The American by Henry James (good inspirational books txt) đ
- Author: Henry James
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Valentin remained, and the two men, in their respective places, sat out the rest of the performance, which was also enjoyed by Mademoiselle Nioche and her truculent admirer. At the end Newman joined Valentin again, and they went into the street together. Valentin shook his head at his friendâs proposal that he should get into Newmanâs own vehicle, and stopped on the edge of the pavement. âI must go off alone,â he said; âI must look up a couple of friends who will take charge of this matter.â
âI will take charge of it,â Newman declared. âPut it into my hands.â
âYou are very kind, but that is hardly possible. In the first place, you are, as you said just now, almost my brother; you are about to marry my sister. That alone disqualifies you; it casts doubts on your impartiality. And if it didnât, it would be enough for me that I strongly suspect you of disapproving of the affair. You would try to prevent a meeting.â
âOf course I should,â said Newman. âWhoever your friends are, I hope they will do that.â
âUnquestionably they will. They will urge that excuses be made, proper excuses. But you would be too good-natured. You wonât do.â
Newman was silent a moment. He was keenly annoyed, but he saw it was useless to attempt interference. âWhen is this precious performance to come off?â he asked.
âThe sooner the better,â said Valentin. âThe day after to-morrow, I hope.â
âWell,â said Newman, âI have certainly a claim to know the facts. I canât consent to shut my eyes to the matter.â
âI shall be most happy to tell you the facts,â said Valentin. âThey are very simple, and it will be quickly done. But now everything depends on my putting my hands on my friends without delay. I will jump into a cab; you had better drive to my room and wait for me there. I will turn up at the end of an hour.â
Newman assented protestingly, let his friend go, and then betook himself to the picturesque little apartment in the Rue dâAnjou. It was more than an hour before Valentin returned, but when he did so he was able to announce that he had found one of his desired friends, and that this gentleman had taken upon himself the care of securing an associate. Newman had been sitting without lights by Valentinâs faded fire, upon which he had thrown a log; the blaze played over the richly-encumbered little sitting-room and produced fantastic gleams and shadows. He listened in silence to Valentinâs account of what had passed between him and the gentleman whose card he had in his pocketâM. Stanislas Kapp, of Strasbourgâafter his return to Mademoiselle Niocheâs box. This hospitable young lady had espied an acquaintance on the other side of the house, and had expressed her displeasure at his not having the civility to come and pay her a visit. âOh, let him alone!â M. Stanislas Kapp had hereupon exclaimed. âThere are too many people in the box already.â And he had fixed his eyes with a demonstrative stare upon M. de Bellegarde. Valentin had promptly retorted that if there were too many people in the box it was easy for M. Kapp to diminish the number. âI shall be most happy to open the door for you!â M. Kapp exclaimed. âI shall be delighted to fling you into the pit!â Valentin had answered. âOh, do make a rumpus and get into the papers!â Miss NoĂ©mie had gleefully ejaculated. âM. Kapp, turn him out; or, M. de Bellegarde, pitch him into the pit, into the orchestraâanywhere! I donât care who does which, so long as you make a scene.â Valentin answered that they would make no scene, but that the gentleman would be so good as to step into the corridor with him. In the corridor, after a brief further exchange of words, there had been an exchange of cards. M. Stanislas Kapp was very stiff. He evidently meant to force his offence home.
âThe man, no doubt, was insolent,â Newman said; âbut if you hadnât gone back into the box the thing wouldnât have happened.â
âWhy, donât you see,â Valentin replied, âthat the event proves the extreme propriety of my going back into the box? M. Kapp wished to provoke me; he was awaiting his chance. In such a caseâthat is, when he has been, so to speak, notifiedâa man must be on hand to receive the provocation. My not returning would simply have been tantamount to my saying to M. Stanislas Kapp, âOh, if you are going to be disagreeableâââ â
ââYou must manage it by yourself; damned if Iâll help you!â That would have been a thoroughly sensible thing to say. The only attraction for you seems to have been the prospect of M. Kappâs impertinence,â Newman went on. âYou told me you were not going back for that girl.â
âOh, donât mention that girl any more,â murmured Valentin. âSheâs a bore.â
âWith all my heart. But if that is the way you feel about her, why couldnât you let her alone?â
Valentin shook his head with a fine smile. âI donât think you quite understand, and I donât believe I can make you. She understood the situation; she knew what was in the air; she was watching us.â
âA cat may look at a king! What difference does that make?â
âWhy, a man canât back down before a woman.â
âI donât call her a woman. You said yourself she was a stone,â cried Newman.
âWell,â Valentin rejoined, âthere is no disputing about tastes. Itâs a matter of feeling; itâs measured by oneâs sense of honor.â
âOh, confound your sense of honor!â cried Newman.
âIt is vain talking,â said Valentin; âwords have passed, and the thing is settled.â
Newman turned away, taking his hat. Then pausing with his hand on the door, âWhat are you going to use?â he asked.
âThat is for M. Stanislas Kapp, as the challenged party, to decide. My own choice would be a short, light sword. I handle it well. Iâm an indifferent shot.â
Newman had put on his hat; he pushed it back, gently scratching his forehead, high up. âI wish it were pistols,â he said. âI could show you how to lodge a bullet!â
Valentin broke into a laugh. âWhat is it some English poet says about consistency? Itâs a flower, or a star, or a jewel. Yours has the beauty of all three!â But he agreed to see Newman again on the morrow, after the details of his meeting with M. Stanislas Kapp should have been arranged.
In the course of the day Newman received three lines from him, saying that it had been decided that he should cross the frontier, with his adversary, and that he was to take the night express to Geneva. He should have time, however, to dine with Newman. In the afternoon Newman called upon Madame de CintrĂ©, but his visit was brief. She was as gracious and sympathetic as he had ever found her, but she was sad, and she confessed, on Newmanâs charging her with her red eyes, that she had been crying. Valentin had been with her a couple of hours before, and his visit had left her with a painful impression. He had laughed and gossiped, he had brought her no bad news, he had only been, in his manner, rather more affectionate than usual. His fraternal tenderness had touched her, and on his departure she had burst into tears. She had felt as if something strange and sad were going to happen; she had tried to reason away the fancy, and the effort had only given her a headache. Newman, of course, was perforce tongue-tied about Valentinâs projected duel, and his dramatic talent was not equal to satirizing Madame de CintrĂ©âs presentiment as pointedly as perfect security demanded. Before he went away he asked Madame de CintrĂ© whether Valentin had seen his mother.
âYes,â she said, âbut he didnât make her cry.â
It was in Newmanâs own apartment that Valentin dined, having brought his portmanteau, so that he might adjourn directly to the railway. M. Stanislas Kapp had positively declined to make excuses, and he, on his side, obviously, had none to offer. Valentin had found out with whom he was dealing. M. Stanislas Kapp was the son of and heir of a rich brewer of Strasbourg, a youth of a sanguineousâand sanguinaryâtemperament. He was making ducks and drakes of the paternal brewery, and although he passed in a general way for a good fellow, he had already been observed to be quarrelsome after dinner. âQue voulez-vous?â said Valentin. âBrought up on beer, he canât stand champagne.â He had chosen pistols. Valentin, at dinner, had an excellent appetite; he made a point, in view of his long journey, of eating more than usual. He took the liberty of suggesting to Newman a slight modification in the composition of a certain fish-sauce; he thought it would be worth mentioning to the cook. But Newman had no thoughts for fish-sauce; he felt thoroughly discontented. As he sat and watched his amiable and clever companion going through his excellent repast with the delicate deliberation of hereditary epicurism, the folly of so charming a fellow traveling off to expose his agreeable young life for the sake of M. Stanislas and Mademoiselle NoĂ©mie struck him with intolerable force. He had grown fond of Valentin, he felt now how fond; and his sense of helplessness only increased his irritation.
âWell, this sort of thing may be all very well,â he cried at last, âbut I declare I donât see it. I canât stop you, perhaps, but at least I can protest. I do protest, violently.â
âMy dear fellow, donât make a scene,â said Valentin. âScenes in these cases are in very bad taste.â
âYour duel itself is a scene,â said Newman; âthatâs all it is! Itâs a wretched theatrical affair. Why donât you take a band of music with you outright? Itâs dâd barbarous and itâs dâd corrupt, both.â
âOh, I canât begin, at this time of day, to defend the theory of dueling,â said Valentin. âIt is our custom, and I think it is a good thing. Quite apart from the goodness of the cause in which a duel may be fought, it has a kind of picturesque charm which in this age of vile prose seems to me greatly to recommend it. Itâs a remnant of a higher-tempered time; one ought to cling to it. Depend upon it, a duel is never amiss.â
âI donât know what you mean by a higher-tempered time,â said Newman. âBecause your great-grandfather was an ass, is that any reason why you should be? For my part I think we had better let our temper take care of itself; it generally seems to me quite high enough; I am not afraid of being too meek. If your great-grandfather were to make himself unpleasant to me, I think I could manage him yet.â
âMy dear friend,â said Valentin, smiling, âyou canât invent anything that will take the place of satisfaction for an insult. To demand it and to give it are equally excellent arrangements.â
âDo you call this sort of thing satisfaction?â Newman asked. âDoes it satisfy you to receive a present of the carcass of that coarse fop? does it gratify you to make him a present of yours? If a man hits you, hit him back; if a man libels you, haul him up.â
âHaul him up, into court? Oh, that is very nasty!â said Valentin.
âThe nastiness is hisânot yours. And for that matter, what you are doing is not particularly nice. You are too good for it. I donât say you are the most useful man in the world, or the cleverest, or the most amiable. But you are too good to go and get your throat cut for a prostitute.â
Valentin flushed a little, but he laughed. âI shanât get my throat cut if I can help it. Moreover, oneâs honor hasnât two different measures. It only knows that it is hurt; it
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