# The Story of Manon Lescaut and of the Chevalier des Grieux/Chapter 21

Chapter XXI.
I went to the fort, where I found the Governor in company with his chaplain. In the hope of touching his feelings, I stooped to such abject supplications as would have made me die of shame, had I been guilty of uttering them in any other cause. I appealed to him in the name of every consideration which might fairly be expected to influence any heart that was not as savage and pitiless as a tiger's. The inhuman wretch had but two answers to all my entreaties, and these he repeated again and again. Manon, he said, was at his disposal, and he had given his word to his nephew.
I was determined to keep my feelings under control to the very last, and merely said quietly that I had thought ​him too much my friend to desire my death, to which I would far rather submit than to the loss of my mistress.
I took my leave under the sad conviction that I had nothing to hope for from this stubborn old man, who would have risked his soul a hundred times over to please his nephew. However, I persevered in my intention of acting with self-restraint to the end; resolved in my heart that, should they carry their injustice to the worst extreme, I would make America the theatre of one of the most horrible and bloody scenes that had ever yet been enacted in the name of love.
I was walking homeward, and pondering over this design as I went along, when fate, as if eager to precipitate my ruin, brought me face to face with Synnelet. He read in my eyes some of the thoughts which were burning in my brain. As I have said, he was no poltroon; and advancing towards me, he asked:
"You are seeking me, are you not? I am aware that my intentions are offensive to you, and have foreseen clearly enough for some time past that I should have to measure swords with you, sooner or later. Come! Let us decide whether fortune is to favor you or me!"
​"You are right," I responded; "nothing but death can end our differences."
We withdrew to a spot some hundred yards outside of the town, where we crossed our swords. I wounded him and disarmed him almost simultaneously. He was so enraged at his mishap that he refused either to beg me for his life, or to renounce his claims to Manon. Perhaps I had every right to deprive him of both at one thrust, but a generous blood never belies itself, and I threw him back his sword.
"Once more!" I said; "and remember that this time there is to be no quarter!"
He attacked me with indescribable fury. I was, it must be owned, by no means a skilful swordsman, three months' attendance at a school of fencing in Paris having taught me all I knew of the art. Love, however, guided my sword. Synnelet succeeded, indeed, in running me through the arm; but I seized the opportunity to deal him so vigorous a thrust that he fell motionless at my feet.
The joy which is the natural accompaniment of victory after a mortal combat was speedily clouded in my case by the thought of the inevitable consequences of this tragedy. I could hope for neither mercy nor respite in the punishment that was sure to follow. Knowing, as I did, the Governor's fondness for his nephew, I felt certain that when once his death was discovered, my own would not be delayed a single hour.
Pressing as I knew this fear to be, it was far from constituting the chief cause of my anxiety. Manon, concern for Manon's welfare, her imminent peril, and the prospect of being separated from her forever, agitated me so unspeakably that a film overspread my eyes and shut out all surrounding objects, until I scarcely knew where I ​was standing. I envied Synnelet his fate; for a speedy death seemed the only refuge I could hope to find from my woes. This very thought, however, recalled me sharply to myself, and rendered me once more capable of forming a worthy resolution.
"What!" I exclaimed, "am I weak enough to wish to die in order to escape from my troubles? That would be to lose my love forever, and what do I dread more than losing her? Nay! let me endure the worst that is to come, in the defence of my mistress, and think of dying only when I have endured that worst in vain!"
I made my way back to the town. On reaching home I found Manon half dead with terror and anxiety. My presence reassured her; but it was impossible for me to conceal from her the terrible incident which had just occurred. She fainted in my arms on hearing of Synnelet's death and of the wound I had received. It was more than a quarter of an hour before I succeeded in restoring her to consciousness.
I was well-nigh at death's door myself. Look where I would, I saw no hope of safety for either of us.
"Manon, what is to be done?" I asked her, as soon as her strength had somewhat revived. "Alas! what is ​to become of us? For me there is nothing left but flight. You, if you will, can remain at New Orleans. Yes, it is better so! Remain here, where happiness may yet await you; while I go far away from you to court death amid savage tribes or in the jaws of some ferocious beast!"
Weak as she was, Manon rose and, taking me by the hand, led me to the door.
"Let us flee together!" said she: "We have not a moment to lose! If Synnelet's body should chance to be found, there would not be time for us to make good our escape."
"But, dearest Manon," I asked in dismay, "where can we go? Do you know of any place of refuge? Would it not be better, after all, for you to try to live on here without me, and for me to give myself up to the Governor of my own accord?"
This proposal only increased her eagerness to be gone. There was nothing for it but to comply. I had presence of mind enough to take with me, before leaving, some cordials which I happened to have in my room, and as many provisions as my pockets would hold. We told our servants, who were in the adjoining room, that we were going out for our evening walk, as was our invariable habit; and we then hastened away from the town at a ​more rapid pace than I thought Manon's feeble strength would have allowed.
Although I was still undecided as to where we should seek refuge, I cherished two hopes, without which, indeed, I should have preferred death to my dreadful uncertainty as to what might be Manon's fate. I had gained sufficient knowledge of the country, during the ten months or so that I had passed in America, to understand the best methods of dealing with the savages. It was by no means certain death to trust one's self in their hands. I had even learned a few words of their language and some of their customs, from having been thrown into contact with them on various occasions.
Nor was this desperate resource the only one open to me; another was afforded by the presence of the English, who, like ourselves, have settlements in that quarter of the New World; but my heart sank within me as I thought of the distance that intervened. In order to reach their colonies we should have to traverse barren plains of several days' journey in extent, and mountains so high and rugged that even the strongest and hardiest men found them well-nigh impassable. Nevertheless, I clung to the hope of deriving some assistance from these two sources, trusting that the savages would guide us on our way, and that the English colonists would allow us to make our home among them.
We walked on until Manon's strength gave way, in spite of the fortitude and resolution by which she was sustained. We had then travelled a distance of about two leagues. In her matchless devotion she had steadily refused to stop any sooner, but at last, overcome with fatigue, she acknowledged that she could go no further. Night had already overtaken us when we threw ourselves upon the ground, in the midst of a vast plain, where not ​even a tree was to be seen under which to shelter ourselves.
Her first care was to put a fresh bandage on my wound, which she had dressed with her own hands before our departure. It was in vain that I opposed her wishes; and, indeed, I should only have added the final stroke to her already overwhelming distress, had I refused her the satisfaction of believing me at ease and out of danger before she gave a thought to her own preservation. I submitted, therefore, and let her have her way for a few minutes, receiving her gentle ministrations in shamefaced silence. But, as soon as she had satisfied her tender solicitude, with what eagerness did mine resume its sway! I took off all my outer garments and stretched them beneath her, that she might find the ground a softer couch. Despite her loving protests, I busied myself in diminishing the discomforts of her situation by every contrivance that my ingenuity could suggest.
I lent warmth to her hands by my glowing kisses and my fervent sighs. I passed the whole night long in watching over her, and praying Heaven to grant her sweet and untroubled slumbers. God knows how heartfelt and ​earnest were my supplications. Why they were so pitilessly rejected, He alone can tell.
Forgive me, if I hasten on to the conclusion of a story which is unspeakably painful to me. Never did mortal man experience a more terrible calamity than that which I am now about to relate. As long as I live I shall never cease to bewail it. But, although the memory of it is ever fresh in my mind, my very soul seems to recoil in horror each time that I attempt to put it into words.
We had passed a tranquil night, and it was now drawing to an end. Believing my beloved mistress to be asleep, I scarce dared to breathe, lest I should disturb her. As daylight was dawning, I touched her hands, and found that they were trembling and icy-cold. I drew them up to my bosom, to warm them there. She felt me raising them, and, with an effort to press mine in return, she murmured in a feeble voice that she believed her last hour had come.
At first I took this to be merely the ordinary language of misfortune, and offered only the tender consolations of love in response. But her oft-repeated sighs, her silence when I questioned her, the convulsive tightening of her ​hands, in which she still held mine, all forced the conviction upon me that the end of her sorrows was rapidly drawing near.
Do not ask me—in the name of pity do not ask me, to describe my feelings at that moment, nor to repeat her dying words!
She was taken from me; giving me tender assurances of her love with her last breath. More than this, concerning that tragic and mournful event, I have not the heart to tell you.
My soul did not take its flight with hers. Doubtless my punishment had not as yet been severe enough to satisfy the justice of Heaven. It was decreed that I should continue, from that hour, to drag on a forlorn and joyless life. Of my own choice do I renounce all hope of ever again leading a happy one.
All that day and all the following night did I lie with my lips pressed to my darling's face and hands. It was my firm intention so to die; but I reflected, as the second day was dawning, that when I was no more, her dear body would be in danger of becoming the prey of roaming beasts. I determined to bury her, and then to await the coming of death upon her grave. I was already so near my end, from the enfeebling effects of grief and long fasting, that it was only by the strongest effort of will that I could stand upright. I was obliged to have recourse to the cordials which I had brought with me. They revived my strength sufficiently to permit of my setting about the last sad office which I had to perform. Being in the midst of a sandy plain, I had no difficulty in scraping a hollow in the ground. I snapped my sword in two, in order to dig with it; but my hands served the purpose better.
I dug a deep grave, in which I laid the idol of my heart, ​after carefully wrapping all my clothes around her, that she might not come in contact with the sand. But not until I had embraced her again and again with all the fervor of the most devoted love, did I consign her to the earth. Even then I seated myself beside her and gazed upon her I know not how long, before I could summon up fortitude enough to close her grave.
At last my strength began to fail me once more, and, fearing that it would desert me altogether before I had completed my task, I buried forever in the bosom of the earth the loveliest and most perfect being that had ever yet adorned it. I then stretched myself upon the grave, with my face to the sand; and, closing my eyes with the determination of never again opening them, I invoked the aid of Heaven, and waited impatiently for death to come. Incredible as it may appear to you, throughout the whole performance of this mournful rite, not a tear fell from my eyes, not a sigh escaped my lips. The depth of my affliction, and my fixed determination to die, had choked the utterance of all expressions of despair and anguish. Nor had I long lain prostrate upon the grave before I lost what little feeling and consciousness I had remaining.
​After all that you have just heard, the conclusion of my story is of so little interest or importance, that it will scarcely repay your trouble in listening to it.
Synnelet was carried back to the town; and when his injuries were carefully examined it was found that, so far from being dead, he had not even received a dangerous wound. He acquainted his uncle with all that had passed between us, and his natural generosity made him hasten to acknowledge the honorable and magnanimous manner in which I had behaved. I was sent for, and my absence, coupled with that of Manon, led to the conjecture that we had taken refuge in flight. The night was too far advanced to allow of my then being traced; but the next day and the day after that were devoted to my pursuit.
I was found, in an apparently lifeless condition, upon Manon's grave; and the men who discovered me in this plight, seeing me stripped of nearly all my clothes, and bleeding from my wound, came to the conclusion that I had been robbed and assassinated. They carried me into the town. The motion restored me to consciousness. I opened my eyes, only to bemoan the fact that I was still among the living; and the sighs to which I gave utterance showed them that I was not yet beyond the reach of medical aid. It was at once procured for me, with results that were only too successful.
In spite of my weakness, I was placed under close con​finement; and soon afterwards was put upon my trial. As Manon was still missing, I was accused of having murdered her in a fit of jealous rage. In my defence, I simply related the piteous facts, just as they had occurred. Synnelet, notwithstanding the paroxysm of grief into which my story threw him, was generous enough to intercede in my behalf, and succeeded in obtaining my pardon.
I was so enfeebled that they were obliged to carry me straight from the prison to my bed, to which I was confined for three months by a dangerous illness. My hatred of life did not diminish in intensity. I prayed incessantly for death, and for a long while persisted in refusing all remedies that were offered me. But the design of Heaven in punishing me with such severity had been that I should benefit in the end by the misfortunes which it had sent to chasten me. The light of divine grace illumined my heart, and led it back to sentiments more worthy of my birth and early training. Peace gradually revived in my soul, and this mental change was soon followed by my complete recovery. Submitting myself entirely to the dictates of honor and piety, I continued to fulfil the duties of my small post, while I awaited the coming of the vessels which ​leave France regularly once a year for that part of America.
I had resolved to return to my native land, there to atone, by a life of virtue and integrity, for the scandals of my past conduct.
Synnelet had made it his care to have the body of my dear mistress removed to an honorable place of burial.
Some six weeks after my restoration to health, as I chanced one day to be taking a solitary walk along the bank of the river, I witnessed the arrival of a vessel, which some commercial enterprise had brought to New Orleans. I stood for some time watching her people land. What was my intense surprise when, among the newcomers who were making their way towards the town, I recognized—Tiberge!
He knew me again, faithful friend that he was, while as yet some distance from me, in spite of the change which grief had wrought in my face. He told me that his sole motive in making the voyage had been his desire to see me once more and to prevail upon me to return to France. Upon receipt of the letter which I had written to him from Havre, he had started for that town at once, to bring me himself the assistance for which I had asked him. He had ​been deeply distressed to hear of my departure, and would have followed me immediately had he been able to find a ship that was ready to sail. After spending several months in quest of one in various seaport towns, he had at last found one at St. Malo, which was weighing anchor for Martinique, and had embarked in her, hoping that he would have no difficulty in obtaining a passage from Martinique to New Orleans. The St. Malo vessel had been captured on her way out by Spanish pirates, and taken to one of their islands. He had contrived to escape, however, and, after many rovings and adventures, had luckily fallen in with the small merchantman which had just arrived, and so succeeded in reaching me safely at last.
What words could adequately express my gratitude to so unselfish and loyal a friend? Taking him to my house I bade him consider himself master of all I possessed. I related the various adventures which had befallen me since my departure from France, and, in order to gladden him with news which he was far from expecting, I told him earnestly that the seeds of virtue which he had long ago implanted in my heart, were beginning to bear fruit which would satisfy even him. He declared that this welcome assurance amply compensated him for all the hardships of his voyage.
​We spent two months together at New Orleans, awaiting the arrival of a vessel from France. At last we sailed, and landed, only a fortnight since, at Havre-de-Grace.
On my arrival, I wrote to my family. My elder brother, in his reply, gave me the sad news of my father's death. I shudder, with only too much reason, to think that my own misdeeds may have had a share in hastening his end.
As the wind was favorable I took passage at once for Calais, with the intention of going to meet my brother, who writes that he will await my arrival at the house of a relative of mine a few leagues from here.
The end.
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