CHAPTER XIX
THE CORONATION DUEL
Those who had come to the cathedral in the expectation of witnessingan interesting ceremony were beginning to find that the reality farsurpassed the anticipation.
A series of dramatic episodes had occurred in quick succession, butthe climax of all was now reached when it became known that the throneof Czernova was to be put to the hazard of a duel, and a duel that wasto ensue immediately within the walls of the cathedral itself, anarrangement due to the initiative of Zabern; for, as according to thestatute the combat must take place that same day, he had proposed thatit should be fought at once upon the open pavement fronting the choir.
"A duel within a cathedral!" exclaimed Radzivil in amazement.
"Why not?" asked Zabern coolly.
"This is a consecrated place. The wilful shedding of blood here isforbidden by the Church."
"Well, let's take the opinion of the Church as expressed in the personof Faustus."
Now, sad to relate, that mitred abbot dearly loved to witness a goodfight, for he had been a soldier ere adopting the monastic profession,and the old Adam was still strong within him.
"This cathedral is holy ground," he began.
"Presumably so," replied Zabern.
"And to maintain the princess's throne and the Latin faith is a holydeed."
"Without doubt."
"Then let the holy deed take place on holy ground."
"My view of the matter."
"But if the shedding of blood should profane a church--"
"As the timid allege."
"Then is the place already profaned by the blood of Orloff."
"True."
"Therefore this being now common ground the duel can take placewithout occasion of profanation."
"Faustus, thou reasonest well. Gentlemen, we have heard the voice ofthe Church. _Fiat voluntas ecclesiae._ Let the combat take place here,and now."
"Good!" commented Paul, who had listened in silence to this dialogue."It cannot come too soon."
A remark echoed by the ferocious Bora, confident in his ability toovercome the other.
Paul now found his hands grasped by those of admiring ministers, allof whom were anxious that he should forget how near they had come tobanishing him by public edict.
In the midst of their congratulations Paul was approached by alady-in-waiting, who brought word that the princess desired to speakwith him ere the duel should begin.
"Go to your dalliance," sneered Bora, who had overheard the message."It will be your last."
"If your grace will take counsel of an enemy," replied Paul, "you willseek the ministration of a priest, for you never needed it more."
There was something in Paul's quiet and confident manner, somethingfar removed from boasting, that sent a momentary uneasiness to thehearts of both Bora and of his imperial patron, the Czar.
Paul followed his conductress to the sacristy, where he found Barbaraattended by her ladies, who had divested her of her heavy coronationrobes. The pure white of her silk dress was not whiter than her faceat that moment.
At a sign from the princess the attendants withdrew, leaving her alonewith Paul.
"What a pity," murmured one, "if so handsome a hero should die!"
Barbara rose to her feet, but so great was her emotion that she wouldhave fallen, had not Paul caught her in his arms, where she reclined,clinging convulsively to him.
"Oh! Paul, Paul," she murmured, and for a long time she could do nomore than repeat his name.
The sweetness and the pain at her heart! Was this a meeting or aparting? Her throne, her power, her wealth, her triumphs in thediplomacy and the Diet were all as nothing in comparison with her loveof Paul. He was her dearest possession, and yet--and yet--this claspof his arms might be the last! Within an hour his corpse might becarried out of the cathedral, and the voice of the Czar would proclaimher downfall, and the accession of Bora. And what would life bewithout Paul?
"Do not weep, Barbara," he cried, tenderly stroking her dark hair."This day shall prove the brightest of your life."
But Barbara failed to see how this could be. To her it would everremain as the most wretched, for even if she should triumph over Czarand duke, that would not remove the reproach of illegitimacy publiclycast in her teeth. She shivered at the recollection. Of all theincidents which had happened that day, this--the imputed stain on herbirth--had most wounded her pride. Would she ever be able to disprovethe charge? But it was not the time to be thinking of this now.
"Oh! Paul," she murmured, "it is selfish, it is wrong of me to hazardyour life in this barbarous fashion."
"It is too late to plead now," he answered gravely. "I have publiclyaccepted the honor--for an honor it is--of acting as the princess'schampion, and not even Barbara herself shall dissuade me to withdraw."
"But are you certain, quite certain, that you will be victorious?"
"Try me," said Paul grimly.
"How can I let you do this?" she cried in an outburst of anguish. "Iwill resign my crown. We will go away together to some other landwhere happiness may be found. Say 'yes' to this. Oh, Paul,don't--_don't_ fight. If you should fall--"
"No fear of that, since your throne depends upon the issue."
"My throne!" repeated Barbara bitterly. "What pleasure can it give menow? The Czar has learned that our Charter is no more. He claimsCzernova as part of his empire. If I should continue to rule I mustrule merely as his vassal. Consider the humiliations to which I shallbe subjected. Is it worth while risking your life in order to preservefor me a gilded mockery of power?"
How could Paul smile at the prospect presented by her words? Yet hedid, pleasantly and tenderly.
"Sweet princess!" he said, "for princess you are, and princess youshall remain, take courage." He turned her beautiful face upward tohis own, and gazed into the depth of her dark eyes, on whose silkenlashes the tear-drops glittered. "During my absence I have worked forthe good of Czernova. I have splendid tidings for you. Fear no morethe machinations of Russia. From this day forth you are firmly seatedupon the throne."
The sudden and unaccountable joy that filled Barbara's heart at thatmoment almost effaced the thought of the coming duel.
"Oh, Paul, what--what do you mean?"
"That I have accomplished my mission. But ere explaining let me firstdispose of the duke; otherwise when the great news which is now onits way reaches Slavowitz, he may seek to escape in the train of theCzar, which must not be, for Trevisa's death calls for atonement."
Though full of wonder, Barbara succeeded in repressing her curiosity,and said,--
"Paul, you do not wish me to be a witness of this duel? I mean," sheadded timidly, "if you think that--that--"
"That I shall fight with better success if you are looking on? No,Barbara, it is no sight for your gentle eyes. Remain here till it isover. And do not fear for me," he continued, kissing her tearful face,"I am more than a match for the duke. From boyhood upward to excel insword-play has been my ambition. Rarely have I let a day pass withoutexercise. I can see now that Providence has been training my arm forthis very event."
His words inspired Barbara with a momentary confidence.
"You will succeed, Paul. Heaven will help you, for you fight in arighteous cause. Oh, are you going? So soon? Why, we have but justmet. Not yet--not yet. A minute longer--one more kiss--lest--lest--itshould be--the last--O Paul--don't go--no--no--"
He kissed her tenderly, gently removed her clinging arms, and quittedthe sacristy.
The Duke of Bora, who was sitting beside his great kinsman, the Czar,scowled as Paul made his appearance in the choir. The dullestimagination could picture the tender interview that had taken place inthe sacristy. All knew that Paul had come to the combat with Barbara'skiss dewy on his lips.
"But for yon fellow," muttered Bora, "I might now be the consort ofthe princess."
"The fair lady loves power," replied the emperor. "She may yet consentwhen she sees the crown on your brow. See,
the herald summons you. Now,Bora, play the man, and you are prince by the law of Czernova itself.All Europe will be unable to dispute the legality of your title."
The two duellists did not immediately take to the sword and engage.The coronation-rubric prescribed certain formalities--relics of amediaeval usage--in connection with the championing of the sovereign;and these a herald, dressed in the quaint antique costume of hisoffice, proceeded to carry out.
"Let the champions come forward."
Paul, with a smile serene and high, stepped to the appointed place,namely, the space fronting the choir. Sand had been sprinkled upon thepavement to absorb the blood that might be shed, and to prevent thecombatants' feet from slipping.
Bora with a scowling brow faced his opponent.
"Do you, Paul Cressingham Woodville, affirm that she who calls herselfBarbara Lilieska is the true and lawful ruler of this principality ofCzernova?"
"I do."
"And do you, John Lilieski, affirm that you yourself are the true andlawful ruler of this principality of Czernova?"
"I do."
"And to prove your respective contentions, are you each willing tosubmit to the ordeal of battle?"
The champions signified their assent.
The herald then proceeded to explain the conditions that were toregulate the combat. Swords of a certain length were to be the weaponsused. From beginning to end the duel was to be continuous without anyinterval for rest or refreshment. Each was to fight till his opponentshould be destroyed, for quarter was neither to be given nor accepted,and though the life-blood were being drained from the combatants thewounds were not to be stanched.
By a solemn oath repeated after the herald, each champion boundhimself to observe these regulations. Hence it was certain that one,possibly both, would not leave the cathedral alive, a fact whichimparted a terrible interest to the coming combat.
"No quarter! that's a good rule," remarked Zabern to Katina, who satbeside him. "The craven duke would be begging for his life, and wewant no more Boras in Czernova."
"The champions will now take their position for the combat," cried theherald.
The duellist when hard pressed is apt to give way before his opponent.In the present case, however, advance or retreat, save within verynarrow limits, was rendered impossible.
Fixed in the stone flooring was a ring of brass designed for raising aslab that covered a stairway leading to a crypt below. The right ankleof each combatant was attached to this same ring by a strong cord sixfeet in length, thus confining their movements within a circle of fouryards in diameter.
These preparations raised the interest of the spectators to a highpitch. A dreadful sensation thrilled the ladies present as theywatched the champions during the process of cording; the men, morecool and critical, strove to predict the victor from the physiquepresented by each of the opponents.
Judged thus, the advantage seemed to be on the side of the duke, whoseframe was powerful and massive; Paul was not equal in stature to hisantagonist, was of more slender build, and any superiority derivablefrom his greater activity was somewhat nullified by the restrainingcord.
The circumstances attending this combat contributed to render itunique in the annals of Czernovese duelling.
The one champion, Bora, stimulated by the presence of his imperialpatron, the mighty Czar, fought to gain a crown; the other, Paul, forthe hand of a fair princess. There was a coloring of romance about theaffair strongly suggestive of the days of chivalry, and this wasenhanced by the quaint character of the ritual employed.
Each of the Czernovese factions was confident of the success of itschampion. The Muscovites boasted of the duke's thirty duels, from allof which he had emerged victorious without taking a wound. The Poleshad no such record to show on behalf of their champion; his brilliantfeat in the _salle d'armes_ was unknown to them, but they had markedZabern while Paul was lifting the duke's glove, and they felt that themarshal must have had good cause for the grim joy that had appeared onhis face. Moreover, Paul's gallant defence of Tajapore was still freshin their minds; his triumph over the Czar's policy in the East was anaugury of a similar triumph in the West, and contributed to give apiquant zest to the coming duel. At any rate, his cold, flashing eye,compressed lips and resolute mien showed that he was a dangerousopponent.
As soon as Paul had removed his coat and vest the herald placed hishand beneath his shirt.
"To ascertain whether you wear an under-tunic of mail," he explainedin answer to Paul's look of surprise.
"Do you deem me a person of so little honor?"
"This scrutiny is so enjoined by the rubric," remarked the herald, ashe subjected Bora to the same inspection.
The weapons next occupied the herald's attention.
The duke had come prepared for the contest, and hence his blade was ofthe length prescribed by the statute; Paul's sword fell short of thisby two inches, and though he much preferred to fight with his ownweapon, the herald would not permit him to do so.
"My blade is of the requisite length," said Zabern, "and I can warrantit tried steel. Take it; you will make it historic. It has alreadyshed the blood of a cardinal; why not that of a duke? There will be asort of poetic justice in despatching the princess's two enemies withthe same weapon."
"You seem very confident, marshal," sneered Bora.
"Very confident, your grace. You see there's no princess to intervenethis time."
The herald having tested the length and flexibility of Zabern's swordreturned it to the marshal, saying, as he did so,--
"Pierce your skin with the point."
Zabern instantly pricked the palm of his hand till the blood flowed,while the duke did the like with his own weapon.
The puzzled Paul looked inquiringly at Zabern, who explained that itwas an old usage in Czernova, adopted as a precaution against poisonedblades.
The two combatants were now bidden to stand as far apart as the cordswould permit, and each after kissing his blade held it verticallyaloft, repeating after the herald the following oath,--
"Hear, O ye people, that I have this day neither eaten nor drunkaught, nor have I upon my person either charm or amulet, nor have Ipractised any enchantment or sorcery, whereby the law of Heaven may beabased, or the law of Satan be exalted. So help me God and Hissaints!"
Very absurd and mediaeval, no doubt, but being a part of the ancientritual its enunciation was required from each champion.
The news of the coming duel had been announced to the populacewithout, and their cries of excitement contrasted strangely with thedeadly stillness that reigned within the interior of the fane.
Upon that part of the cathedral roof that overlooked the square, agroup of soldiers could be seen standing about a flag-staff, at thefoot of which were two banners, one white, the other black. The eyesof all the people below were set upon this flag-staff, when it becameknown that the hoisting of the white standard would signify thetriumph of the princess's champion, and the black standard his defeat.
The time for the great contest had now come, and the herald steppedbackward a few paces.
"May Heaven defend the right! In the name of God--fight!"
As the blades clashed together the spectators drew a deep breath. Thetime occupied by the preliminaries, though in reality very brief, hadseemed so long that the beginning of the duel came as an actualrelief.
A shiver of expectancy ran around the cathedral. Five thousand pairsof eyes were riveted upon the choir, and upon naught else. Theloveliest lady present might have sighed in vain for a single glance.
Abbot Faustus had sunk upon his knees by the altar, and was nowtelling his beads, but though his spiritual eyes might be directedtowards heaven, his earthly vision was certainly fixed upon the twocombatants, as Katina observed to Zabern.
"Well, he can cite Moses as a precedent," remarked the marshal, as hesat down to watch the fray. Loving a good fight, Zabern viewed thepresent spectacle with a real sense of enjoyment, untroubled by anydoubt as to the result.<
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The Czar, with his strong liking for everything military, was likewisein his element. He sat, bent forward, resting the point of his sabreupon the pavement, and his hands upon the hilt, prepared to view thedisplay of swordsmanship with the critical eye of a _maitre d'armes_,as confident in the triumph of Bora as Zabern was in that of Paul.
The Duke of Bora, burning to distinguish himself in the presence ofthe Czar, and apparently desirous of terminating the combat in theshortest space of time possible, made so furious an attack upon Paulthat the latter could do no more than remain on the defensive. Soweighty was the descent of Bora's blade that Paul's arm tingled ateach shock; so swift his tierce that his sabre-point was often sweptaside when within an inch only of Paul's breast. In truth the eyecould scarcely follow the movement of the blades, which in theirrapidity resembled flashes of light, rather than pieces of steelwielded by human hands.
The duke pressed his adversary yet harder, compelling him to recedeinch by inch to the end of his tether, a retrogression which, added tothe fact that Paul did not return the cut and thrust of his opponent,occasioned grave misgiving in the minds of the Polish spectators.
"Our champion has degenerated since the day he surprised us in the_salle d'armes_," murmured the premier in alarm.
"Bah! my good Radzivil," returned Zabern confidently, "cannot you seethat he is letting the duke exhaust himself? Bora is rash in thuspouring out his strength like water. This is too violent to last long.Ah! said I not so? First blood to us!"
The duke had failed to preserve his guard, and as a result Paul'sweapon had penetrated his side to the depth of a quarter of an inch, afeat performed with such quickness that though all were watching, fewperceived it.
"The duke is wounded."
"He is not."
Doubt vanished with the appearance on Bora's white shirt of a smallred disk that began slowly to expand.
Zabern smiled grimly at the bewilderment of the duke, whose airresembled that of a bull in the Spanish arena when first pierced bythe dart of the banderillero--the air of amazement as to how the thingcould have happened, mingled with incredulity that any one shouldhave ventured to play such a trick upon him.
This was the first wound ever received by him in his character asduellist, and the blow thus given to his prestige stung the duke farmore than the mere physical pain caused by the stab. Its occurrence,however, at this stage was timely, for it served to check his fieryconceit and to teach him caution; it behoved him to guard as well asto assail.
Paul's vigilance in detecting an error on his adversary's part raisedthe spirit of the Poles to a high degree, while the feeling of theMuscovites underwent a corresponding depression.
"Good for the Englishman," cried a Pole.
"He is the duke's match," exclaimed a second.
The combat being now waged with more caution on the part of the duke,there ensued a really brilliant display of swordsmanship, which,interesting to the civilians, was far more so to the military officerspresent, from whom came subdued murmurs of admiration.
"Humph!" said Zabern, conscious that the duke was now in his bestform. "The great Napoleon, with whom I once dined, made remark to me,'Scratch a Russ, and you will find a Tartar.' In the present instance,however, the scratch seems to have made our Russ more cool."
The Czar, who had overheard these words, so far permitted hiscuriosity to overcome his dislike of Zabern as to ask coldly,--
"Where did you dine with Napoleon?"
"Beneath the roof of the Kremlin, sire," replied Zabern, with anironical salute.
The emperor repressed his wrath, and turned again to view the strife.
Every movement of the blades was watched in fear and trembling by thePolish spectators, who felt that it was a fight betwixt liberty anddespotism; a mortal thrust on the part of the duke would leave thembut a shadow of that freedom which they had enjoyed under the _regime_of the princess.
Many of the ladies present, unable to endure the sight, averted theireyes, and then, impelled by a dreadful curiosity, turned to gazeagain. Some looked on with handkerchiefs pressed to their mouths tocheck the screams which might have disconcerted the combatants.Intense emotion caused a few to swoon away.
The tide seemed to be turning in favor of Paul. He began to press theduke, whose strength was beginning to fail. Mighty in a first onset,he lacked the steady endurance of his adversary. Suddenly, whilebending sideways to avoid a thrust which he had failed to parry, Boralost his balance and fell. In falling, his sword flew from his hand.
And there he was, resting upon one knee, defenceless, at the mercy ofhis opponent.
The spirit of chivalry restrained Paul from giving the fatal stroke.
"I cannot slay an unarmed man," he said.
"What folly is this?" cried Zabern, starting up in wrath. "Did hespare Trevisa? Would he spare you if you were now in his place? Thisis no time for generosity or mercy. The princess's throne is at stake.Strike and spare not."
Bora neither moved nor spoke, awaiting his end in trembling terror.Paul's refusal to strike evoked the long-suppressed feelings of thePoles.
"Kill! kill!"
The lofty arches rang with excited cries. Even tender ladies, carriedaway by the heat of the moment, added their voices to those of themen. Paul, looking around upon the assembly, saw nothing but a forestof waving hands, and a multitude of fierce-gleaming eyes urging him tothe bloody work.
"No quarter can be granted," said the herald. "You have each sworn anoath to slay, or be slain."
But inasmuch as Paul was not to be moved from his purpose, there wasno other course left than to permit the duke to resume the combat.
"You have given him time to recover himself," grumbled Zabern, as hesat down again. "It is a violation of the rules."
During his discomfiture, Bora had glanced more than once at the Czar,as if supplicating his intervention. But the emperor sat impassive asa statue, ignoring the silent appeal. Relying on the duke's boastfulassurances of victory, Nicholas had assented to the policy of the duelas a convenient and constitutional way of deposing the princess. Itnow seemed that this plan would fail. Then let the duke pay thepenalty merited by his presumption. Woe to the man who deceives theCzar! Bora's heart sank within him at sight of the emperor's coldface.
The contest now entered upon its last, its fatal phase.
Equality had disappeared between the two champions; the duel wasvirtually over; the result known to all present; it was merely aquestion of time.
And the person most conscious of this was the duke himself. Hisconfident swagger had vanished. He was fighting now, not for glory ora throne, but for dear life itself.
He made no attempt to assail Paul. Why should he? He could do no morethan he had done. He had tried again and again to reach his adversary,and with graceful ease Paul had parried each cut and tierce. He couldescape death only by some negligence on the part of his opponent, butthat opponent was too keen to be caught erring.
Little by little Bora was forced backwards, till at last furtherretreat was rendered impossible by the cord attached to his ankle; yetfarther back he must go if he must avoid that sabre-point, which,swift and deadly as the tongue of a serpent, glittered continuallywithin an inch of his face and breast.
His strength was ebbing fast; his arm had grown completely wearied bythe constant parrying; he longed to throw away his weapon and cry formercy; but for the restraining cord he would have cast himself at thefeet of the Czar to implore his intervention. The despair pictured onhis face produced a painful feeling among the more sensitive portionof the spectators.
With vision continually blurred by the great drops of sweat that hungfrom his eyebrows, the duke struggled on, till at last came the end.
Tempted from his defensive Bora made a sudden thrust, and hissabre-point entered a tiny orifice in the ornamental work that formedthe cross-guard of Paul's sword. Lunging with wild vehemence, Bora wasunable to check his impetus, and the result was that the blade of hisweapon instantaneously curv
ed upwards with such force as to snap intwo, while at the same moment Paul's sabre, darting forwardhorizontally, entered the duke's breast, and passed out under his leftshoulder.
Bora's arms flew aloft with a convulsive jerk; the fragment of hisblade dropped with a ringing sound upon the pavement; he gave astrange gasping sigh, and then his body slid from Paul's blade and layon the floor in a huddled heap.
"Now, I call that a very pretty fight," remarked Zabern.
A long shout of triumph arose from the Poles, followed a few secondslater by a tremendous roaring from the populace outside, as the whitestandard flew up the flagstaff, announcing the victory of theprincess's champion.
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