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Updated: May 26, 2025
All I knew was my wrongs the unpardonable interference in my affairs by the gray old man, the errand of the priest, the insolence of Fortini, the impudence of Villehardouin, and here Pasquini standing in my way and spitting in the grass. I saw red. I thought red. I looked upon all these creatures as rank and noisome growths that must be hewn out of my path, out of the world.
De Goncourt was to him, but he waved de Goncourt to attend on me. Not so swiftly as Fortini did Pasquini pass. He coughed and spat, and, helped by de Villehardouin, propped his elbow under him, rested his head on hand, and coughed and spat again. "A pleasant journey, Pasquini," I laughed to him in my red anger.
You, Raoul de Goncourt, I shall punish as you deserve for being in such bad company. You are getting fat and wheezy. I shall take my time with you until your fat melts and your lungs pant and wheeze like leaky bellows. You, de Villehardouin, I have not decided in what manner I shall kill." And then I saluted Pasquini, and we were at it. Oh, I was minded to be rarely devilish this night.
And even as I spoke the red-haired Guy de Villehardouin, alone, strode to us across the moonlit grass. "At least I shall have him," Lanfranc cried, his voice almost wheedling, so great was his desire. "Ask him," I laughed, then turned to Pasquini. "To-morrow," I said. "Do you name time and place, and I shall be there."
As a netted lion may rage against the meshes, so raged I against these creatures. They were all about me. In truth, I was in the trap. The one way out was to cut them down, to crush them into the earth and stamp upon them. "Very well," I said, calmly enough, although my passion was such that my frame shook. "You first, Pasquini. And you next, de Goncourt? And at the end, de Villehardouin?"
Corelli, Pasquini and Alessandro Scarlatti were all admitted together in 1705; they were the three senior and most distinguished composers of the time, and as no other musicians were then members, it may be assumed that these elections constituted an exceptional honour.
Be ready, brace yourself, for this is the way I will." And, so saying, I merely went from carte to tierce, and as he recovered wildly and parried widely I returned to carte, took the opening, and drove home heart-high and through and through. And at sight of the conclusion Pasquini let go his hold on life, buried his face in the grass, quivered a moment, and lay still.
But Pasquini did not wait. "And if you still have any scruples," he hurried on, "then allow me to remove them . . . thus." And he spat in the grass at my feet. Then my anger seized me and was beyond me. The red wrath I call it an overwhelming, all-mastering desire to kill and destroy. I forgot that Philippa waited for me in the great hall.
"Pasquini is mine," I answered. "He shall be first to-morrow." "Are there others?" Lanfranc demanded. "Ask de Goncourt," I grinned. "I imagine he is already laying claim to the honour of being the third." At this, de Goncourt showed distressed acquiescence. Lanfranc looked inquiry at him, and de Goncourt nodded. "And after him I doubt not comes the cockerel," I went on.
Indeed I was. I wore him down. I backed him away from the moon so that he could see little of me because I fought in my own shadow. And while I wore him down until he began to wheeze as I had predicted, Pasquini, head on hand and watching, coughed and spat out his life. "Now, de Goncourt," I announced finally. "You see I have you quite helpless. You are mine in any of a dozen ways.
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