The Poison Duel 2#: Crossing Poison Pills in Louisiana September 17, 2014
Author: Beach Combing | in : Modern , trackback
The following story, reported in 1895, uses assumed names and starts in Louisiana, the cradle of the tall tale: be suspicious, be very suspicious. A man, de Vailliere, approaches a woman to learn that another, Armand, is interested in her. Armand feeling insulted offers a duel: but here brave de Vallierre feels himself on the horns of a dilemma. He had long ago promised his dying father never to duel, but he can hardly refuse a duel and so sully his honour. The solution was simple, we have the most famous poison duel story of them all:
‘You, gentlemen, will cause four capsules to be prepared. Three shall be filled with water, the fourth with hydrocyanic acid, the deadliest poison known to science. With these we will settle our differences.’
One detail that rings false here is the number: why four instead of two? Of course, it makes for a better story… The two agreed and were brought together: Armand full of hate towards his rival in love; De Valliere was cool. A simple coin toss decided who would choose first and De Valliere drank his tablet with wine, Armand did the same. After five minutes with nothing having happened Armand won the second toss. He chose a tablet, then changed his mind and chose the other. De Valliere likewise took a tablet.
Neither showed the least sign of feeling, but I noticed that both had a slight dew upon their brows. The mental strain must have been tremendous. We looked at our watches. De Valliere lighted a cigarette. Armand stood frowningly apart with his second. One minute passed, then two! Another would surely prove who was to die. I looked at the men. De Valliere smoked his cigarette. A mockingbird near by sang its evening song. The setting sun had called into activity that multitude of silent things in the day, but which make the strange noises of the night. A long line of brosbeaks were silhouetted against the sky, diving to the dense swamp, where they made their homes. One minute more! De Valliere threw away the stump of his cigarette. No one spoke. We all felt that the Angel of Death was among us. Five minutes, said one of the surgeons aloud, closing his watch. Just then we heard a groan. Armand’s face was purple. He seemed like a man with apoplexy. His eyes rolled wildly, as though the rending of soul from body was awful in its swift agony. We all ran to him—all save De Valliere. His physician and second gently laid him down. He was dead before he touched the grass, the doctor said.
One of several problem with this story is that the innocent party wins: that never happens, of course. Hydrocyanic acid is deadly, but would it really take five minutes to act: with no prior warning? Perhaps in a capsule… The story dates to 1895 (and was printed in the New York Recorder), though it apparently took place some decades before: the true identities of those falsely named above was, allegedly, well known throughout the south. Mmmm. There is a very similar sounding story that had appeared in newspapers throughout America (and wider afield) a decade before. Were these the real names? Note the fictional tone of this ‘historic’ account. Another difference is that while Armand, in the first account, alone is an idiot, here both the duellists are plonkers and they get their just deserts.
A fatal duel of a novel kind occurred in New Orleans over forty years ago. The young men were Henri Delagrave and Alphonso Riviere, and the cause of the duel was the success of the former in wooing Mdme. Celestin. Riviere sought out Delagrave, and found him in a gambling saloon. As he neared Delagrave, the latter turned to confront Riviere, when he, with a voice that seemed to come from behind the door of a tomb, said: ‘Delagrave, we cannot live on this globe together; it is not large enough.’ Delagrave, quietly puffing his cigarette, in a cold and impressive tone, replied: ‘Yes; you annoy me. It would be better if you were dead.’ Riviere’s face flushed, and, reaching forward, he laid the back of his hard gently against Delagrave’s cheek. The game was at once interrupted. The slap, which was so light it did not even crimson the young man’s cheek, was enough to call for blood, and leaving the house he sought an intimate friend, a doctor, to whom he opened his heart, remarking, in conclusion, ‘It must be a battle to the death.’ The old doctor, who had grown up, it might be said, on the field, shrugged his shoulders and remonstrated, but at last acquiesced and said, ‘Very well, then; it shall be to the death.’ Few people knew what sort of a party it was driving down the shell road bordering Bayou St. John. Two carriages stopped just on the bridge leading to the island formed there by the bifurcation of the bayou, and four gentlemen alighted. Savalle, a well-known character in New Orleans forty years ago, accompanied Riviere, and old Dr. Rocquet was with Delagrave. The seconds had met previously and arranged everything. Delagrave, as he stepped from the carriage, looked around for the case of pistols, but, seeing none, he was a little disconcerted. After walking about 100 yards from the carriage the party stopped, and the doctor motioned them to approach closer. When they had done so, he called them by name, and said ‘Gentlemen, we have discussed this matter nearly all last night, and both Mr. Savalle and myself feel satisfied that there is no solution to the difference between you but the death of one.’ The two nodded. ‘Therefore,’ the doctor went on, ‘we have agreed to make the arbitrament as fair as possible, and let fate decide.’ He took out a black morocco case, and from it produced a pill-box containing four pellets. ‘One of these,’ said he, ‘contains a positively fatal dose of prussic acid; the other three are harmless. We have agreed that each shall swallow two of tha pills, and let destiny decide.’ Savalle inclined his head, and said, as the representative of Riviere, he agreed. The two men were pale, almost bloodless, but not a nerve trembled or a muscle contracted. ‘Gentlemen,’ said the doctor, ‘we will toss for the first pill.’ Savalle cried out ‘tails,’ as the glittering gold piece revolved m the air. ‘Mr. Delagrave, you have the first choice,’ said the doctor. Reposing in the little box, the four little globes seemed the counterpart of each other. The closest scrutiny would not discover the slightest difference. Nature alone, though the physiological alembic of the human stomach, could tell of their properties. Delagrave, having won the first choice, stepped forward and took a pill. With a calmness which was frigid, he placed it on his tongue, and, with a cup of claret, handed him by the doctor, washed it down. ‘And now, M. Riviere,’ said the doctor. Riviere extended his hand and took a pill. Like his opponent, he swallowed it. The two men stood looking one another in the face. There was not a quiver to the eyelid, not a twitch to a muscle. Each was thinking of himself as well as watching his adversary. One minute passed. Two minutes passed. Three, Four, Five. ‘Now, gentlemen.’ This was the fatal choice. Both men were ready for the die. Savalle tossed the gold piece aloft, and the doctor cried out ‘heads.’ ‘Heads’ it was, and Delagrave took a pill from the box, leaving only one. ‘Now,’ said the doctor, M. Riviere, the remaining one is for you. You will please swallow them together.’ The two men raised their hands at the same time and deposited the pills on their tongues and took a draught of claret. One second passed, and there was no movement. Then ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Riviere; his eyes starting from their socket. He turned half round to the left, raised his hands above his head, and shrieked a long, wild shriek, that belated travellers even to this day say they hear on the shell road near the island. He fell prone to the earth, and, save a nervous contraction of the muscles of the face, there was no further movement. Delagrave took him by ths hand as he lay in the damp grass, and said, in a tender voice ‘I regret it, but it was to be.’
In other accounts – there are many – the woman Mme. Celestin refuses to have anything further to do with Delagrave.
When did this event take place? One newspaper alleges 1808, but most others plump for a date in the 1840s, one even specifying 1843. The circumstantial information about Savalle, ‘a well-known character in New Orleans forty years ago’ and the folklore detail of the ghostly shriek still heard by travellers suggests a local tradition. The French names confused some retellers who claimed that the fight had taken place in France: the French would be far too sensible for this sort of nonsense, of course. (‘The soft light of evening was creeping down over gay France the France he loved so well, the home of his childhood and of those dear to him. A tiny gray-white cloud floated off in the direction of Paris’.) The earliest account Beach has found dates to 1883. Is there any genuine echo in the south: drbeachcombing AT yahoo DOT com
This series is gathered together under the poison duels tag.
3 Oct 2014: First, there is a record Tamworth Herald, Saturday 26 December 1896, 5 for a poison duel in Genova with two pills, one of poison, one of bread. It was ‘the beginning of this century’. Then 1851 Lola Montes writes in to threaten an editor: ‘If you continue, sir, I will see myself compelled to send you card, with a witness, to put stop to your contemptible animosity; but it not to the pistol I shall appeal—l shall act in a manner more germane in such a combat. I will offer to you your choice of one—taking the other—of two pills in a box, one of which pills shall be poisoned; and you cannot refuse a duel with arms which are so familiar to you. I had the honour to salute you.’ Cork Examiner – Monday 27 October 1851, 4
