II
"It might have been thought," is the comment of Larousse, "that, with the fever of the wine abated, these happenings and the recollection of the indecorous words accompanying them would, by the next morning, have been forgotten."
But they were not forgotten. They were remembered. On the following afternoon, while Dujarier was in his office, lamenting the fact that he had made such a fool of himself, and wondering how he was to explain matters to Lola, two visitors were announced. One of them was the Comte de Flers and the other was the Vicomte d'Ecquevillez. With ceremonious bows, they stated the purport of their call. This was that they represented de Beauvallon, who "demanded satisfaction for the insults he had received from M. Dujarier."
The quarrel, however, was really one between two rival papers, La Presse and Le Globe, which had long been at daggers drawn. Granier de Cassagnac, the editor of Le Globe, was the brother-in-law of de Beauvallon, and Emile de Girardin, the proprietor of La Presse, had systematically held him up to ridicule in his columns. Hence, when the news of the restaurant fracas leaked out among the café gossipers, the result was that everybody said: "il n'y eut qu'une voix pour dire 'c'est le Globe qui veut se battre avec la Presse.'"
Dujarier, who had no stomach for fighting—except with his pen—would have backed out if he could. But he could not. Things had already gone too far. Accordingly, he referred the visitors to his friends, Arthur Bertrand (a god-son of the Emperor) and Charles de Boignes, and then hurried off to consult them himself.
"Pistols for two and coffee for one," was their decision when they heard what he had to tell them. There was, they were emphatic, no other way by which he could satisfy his "honour." The code demanded it.
Clutching at a straw, Dujarier next sought counsel of Alexandre Dumas.
"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 document 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 circumstances." 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 document left, among specific bequests to his mother and sister, certain shares that he held in the Palais Royal to Lola Montez.