# Artabanzanus/Chapter 15

CHAPTER XV.
THE DUEL.
My hopes of being soon released from that detestable city without a stain on my character; of leaving its barbarous ihabitants full of sadness at my departure, and lost in admiration of my exalted and multitudinous virtues, which it was not possible for them to emulate; of being able, by one of those sudden and unaccountable fortuitous events which sometimes, to our intense astonishment, change the fate of individuals and of nations, to help my valued and beloved friend Doctor Julius to effect his escape also, were now scattered by one tremendous convulsion to the four winds of heaven. I solemnly cursed my evil genius a thousand times for having led or driven me into that fearful Demon's palace again, and exposed me once more to the dangerous fascinations of the bewitching Bellagranda. Had I only been content to sit still in the Doctor's room, or amuse and delight myself with the history of his angelic Helen, this awful contretemps could not have happened. I was now doomed to fight a brutal, perhaps a bloody duel, will, no less a personage than the renowned Minister for Foreign Affairs, the fiery and vindictive Sir Dashmy Partigan. The possibility of my killing, or even wounding him, never once entered my head. Could I do so, and ​actually did so, would not the Doctor and I be immediately sacrificed to the revengeful fury of the Parliament and the people? If he killed me! Oh, heartrending, maddening thought! to die in that place, and perhaps be kept there for ever—never to see my darlings again!
'Were you mad?' said the Doctor angrily, as we drove back to the hospital with the speed of lightning. 'Would nothing serve you but to grossly insult that powerful Parliament, and run me into all this trouble and danger, and your own head into the mouth of a roaring, ravening lion? Who are you that you must go and condemn Home Rule in Ireland? And you must forsooth go and do battle for your immaculate Great Lake, and abuse their glorious project of building their grand city round it, as if your confounded Great Lake was only worthy to be looked upon by your own divine angels in petticoats and breeches. I tell you what, Ubertus, you have brought me and yourself into a most disastrous and horrible scrape, and I only wish I could see our way well out of it. Partigan never misses his aim, and is an implacable fire-eater besides; he will demand twenty shots if necessary.'
'Shall we fight with pistols, Doctor?'
'Pistols, no; what are pistols? Partigan snaps his fingers at pistols.'
'You mentioned shots—rifles?'
'No.'
'Well, swords or bayonets?'
'No; do swords or bayonets shoot, you jackass?'
'With what weapons, then, sir?'
'With magazine blunderbusses! Get on horses!'
I laughed uneasily, and said timidly, while affecting the greatest indifference:
'Don't you think, Doctor, that I gave them a pretty telling speech? I mean, don't you think, that if they were ​a lot of pins stuck up, and I stood before them with a bowl in my hand, they would have all gone down?'
'No doubt of it,' he replied with a laugh; 'you want a compliment, and shall have one. Your speech was telling enough, as the coachman said to the pig, after he had cut his ear off with the lash of his whip. If I had your talents, wit, and eloquence, Ubertus, I'd lose no time. I'd get into your Parliament above-ground, and I'd soon be at the top of the tree. Your great orator would be forced to acknowledge that he had at last heard of his match.'
We rattled on; our horses exhibited no signs of fatigue, but tore along at a tremendous pace. Their driver, the Doctor himself, only chirrupped to them now and then, and took no further notice. He gave me the benefit of some of his hoarded wisdom while we were upon the road, and spoke, as nearly as I can remember, to the following purport:
'Lo, and behold! Isn't it something rich to meditate upon? We were nearly out of this cursed hole, you and I and the Emperor of Demons together, and all my dreams of glory, and fond anticipations of eternal love and joy with God and Helen—mark you that—are smashed to pieces as by the crash of a mighty tornado. You are not yet eighty years old, and you say you are an old man: perhaps you are in your dotage. I call you a young man, but you are not too young to have some sound sense, and be above the helpless condition of a child, nor too poorly educated to be deficient in the good qualities of prudence and forethought. Do not be too down-hearted, my young friend; I have no desire to sit upon you too heavily. I hate extremes as much as any man; nearly all man's misery is owing to his incurable propensity to go to extremes. The foolish word of a single moment will blot out for ever the noble thoughts and deeds of a lifetime, and the act done in ​a few minutes can bring in its train remorse and unhappiness that may last as long as reason and memory remain. Study carefully your fellow-creatures and yourself, and judge their feelings by your own. Man is a proud creature, and, to do him justice, he has some reason for his pride. Look at his genius, and even his minor talents. What wonderful works have been raised up by the architects of antiquity; what beautiful images have been carved from rude blocks of stone! what glorious thoughts, and noble creations, have been bequeathed to us by men like Homer and Æschylus, Shakespeare and Milton! And all these things, and other things—astonishing, innumerable, and almost incredible—done by a weak and insignificant creature who, one would think, in order to enable him to contend with the elements of Nature, as I think you have hinted, ought to have been made of the toughest iron. Yet, in the extremity of his pride, he becomes foolish. He presumes to think be is enrolled in the highest rank of living beings; he hardly stays to inquire who placed him in that rank. His philosophy is, in his own opinion, true and infallible; his religion—whatever religion he boasts of—the only right one; and his power and his cleverness almost supreme. He forgets that he is only an ephemeral creature. Sometimes, as we all know, he degenerates—although he may be polished, educated, civilized—into a debased and brutal being. What of all this, you will ask; you knew it before; you, at least, are no fool' (he had called me one, though, more than once); 'you have read multitudes of books, and heard lectures and sermons galore, and been taken to task by smooth-faced hypocrites and bullying tyrants. What do you think of the situation, eh?'
'I am overwhelmed with sorrow, Doctor,' I replied, 'that my imprudence and defiant thoughtlessness should have led us into this awful scrape. It is, indeed, a dreadful ​misfortune to us, and it comes at a time when we were about to be delivered from our prison, for I cannot give up the hope and belief that you will be able to come with us. I was wrong, I know, and very much clouded and confused, The only way I can see out of the difficulty is to apologize, and, whatever may be my inward feelings, I am quite willing to do it.'
'Chirrup! chirrup! get on, my pets; there is plenty to do, and little time for it! No, my good friend, you must not apologize. I am not a bloodthirsty man—thank God, I am not a hopeless demon yet—not a lost soul, I fully believe; but an apology to those fiends will only make them more savage and vindictive. They will now murder you in open fight; if you apologize, they will assassinate you in secret. Leave them to me, I know them well. If they are capable of respecting you at all they will do so on no other terms than those of your fighting and resisting them. Apology, indeed! why, I have met with men made more bitter by an apology, who, if you had held out firmly against them, would have slunk away like very curs—not that I object to an apology, if one does wrong, but when a man grossly insults another, and then demands an apology, it becomes as rich as Falstaff's valour. If I live here two or three years longer, I'll blow up that infernal Parliament with dynamite and rackarock. I'll be the Guy Fawkes of the whole happy family.'
'Doctor, I will not, I cannot, shed blood, even a demon's blood, if he has any. I will fold my arms, and stand before his fire.'
'Well, please yourself; he will not fire twice. I'm bound by what I said to bring you forward; when that's done, do as you like—go down on your knees and beg pardon, and listen to their howls of derision. I will tell you a short story about making an apology. I had business relations ​with a man once, a clergyman; in the course of our business we had a quarrel, because I urged him to do his duty properly, and he grossly insulted me by accusing me of falsehood. I called a meeting of those interested, at which he would not appear, and shortly afterwards received a ruffianly letter from him, demanding an instant apology, one that his solicitors would approve of, and to be published at my expense in as many newspapers as he chose to name. I did not reply, and heard nothing more of the matter. If I had sent a humble apology, he would have ruined me by advertising it.'
'You can make peace, my dear friend, and all will be well: you are powerful here. Think of what you are doing, promoting bloodshed and murder, to say nothing of malice, hatred and revenge.'
'Talk no more on that subject, Ubertus; speak of something that will change our terrible thoughts of approaching bloodshed, of something that may be efficacious in washing away the indelible impress of a demon's blood. To shed man's blood is nothing, but it requires a villain of the first water to butcher a demon—and is it possible I can be driving such a villain in my carriage? But cheer up! spin me something, while we spin along, about the metaphysical and moral philosophy of your world: I like that subject. Keep up your heart—the man who never has an enemy is begotten of milk and born of water.'
'It is a dry subject, sir, that philosophy: and an unsatisfactory one, too. It is, properly but ungrammatically speaking, two distinct subjects. The former is the science of the soul, mind, and intelligence; the latter is that of our conduct in this world, and our duties to each other. The first is, if we regard it as we ought, an attribute of the Supreme Being, with which we have nothing at all to do over and above our duty of obedience. Men have ​accountably grown into the habit of wrangling with each other on questions which they cannot answer, with arguments which they do not understand. They waste, without knowing it, their words by millions, and their paper and ink in hundreds of published volumes, in attempting to prove what for them it is impossible to prove. They jump to their own conclusions, and give us their opinions freely, and they have a right to do so, if we want them; and the believe in their hearts that the conclusions they have arrived at are true, solid, and incontrovertible. The proofs of our origin, the mysteries of our minds, and the causes of our pleasures and pains which one man will adopt are utterly contemptible in the eyes of another. The diversities of opinions on religious and metaphysical subjects are as numerous as the expressions on the features of different men. One would think they did not worship the same God, or believe in the same Redeemer. Who can make them alike? who can reconcile them? Amidst all their antagonistic clamour the dispassionate listener perceives nothing but nonsense, except in the few wise and sensible people who make their appearance from time to time, who, like our Doctor Johnson, cannot find solidity in froth, tenacity in soap-bubbles, or security in armour of spider's web.'
'Good!' said the Doctor, 'you're a wiseacre; chirrup, chump, my little diamonds, how sorry I'll be to leave you behind me! Go on, Ubertus!'
'If my remarks give you pleasure, my dear Doctor,' I continued, 'I am quite willing to go on, but as far as the concerned I had better leave off. If I should ever publish a book, and relate my wonderful adventures, this kind of philosophy will make it unsaleable. Dr. Johnson says, that when all the efforts of moral and religious writers are finished, they find that the world is just as they found ​it at first. Yet increasing knowledge and experience tell us that there are a few, perhaps many, who are rescued from the sins and frivolities of this life, and induced to look upon the great question of eternity with becoming seriousness, by reading good books. For the vast majority of nominal Christians, wealth and pleasure seekers, dress and fashion worshippers, there seems to be no hope. I do not condemn them. Elijah despaired of Israel, and thought that he alone would be saved, but God humbled him by telling him that He had reserved seven thousand men who had not bowed the knee to Baal, and whose lips had not kissed him. If, therefore, in the evil days of Ahab and Jezabel, seven thousand could be reserved, can we count those by millions who may be reserved in our days? Still it is a mad world. The masses of the people who live by their labour are beginning to know too much for their employers. They want their fair share of the wealth of the world, and therefore they strike, and revolt, and throw everything into confusion. Nine-tenths of them, if they had the share they covet, would squander it in taverns, and then abuse their employers as loudly as before. Woe to the world! Woe to the rich who hoard up their money, and who do nothing for their unfortunate fellow-creatures! Woe to the poor who, to gratify the desires, and the craving for popularity, of their pestilent, self-constituted leaders, refuse to work for fair remuneration, and let their wives and children starve! What more shall I say, Doctor? Is it not a mad world? and would it not be well if it could be blotted out of existence?'
'In that case,' said he, 'what would become of the millions yet unborn, who might be destined to be reserved for the blessed life ? But tell me something about yourself. Who are you, in the name of wonder? Are you a ​Daniel come to judgment, or a Saint John the Divine, with another Book of Revelation for us?'
'I pretend to be nothing, sir. If I am allowed to do some little good to my fellow-men, I am only the weakest and most humble of all instruments for so doing. I hate egoism and self-laudation, although I may be unconsciously guilty of it, but it may gratify you to know that I do not owe a farthing to any man, and if I have wronged any, or forgotten anything, I am willing to make all the amends in my power. I am not given to secret vices, nor am I close-fisted, or close-minded. I feel the inestimable happiness of being able to approach all men with innocence, peace, and good-will. How does that man feel who meets another whom he has cruelly robbed, or whose home he has basely dishonoured? But, for all this, I confess with shame that I am overflowing with faults. My imagination is too vivid, and my temper is choleric when suddenly thwarted and opposed in ridiculously small matters: a false accusation or a false suspicion drives me mad. I try hard to keep myself from idols: my dreams are often encouragements, and still more often temptations: youth bewitches me; beauty overpowers me; music and the artistic pleasures of the world enchant me; but I constantly hear a voice warning me to beware.'
'Well,' said the Doctor, as he pulled up his horses at the hospital gate, 'thank you, you have been explicit. Thirty miles under ground in less than an hour, and the horses as fresh as when they started! Florian! Mancus! some of you, come here!'
'Go,' he continued, addressing me, 'into the sitting-room or to your bed, and stay there till I come, or send for you: I have my hands full. Florian, another team of horses—this carriage will do. I shall want a dog-kennel, a coil of wire, posts to mark the ground, ropes to keep the public from ​pressing, for the news must be spreading now; and don't forget two of the best magazine blunderbusses loaded with ten charges each; and if you forget to put in the bullets, look out for the bastinado!'
'For the love of Heaven, my honoured master——' said the alarmed and affectionate servant.
'You rascal!' roared the Doctor, 'be off—obey my commands, see that you forget nothing. Go in, Ubertus; the Demon has ordered out his balloon; you have only a few hours left; if he should come for you before this business is settled, we may go and jump into the Dark River. Go in, sir, I beg of you!'
I went in accordingly, and threw myself upon a couch which I knew would not sting me; but if it did not, my own thoughts did. What could this extraordinary personage mean by his dog-kennel, and his coil of wire? Patience! patience! I should soon know. In the meantime, let my thoughts be pleasant. I anticipated certain death. No power on earth could save me now, unless—but I count it almost blasphemy to breathe that Name, a Name holy above all names, that is so often blasphemously spoken by the most unclean lips. To die was nothing; I had nearly attained man's allotted period; but to die in that pit of darkness, to be cast out, to be abandoned to wretchedness and despair! I could not endure the thought, and yet I must await the bitter end. 'Courage—hope—hope—courage!' These words I repeated to myself about five hundred times.
After the lapse of two or three hours, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and a strange servant, whom I had not seen before, entered the room. He was a grim, stern old man, with a hooked nose, a cramped, low forehead, and eyes like small round shells of mother-of-pearl. He was a most extraordinary object, like the ghost of a Chinese Mandarin very far gone in his dotage. He ​announced himself as the Mancus, the Wonder of Pandapolis, the renowned inventor of Anti-bluebottle Pills and Parabolical Ointment, and requested me to rise at once and accompany him.
Who had sent him? Where was his warrant? I had an important appointment in another hour or two. I dared not stir without an order from Doctor Julius.
'Tush!' he answered testily, 'this is trifling—Julius is waiting for you. Florian is away—they are all away. They all rushed off to see the grand duel. The whole city will be present. But I don't care. Buy some of my pills; you'll want 'em, and ointment too. Julius is waiting. Julius is rough and ready, and can keep the Demon quiet. Good thing for you. Are you coming or not? Poor fool—to fight with Partigan! As well blow himself up with an earthquake. But wait till you are my age, wait till you are five thousand years old. Your blood won't be so hot—he! ha! ho! Come along; all isn't well that doesn't end well. Julius has got you in hand. Julius is a genius, and leads us all by the nose. Come; dear, dear, how the time slips away. I'm to be renewed in seven years, then I'll be young again—ugh, ugh, ugh! Buy some of my pills; they're better than Blowhard's; only a guinea a box.'
While the querulous old creature rattled on in this way, I was getting myself ready. It did not take me long to my face a dry polish, to comb my hair with my lingers, and brush my clothes with my pocket-handkerchief. We at last issued forth into the street, where we found Doctor Julius, seated in his buggy, waiting for me impatiently, took my place without saying a word, and away we drove.
Our journey was a comparatively short one. A rapid drive through half a dozen streets, and then into a magnificent, brilliantly-lighted corridor which seemed to be more than two miles in length. It was thronged with people, all ​hurrying and scurrying in one direction. They all seemed to gaze on the Doctor and me, as we passed them, with surprise, partly vacant and partly contemptuous, and chattered to each other like apes. To some we were objects of wonder and unbounded curiosity. The news of the recent parliamentary proceedings had spread like wildfire. 'There go Doctor Julius and his friend Ubustus, who's going to fight Sir Dashmy Partigan—won't he get skivered!' I heard them saying to each other.
The crowd became thicker and thicker, and it was with difficulty we could force our way through it. It consisted of the representatives of all nations of the world, soldiers, civilians, rich ladies and gentlemen in their carriages, paladins, and emperors on horseback; coal-heavers, and beggars on crutches. Several times our progress was stopped by the crowd, who began fighting among themselves, and many a coarse oath came to my ears as the swearer was dashed to the earth, and trampled on as he lay. At length we reached a square open space at the end of the street, which was guarded from intrusion by a number of the black police, assisted by a strong detachment of Larrikin Guards. The Doctor led me into this quadrangle, and to one side of it, concealed from observation, where I saw at a little distance an object like a dog-kennel, covered by imitations of green forest bushes. He was careful to guide me round at the back of this, and to some distance at the other side of it. From this kennel I saw a long, almost invisible wire stretched to the nearest wall, about twelve inches above the ground. While wondering what this very peculiar display of demoniacal energy might mean, I followed the example of the Doctor, who had seated himself quietly on the floor; and while we waited, he took the opportunity of giving me the following instructions:
'You must do what I tell you to do, Ubertus. Obedience ​is your first duty—obedience unflinching and in silence: if qualms of conscience trouble you, put them in your pocket. Do not ask me a single question, or the magic spell will be broken, and we shall both be ruined. In this city all is fair in love and war; there is no such thing as treachery or deception. It is the virtue, the morality, of the place. To be virtuous, as you mean it, is to be vile, and to tell the truth an unpardonable crime. The old king who would not allow a liar to live would be hunted out of this quarter. You and I are at a low ebb just now; you took notice of the crowd in that brilliant avenue. Did you see their hangdog scowls at you as you passed them? They had no cheer for you or for me, nor a look of pity for you because, in their opinion, you are a doomed, an unsuccessful, a ruined man. They will not believe, until they see it, that either you or I can conquer Partigan. He is as powerful a magician as I am, and far more cruel and unscrupulous; up to this day he has carried everything before him. This day will decide who is to be master, he or I. There will be a split in the cabinet, and all on your account; see what your visit has brought about. The Demon will be wild, but he has only himself to blame for bringing you here. You are the principal in this day's business, and yet you must be content to act only as an auxiliary—I am the principal.'
At this moment Florian approached his master, and delivered to him a mysterious parcel, and he had scarcely done so when a thundering cheer from the long Avenue announced the arrival of some important persons.
'Here they come,' said the Doctor, 'we must make haste; go down on your hands and knees!'
I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from asking the reason of this strange order.
'Pretend to be eating the grass, if you can find any touts, and, as you value your life, do not stir more ​than four feet or so from this spot. Above all things, do not go near that wire. You may lie down, and pretend to be asleep, but beware of taking a panic, and running away. I must leave you now; you have the outside of a sheep—have, at the same time, the inside of a lion.'
As he spoke he unfolded the parcel which Florian had brought, and spread over my back a large sheep-skin. I then felt that a most singular transformation had taken place, and with some difficulty suppressed a strong inclination to cry 'ba-ah!' and scamper off as fast as I could to the nearest hills; but I made up my mind to be brave, and await the event.
One question I asked myself, but took care not to ask the Doctor: Where were the magazine blunderbusses? I could not see anything of them. Were they concealed in the dog-kennel?
While pretending to eat the grass, as I had been ordered, my eyes did not cease to peer about with untiring activity. I saw two dark figures enter the quadrangle. They were soon joined by Doctor Julius, and a close conference took place which lasted, I believe, for nearly half an hour. The Doctor and my antagonist's second then moved away, and took up appropriate positions, while he, the dreadful Partigan, also retired to a distance. My heart beat wildly. I saw that fiend go down also on his hands and knees. The outward robe he wore assumed a shining variegated appearance, and he began a slow, stealthy approach. To my horror, it was not Partigan who approached, but a magnificent Royal Bengal tiger! He crouched down on his forepaws, his grand head resting upon them, his staring eyes darting fire. In awful silence he drew nearer and nearer. Nothing was between us but that almost invisible wire, placed there by the Doctor for a purpose on which he had been as silent as the grave. My terrific enemy was ​now within ten yards of me, and I had nothing with which to defend myself. He paused to prepare himself for his last deadly leap. He sprang—the Doctor's wire caught his legs, and that instant a deafening report, as if the whole world had burst asunder, shook the quadrangle to its foundations and the ill-starred Partigan, or whatever he was, was blown into a thousand fragments.