What do you think I want to be told for?”
“I know it is not from idle curiosity,” protested Lieut. D’Hubert. “I know you will act wisely. But what about the good fame of the regiment?”
“It cannot be affected by any youthful folly of a lieutenant,” said the colonel, severely.
“No. It cannot be. But it can be by evil tongues. It will be said that a lieutenant of the 4th Hussars, afraid of meeting his adversary, is hiding behind his colonel. And that would be worse than hiding behind a haystack — for the good of the service. I cannot afford to do that, Colonel.”
“Nobody would dare to say anything of the kind,” began the colonel very fiercely, but ended the phrase on an uncertain note. The bravery of Lieut. D’Hubert was well known. But the colonel was well aware that the duelling courage, the single combat courage, is rightly or wrongly supposed to be courage of a special sort. And it was eminently necessary that an officer of his regiment should possess every kind of courage — and prove it, too. The colonel stuck out his lower lip, and looked far away with a peculiar glazed stare. This was the expression of his perplexity — an expression practically unknown to his regiment; for perplexity is a sentiment which is incompatible with the rank of colonel of cavalry. The colonel himself was overcome by the unpleasant novelty of the sensation. As he was not accustomed to think except on professional matters connected with the welfare of men and horses, and the proper use thereof on the field of glory, his intellectual efforts degenerated into mere mental repetitions of profane language. “Mille tonnerres! . . . Sacre nom de nom . . .” he thought.
Lieut. D’Hubert coughed painfully, and added in a weary voice: “There will be plenty of evil tongues to say that I’ve been cowed. And I am sure you will not expect me to pass that over. I may find myself suddenly with a dozen duels on my hands instead of this one affair.”
The direct simplicity of this argument came home to the colonel’s understanding. He looked at his subordinate fixedly. “Sit down, Lieutenant!” he said, gruffly. “This is the very devil of a . . . Sit down!”
“Mon Colonel,” D’Hubert began again, “I am not afraid of evil tongues. There’s a way of silencing them. But there’s my peace of mind, too. I wouldn’t be able to shake off the notion that I’ve ruined a brother officer. Whatever action you take, it is bound to go farther. The inquiry has been dropped — let it rest now. It would have been absolutely fatal to Feraud.”
“Hey! What! Did he behave so badly?”
“Yes. It was pretty bad,” muttered Lieut. D’Hubert. Being still very weak, he felt a disposition to cry.
As the other man did not belong to his own regiment the colonel had no difficulty in believing this. He began to pace up and down the room. He was a good chief, a man capable of discreet sympathy. But he was human in other ways, too, and this became apparent because he was not capable of artifice.
“The very devil, Lieutenant,” he blurted out, in the innocence of his heart, “is that I have declared my intention to get to the bottom of this affair. And when a colonel says something . . . you see . . .”
Lieut. D’Hubert broke in earnestly: “Let me entreat you, Colonel, to be satisfied with taking my word of honour that I was put into a damnable position where I had no option; I had no choice whatever, consistent with my dignity as a man and an officer. . . . After all, Colonel, this fact is the very bottom of this affair. Here you’ve got it. The rest is mere detail. . . .”
The colonel stopped short. The reputation of Lieut. D’Hubert for good sense and good temper weighed in the balance. A cool head, a warm heart, open as the day. Always correct in his behaviour. One had to trust him. The colonel repressed manfully an immense curiosity. “H’m! You affirm that as a man and an officer. . . . No option? Eh?”
“As an officer — an officer of the 4th Hussars, too,” insisted Lieut. D’Hubert, “I had not. And that is the bottom of the affair, Colonel.”
“Yes. But still I don’t see why, to one’s colonel. . . . A colonel is a father — que diable!”
Lieut. D’Hubert ought not to have been allowed out as yet. He was becoming aware of his physical insufficiency with humiliation and despair. But the morbid obstinacy of an invalid possessed him, and at the same time he felt with dismay his eyes filling with water. This trouble seemed too big to handle. A tear fell down the thin, pale cheek of Lieut. D’Hubert.
The colonel turned his back on him hastily. You could have heard a pin drop. “This is some silly woman story — is it not?”
Saying these words the chief spun round to seize the truth, which is not a beautiful shape living in a well, but a shy bird best caught by stratagem. This was the last move of the colonel’s diplomacy. He saw the truth shining unmistakably in the gesture of Lieut. D’Hubert raising his weak arms and his eyes to heaven in supreme protest.
“Not a woman affair — eh?” growled the colonel, staring hard. “I don’t ask you who or where. All I want to know is whether there is a woman in it?”
Lieut. D’Hubert’s arms dropped, and his weak voice was pathetically broken.
“Nothing of the kind, mon Colonel.”
“On your honour?” insisted the old warrior.
“On my honour.”
“Very well,” said the colonel, thoughtfully, and bit his lip. The arguments of Lieut. D’Hubert, helped by his liking for the man, had convinced him. On the other hand, it was highly improper that his intervention, of which he had made no secret, should produce no visible effect. He kept Lieut. D’Hubert a few minutes longer, and dismissed him kindly.
“Take a few days more in bed. Lieutenant. What the devil does the surgeon mean by reporting you fit for duty?”
On coming out of the colonel’s quarters, Lieut. D’Hubert said nothing to the friend who was waiting outside to take him home. He said nothing to anybody. Lieut. D’Hubert made no confidences. But on the evening of that day the colonel, strolling under the elms growing near his quarters, in the company of his second in command, opened his lips.
“I’ve got to the bottom of this affair,” he remarked. The lieut.-colonel, a dry, brown chip of a man with short side-whiskers, pricked up his ears at that without letting a sign of curiosity escape him.
“It’s no trifle,” added the colonel, oracularly. The other waited for a long while before he murmured:
“Indeed, sir!”
“No trifle,” repeated the colonel, looking straight before him. “I’ve, however, forbidden D’Hubert either to send to or receive a challenge from Feraud for the next twelve months.”
He had imagined this prohibition to save the prestige a colonel should have. The result of it was to give an official seal to the mystery surrounding this deadly quarrel. Lieut. D’Hubert repelled by an impassive silence all attempts to worm the truth out of him. Lieut. Feraud, secretly uneasy at first, regained his assurance as time went on. He disguised his ignorance of the meaning of the imposed truce by slight sardonic laughs, as though he were amused by what he intended to keep to himself. “But what will you do?” his chums used to ask him. He contented himself by replying “Qui vivra verra” with a little truculent air. And everybody admired his discretion.
Before the end of the truce Lieut. D’Hubert got his troop. The promotion was well earned, but somehow no one seemed to expect the event. When Lieut. Feraud heard of it at a gathering of officers, he muttered through his teeth, “Is that so?” At once he unhooked his sabre from a peg near the door, buckled it on carefully, and left the company without another word. He walked home with measured steps, struck a light with his flint and steel, and lit his tallow candle. Then snatching an unlucky glass tumbler off the mantelpiece he dashed it violently on the floor.
Now that D’Hubert was an officer of superior rank there could be no question of a duel. Neither of them could send or receive a challenge without rendering himself amenable to a court-martial. It was not to be thought of. Lieut. Feraud, who for many days now had experienced no real desire to meet Lieut. D’Hubert arms in hand, chafed again at the systematic injustice of fate. “Does he think he will escape me in that way?” he thought, indignantly. He saw in this promotion an intrigue, a conspiracy, a cowardly manoeuvre. That colonel knew what he was doing. He had hastened to recommend his favourite for a step. It was outrageous that a man should be able to avoid the consequences of his acts in such a dark and tortuous manner.
Of a happy-go-lucky disposition, of a temperament more pugnacious than military, Lieut. Feraud had been content to give and receive blows for sheer love of armed strife, and without much thought of advancement; but now an urgent desire to get on sprang up in his breast. This fighter by vocation resolved in his mind to seize showy occasions and to court the favourable opinion of his chiefs like a mere worldling. He knew he was as brave as any one, and never doubted his personal charm. Nevertheless, neither the bravery nor the charm seemed to work very swiftly. Lieut. Feraud’s engaging, careless truculence of a beau sabreur underwent a change. He began to make bitter allusions to “clever fellows who stick at nothing to get on.” The army was full of them, he would say; you had only to look round. But all the time he had in view one person only, his adversary, D’Hubert. Once he confided to an appreciative friend: “You see, I don’t know how to fawn on the right sort of people. It isn’t in my character.”
