by Oscar Wilde
“As a gentleman, with my sword.”
“Swords! Oh, nonsense! nobody fights with swords now-a-days. That’s all exploded.”
“I cling to the customs and the fashions of my youth,” said Varney. “I have been, years ago, accustomed always to wear a sword, and to be without one now vexes me.”
“Pray, how many years ago?”
“I am older than I look, but that is not the question. I am willing to meet you with swords if you like. You are no doubt aware that, as the challenged party, I am entitled to the choice of weapons.”
“I am.”
“Then you cannot object to my availing myself of the one in the use of which I am perfectly unequalled.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes, I am, I think, the first swordsman in Europe; I have had immense practice.”
“Well, sir, you have certainly made a most unexpected choice of weapons. I can use a sword still, but am by no means a master of fencing. However, it shall not be said that I went back from my word, and let the chances be as desperate as they may, I will meet you.”
“Very good.”
“With swords?”
“Ay, with swords; but I must have everything properly arranged, so that no blame can rest on me, you know. As you will be killed, you are safe from all consequences, but I shall be in a very different position; so, if you please, I must have this meeting got up in such a manner as shall enable me to prove, to whoever may question me on the subject, that you had fair play.”
“Oh, never fear that.”
“But I do fear it. The world, my good sir, is censorious, and you cannot stop people from saying extremely ill-natured things.”
“What do you require, then?”
“I require you to send me a friend with a formal challenge.”
“Well?”
“Then I shall refer him to a friend of mine, and they two must settle everything between them.”
“Is that all?”
“Not quite. I will have a surgeon on the ground, in case, when I pink you, there should be a chance of saving your life. It always looks humane.”
“When you pink me?”
“Precisely.”
“Upon my word, you take these affairs easy. I suppose you have had a few of them?”
“Oh, a good number. People like yourself worry me into them, I don’t like the trouble, I assure you; it is no amusement to me. I would rather, by a great deal, make some concession than fight, because I will fight with swords, and the result is then so certain that there is no danger in the matter to me.”
“Hark you, Sir Francis Varney. You are either a very clever actor, or a man, as you say, of such skill with your sword, that you can make sure of the result of a duel. You know, therefore, that it is not fair play on your part to fight a duel with that weapon.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon there. I never challenge anybody, and when foolish people will call me out, contrary to my inclination, I think I am bound to take what care of myself I can.”
“Damn me, there’s some reason in that, too,” said the admiral; “but why do you insult people?”
“People insult me first.”
“Oh, nonsense!”
“How should you like to be called a vampire, and stared at as if you were some hideous natural phenomenon?”
“Well, but—”
“I say, Admiral Bell, how should you like it? I am a harmless country gentleman, and because, in the heated imaginations of some member of a crack-brained family, some housebreaker has been converted into a vampire, I am to be pitched upon as the man, and insulted and persecuted accordingly.”
“But you forget the proofs.”
“What proofs?”
“The portrait, for one.”
“What! Because there is an accidental likeness between me and an old picture, am I to be set down as a vampire? Why, when I was in Austria last, I saw an old portrait of a celebrated court fool, and you so strongly resemble it, that I was quite struck when I first saw you with the likeness; but I was not so unpolite as to tell you that I considered you were the court fool turned vampire.”
“Damn your assurance!”
“And damn yours, if you come to that.”
The admiral was fairly beaten. Sir Francis Varney was by far too long-headed and witty for him. After now in vain endeavouring to find something to say, the old man buttoned up his coat in a great passion, and looking fiercely at Varney, he said—“I don’t pretend to a gift of the gab. Damn me, it ain’t one of my peculiarities; but though you may talk me down, you sha’n’t keep me down.”
“Very good, sir.”
“It is not very good. You shall hear from me.”
“I am willing.”
“I don’t care whether you are willing or not. You shall find that when once I begin to tackle an enemy, I don’t so easily leave him. One or both of us, sir, is sure to sink.”
“Agreed.”
“So say I. You shall find that I’m a tar for all weathers, and if you were a hundred and fifty vampires all rolled into one, I’d tackle you somehow.”
The admiral walked to the door in high dudgeon; when he was near to it, Varney said, in some of his most winning and gentle accents—
“Will you not take some refreshment, sir before you go from my humble house?”
“No!” roared the admiral.
“Something cooling?”
“No!”
“Very good, sir. A hospitable host can do no more than offer to entertain his guests.”
Admiral Bell turned at the door, and said, with some degree of intense bitterness,
“You look rather poorly. I suppose, tonight, you will go and suck somebody’s blood, you shark—you confounded vampire! You ought to be made to swallow a red-hot brick, and then let dance about till it digests.”
Varney smiled as he rang the bell, and said to a servant—
“Show my very excellent friend Admiral Bell out. He will not take any refreshments.”
The servant bowed, and preceded the admiral down the staircase; but, to his great surprise, instead of a compliment in the shape of a shilling or half-a-crown for his pains, he received a tremendous kick behind, with a request to go and take it to his master, with his compliments.
The fume that the old admiral was in beggars all description. He walked to Bannerworth Hall at such a rapid pace, that Jack Pringle had the greatest difficulty in the world to keep up with him, so as to be at all within speaking distance.
“Hilloa, Jack,” cried the old man, when they were close to the Hall. “Did you see me kick that fellow?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Well, that’s some consolation, at any rate, if somebody saw it. It ought to have been his master, that’s all I can say to it, and I wish it had.”
“How have you settled it, sir?”
“Settled what?”
“The fight, sir.”
“Damn me, Jack, I haven’t settled it at all.”
“That’s bad, sir.”
“I know it is; but it shall be settled for all that, I can tell him, let him vapour as much as he may about pinking me, and one thing and another.”
“Pinking you, sir?”
“Yes. He wants to fight with cutlasses, or toasting-forks, damn me, I don’t know exactly which, and then he must have a surgeon on the ground, for fear when he pinks me I shouldn’t slip my cable in a regular way, and he should be blamed.”
Jack gave a long whistle, as he replied—
“Going to do it, sir?”
“I don’t know now what I’m going to do. Mind, Jack, mum is the word.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“I’ll turn the matter over in my mind, and then decide upon what had best be done. If he pinks me, I’ll take damned good care he don’t
pink Charles.”
“No, sir, don’t let him do that. A wamphigher, sir, ain’t no good opponent to anybody. I never seed one afore, but it strikes me as the best way to settle him, would be to shut him up in some little bit of a cabin, and then smoke him with brimstone, sir.”
“Well, well, I’ll consider, Jack, I’ll consider. Something must be done, and that quickly too. Zounds, here’s Charles—what the deuce shall I say to him, by way of an excuse, I wonder, for not arranging his affair with Varney? Hang me, if I ain’t taken aback now, and don’t know where to place a hand.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE LETTER TO CHARLES.—THE QUARREL.—THE ADMIRAL’S NARRATIVE.—THE MIDNIGHT MEETING.
It was Charles Holland who now advanced hurriedly to meet the admiral. The young man’s manner was anxious. He was evidently most intent upon knowing what answer could be sent by Sir Francis Varney to his challenge.
“Uncle,” he said, “tell me at once, will he meet me? You can talk of particulars afterwards, but now tell me at once if he will meet me?”
“Why, as to that,” said the admiral, with a great deal of fidgetty hesitation, “you see, I can’t exactly say.”
“Not say!”
“No. He’s a very odd fish. Don’t you think he’s a very odd fish, Jack Pringle’?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“There, you hear, Charles, that Jack is of my opinion that your opponent is an odd fish.”
“But, uncle, why trifle with my impatience thus? Have you seen Sir Francis Varney?”
“Seen him. Oh, yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“Why, to tell the truth, my lad, I advise you not to fight with him at all.”
“Uncle, is this like you? This advice from you, to compromise my honour, after sending a man a challenge?”
“Damn it all, Jack, I don’t know how to get out of it,” said the admiral. “I tell you what it is, Charles, he wants to fight with swords; and what on earth is the use of your engaging with a fellow who has been practising at his weapon for more than a hundred years?”
“Well, uncle, if any one had told me that you would be terrified by this Sir Francis Varney into advising me not to fight, I should have had no hesitation whatever in saying such a thing was impossible.”
“I terrified?”
“Why, you advise me not to meet this man, even after I have challenged him.”
“Jack,” said the admiral, “I can’t carry it on, you see. I never could go on with anything that was not as plain as an anchor, and quite straightforward. I must just tell all that has occurred.”
“Ay, ay, sir. The best way.”
“You think so, Jack?”
“I know it is, sir, always axing pardon for having a opinion at all, excepting when it happens to be the same as yourn, sir.”
“Hold your tongue, you libellous villain! Now, listen to me, Charles. I got up a scheme of my own.”
Charles gave a groan, for he had a very tolerable appreciation of his uncle’s amount of skill in getting up a scheme of any kind or description.
“Now here am I,” continued the admiral, “an old hulk, and not fit for use anymore. What’s the use of me, I should like to know? Well, that’s settled. But you are young and hearty, and have a long life before you. Why should you throw away your life upon a lubberly vampire?”
“I begin to perceive now, uncle,” said Charles, reproachfully, “why you, with such apparent readiness, agreed to this duel taking place.”
“Well, I intended to fight the fellow myself, that’s the long and short of it, boy.”
“How could you treat me so?”
“No nonsense, Charles. I tell you it was all in the family. I intended to fight him myself. What was the odds whether I slipped my cable with his assistance, or in the regular course a little after this? That’s the way to argufy the subject; so, as I tell you, I made up my mind to fight him myself.”
Charles looked despairingly, but said—
“What was the result?”
“Oh, the result! damn me, I suppose that’s to come. The vagabond won’t fight like a Christian. He says he’s quite willing to fight anybody that calls him out, provided it’s all regular.”
“Well—well.”
“And he, being the party challenged—for he says he never himself challenges anybody, as he is quite tired of it—must have his choice of weapons.”
“He is entitled to that; but it is generally understood now-a-days that pistols are the weapons in use among gentlemen for such purposes.”
“Ah, but he won’t understand any such thing, I tell you. He will fight with swords.”
“I suppose he is, then, an adept at the use of the sword?”
“He says he is.”
“No doubt—no doubt. I cannot blame a man for choosing, when he has the liberty of choice, that weapon in the use of which he most particularly, from practice, excels.”
“Yes; but if he be one half the swordsman he has had time enough, according to all accounts, to be, what sort of chance have you with him?”
“Do I hear you reasoning thus?”
“Yes, to be sure you do. I have turned wonderfully prudent, you see: so I mean to fight him myself, and mind, now, you have nothing whatever to do with it.”
“An effort of prudence that, certainly.”
“Well, didn’t I say so?”
“Come—come, uncle, this won’t do. I have challenged Sir Francis Varney, and I must meet him with any weapon he may, as the challenged party, choose to select. Besides, you are not, I dare say, aware that I am a very good fencer, and probably stand as fair a chance as Varney in a contest with swords.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, uncle. I could not be so long on the continent as I have been without picking up a good knowledge of the sword, which is so popular all over Germany.”
“Humph! but only consider, this damned fellow is no less than a hundred and fifty years old.”
“I care not.”
“Yes, but I do.”
“Uncle, uncle, I tell you I will fight with him; and if you do not arrange matters for me so that I can have the meeting with this man, which I have myself sought, and cannot, even if I wished, now recede from with honour, I must seek some other less scrupulous friend to do so.”
“Give me an hour or two to think of it, Charles,” said the admiral. “Don’t speak to any one else, but give me a little time. You shall have no cause of complaint. Your honour cannot suffer in my hands.”
“I will wait your leisure, uncle; but remember that such affairs as these, when once broached, had always better be concluded with all convenient dispatch.”
“I know that, boy—I know that.”
The admiral walked away, and Charles, who really felt much fretted at the delay which had taken place, returned to the house.
He had not been there long, when a lad, who had been temporarily hired during the morning by Henry to answer the gate, brought him a note, saying—
“A servant, sir, left this for you just now.”
“For me?” said Charles, as he glanced at the direction. “This is strange, for I have no acquaintance about here. Does any one wait?”
“No, sir.”
The note was properly directed to him, therefore Charles Holland at once opened it. A glance at the bottom of the page told him that it came from his enemy, Sir Francis Varney, and then he read it with much eagerness. It ran thus:—
“SIR—
“Your uncle, as he stated himself to be, Admiral Bell, was the bearer to me, as I understood him this day, of a challenge from you. Owing to some unaccountable hallucination of intellect, he seemed to imagine that I intended to set myself up as a sort of animated target, for any one to shoot at who might have a fancy so to do.
“Accordi
ng to this eccentric view of the case, the admiral had the kindness to offer to fight me first, when, should he not have the good fortune to put me out of the world, you were to try your skill, doubtless.
“I need scarcely say that I object to these family arrangements. You have challenged me, and, fancying the offence sufficient, you defy me to mortal combat. If, therefore, I fight with any one at all, it must be with you.
“You will clearly understand me, sir, that I do not accuse you of being at all party to this freak of intellect of your uncle’s. He, no doubt, alone conceived it, with a laudable desire on his part of serving you. If, however, to meet me, do so tonight, in the middle of the park surrounding your own friends estate.
“There is a pollard oak growing close to a small pool; you, no doubt, have noticed the spot often. Meet me there, if you please, and any satisfaction you like I will give you, at twelve o’clock this night.
“Come alone, or you will not see me. It shall be at your own option entirely, to convert the meeting into a hostile one or not. You need send me no answer to this. If you are at the place I mention at the time I have named, well and good. If you an not, I can only, if I please, imagine that you shrink from a meeting with
“FRANCIS VARNEY.”
Charles Holland read this letter twice over carefully, and then folding it up, and placing it in his pocket, he said—
“Yes, I will meet him; he may be assured that I will meet him. He shall find that I do not shrink from Francis Varney In the name of honour, love, virtue, and Heaven, I will meet this man, and it shall go hard with me but I will this night wring from him the secret of what he really is. For the sake of her who is so dear to me—for her sake, I will meet this man, or monster, be he what he may.”
It would have been far more prudent had Charles informed Henry Bannerworth or George of his determination to meet the vampire that evening, but he did not do so. Somehow he fancied it would be some reproach against his courage if he did not go, and go alone, too, for he could not help suspecting that, from the conduct of his uncle, Sir Francis Varney might have got up an opinion inimical to his courage.
With all the eager excitement of youth, there was nothing that arrayed itself to his mind in such melancholy and uncomfortable colours as an imputation upon his courage.