THE
HISTORY OF DUELLING:
INCLUDING,
NARRATIVES
OF THE MOST
REMARKABLE PERSONAL ENCOUNTERS
THAT HAVE TAKEN PLACE FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD
TO THE PRESENT TIME.
BY
J. G. MILLINGEN, M.D. F.R.S.
AUTHOR OF “CURIOSITIES OF MEDICAL EXPERIENCE,” ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
1841.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.

CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.

HISTORY OF DUELLING.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS.

While calmly perusing the annals of duelling, we cannot but be amazed when we behold, in the present day of pretended intellectual perfection, this practice adopted in a society which prides itself upon its boasted high state of civilization.

The details of ancient duels and single combats, which in fact were little better than qualified murders, may be revolting from their barbarous excesses; yet no study will tend more effectually to rub off from the pictorial romance of history its deceptive varnish, than that of duelling, its progress, and its occasional comparative disappearance when it ceased to be fashionable, or resorted to by the upper classes of society.

The very origin of duelling should make us blush at its permanency,—springing from the darkest eras of barbarism, when scarcely a vestige was left, in the wreck of empires, of ancient glory, and of those arts, sciences, and polite accomplishments that had distinguished preceding ages, and of which the scattered ruins and tradition alone remained, fearful records of the vanity of earthly grandeur and mortal fame.

The martial and independent spirit of Rome was extinct. Sybarite luxury had succeeded its days of iron; and civilization, degraded by over refinement into effeminacy, had built palaces, but overthrown the barriers against invasion. This weakness was felt, tried, and overwhelmed. Swarms of barbarians overran that once great dominion,—the torrent swept all before it, and famine and pestilence marched in the train of the savage invaders; every institution that policy had laboured to establish was overthrown; and, for centuries, scarcely a vestige was to be traced of law, justice, or reason. The right of the sword was the only authority recognised; and a feudal system divided mankind into lords and slaves. Turbulence, oppression, and rapine were called government. The Deity was supposed to be propitiated by deeds of blood; while religion became a useful mask for the hypocrite, and was confined to the observance of external ceremonies.

It was during this dark period that the practice of trials by ordeal,[1] duelling, and single combat reigned paramount; and, when we consider the state of society into which mankind were brutalized, we cannot wonder at this mode of deciding differences being considered the wisest and most just. This epoch cannot be better described than in the fitting passage of Robertson:

“To repel injuries and to revenge wrongs, is no less natural to man, than to cultivate friendships; and, while society remains in its most simple state, the former is considered as a personal right no less inalienable than the latter. Nor do men in this situation deem that they have a title to redress their own wrongs alone; they are touched with the injuries done to those with whom they are connected, or in whose honour they are interested, and are no less prompt to avenge them. The savage, how imperfectly soever he may comprehend the principle of political union, feels warmly the sentiments of social affection, and the obligations arising from the ties of blood. On the appearance of an injury or an affront offered to his family or tribe, he kindles into rage, and pursues the author of it with the keenest resentment. He considers it as cowardly to expect redress from any arm but his own, and as infamous to give up to another the right of determining what reparation he should accept, or with what vengeance he should be satisfied.”

Here we find the ground-work of duelling,—and it is to be lamented, that man, even in a progressive state of civilization, differs little from the savage in his thirst for gratifying the degrading indulgence of revenge.

Let us strip the romantic days of chivalry of their fantastic and glittering panoply,—the hall of wassail of its pomp and beauty,—the troubadour’s fond theme of its florid attractions,—and the feats of knighthood in the cause of the ladies loved par amours of their Quixotic devotion,—and what shall we behold? Treachery and ferocity of the blackest die,—profligacy and debauchery of the most revolting nature,—vice clad by a morbid imagination in the most fascinating garb of virtue,—and a murderer’s brow laurelled by beauty’s hand, instead of falling under the headsman’s axe!

Balzac has truly said that we might travel to the world’s end upon a word. If we could but define certain words, and make that definition recognized by society, which is drawn by reason, instead of fashion and prejudice, how much more happy might we not be! Then should we know the real meaning of the words, “liberty, glory, honour, love, courage,”—now fantastic idols, at whose shrine so much blood has been vainly shed!—while, by a strange perversion of human intellect, satisfaction has been considered to consist in the probable aggravation of our own sufferings, and the misery of all those whom we hold dear.

It would be anticipating further observations on this important point, to dwell longer upon it in this place. In the following pages are recorded the most celebrated duels of various ages, and of different countries. In their perusal we may shudder at the atrocity of the details, and flatter ourselves with the idea that the present times are more civilized, but reflection will convince us that we are in error; the causes and the effects of the evil continue the same,—the one equally frivolous, the other equally disgraceful, and equally criminal. Not only will the history of duelling throw considerable light on the history of the times, but it will materially tend to illustrate the manners and the institutions of society at the different periods of its progression towards a more humanized condition; at the same time we shall see what has been the effect of example in sanctioning or discouraging the practice. In the history of duelling we read the history of mankind in the developement of our evil passions, and the occasional display of some redeeming qualities. It is a reflective mirror stained with blood, and we must wipe off the clotted gore of ages to contemplate truth in all its bearings, to feel what miserable creatures we are!—the occasional foot-balls of vanity and pride, or the tools of ambition and hypocrisy, but always the victims of ideal pursuits and visionary joys! Worldly pomp and all its attractions—its honours and its glories—remind one of the vain youth who embraces the career of arms, to sport a dazzling uniform. Behold him now moving in a galaxy of military splendour; soon after, alas! stretched upon the battle-field, alone, abandoned; wounded and faint, not a drop of water to moisten his burning lips, not a friendly hand to raise him from the ground, while, thinking on the home that he has left, and the friends whom he shall never see more, he gazes on the embroidery of his lacerated costume! The dream is passed! sad reality ushers in despair!

As it was from France that the practice of duelling was introduced into the British isles, I shall first follow the history of the practice during the several reigns of that monarchy, and bring it up progressively through the revolutionary era to the present day; I shall then trace the progress of single combat in the other countries of Europe; and finally illustrate this execrable relict of barbarism as at different periods it prevailed in our own country.

The advantage that may arise from thus chronicling, in all their hideous details, such scenes of blood and turbulence, may be questionable, yet one result seems to be obvious: if the records of noble deeds are calculated to produce a praiseworthy emulation in youthful minds,—to inspire generous feelings and justifiable ambition,—may not the annals of what may be called honourable aberrations lead us to come to a just conclusion on a subject so long mooted and advocated (as we shall see in another part of this history) by as many eloquent men as it has been condemned by others of an equally persuasive authority? It is no doubt true, that the perusal of the Newgate Calendar has seldom or never deterred a youthful tyro in guilt from the commission of further offences; but a relation of absurdities (for such must be considered the origin of most duels) is, perhaps, more likely to prove beneficial than tales of terror. Such is the force of prejudice, that ridicule is more dreaded than merited contumely. A man of the world prefers the charge of murder to the ignominious brand of cowardice.

The difficulty of suppressing duelling has been but too generally admitted, and it is therefore considered an unavoidable evil. To mitigate it by such regulations as are most likely to render it less fatal, and afford a more equal chance to the parties unfortunately compelled to submit to society’s capricious laws, has, therefore, been a task which various experienced duellists have undertaken, more especially in France. In the following pages will be found three several codes, if such they may be called, an observance of which may prevent many fatal rencontres, and, when they do take place, much effusion of blood and frequent loss of life.

CHAPTER II.

ON DUELLING AMONGST THE ANCIENTS, AND IN OLDEN TIMES.

Whatever may have been the opinion of Brantôme, and other writers on this subject, it is evident that the practice of duelling was unknown to the ancients. History, no doubt, has recorded the personal conflicts of several of their warriors, who have called each other out to single combat in presence of their respective armies; and also of various bands of distinguished individuals, who have maintained the honour of their national character in presence of arbiters named to judge the combatants. Thus do we find Achilles contending with Hector, Turnus with Æneas; while Eteocles with seven of his companions in arms defeats his brother Polynices with an equal number of followers. In the Roman annals we read of the conflict between the Horatii and the Curiatii; the combats of Manlius, Valerius Corvinus, Sergius, and Marcellus: while the records of Greece have registered the meeting of Pittacus of Mitylene, and Phrynon the general of the Athenians. In this instance, Pittacus, who was one of the seven wise men of Greece, displayed his wisdom by showing that “the better part of valour was discretion;” for, having concealed a net in his shield, he did so entangle his antagonist therewith, that he fell an easy prey to his combined courage and cunning.

The ancients were certainly in the habit of putting to the test the courage and dexterity of wrestlers in the Pancration. The combatants were obliged to present themselves several days before the fight, and to undergo a strict examination; no slave or malefactor, nor any one related to such, being admitted to the contest. The selection of the combatants was decided by lot; various balls, each of which was marked with a letter, were put into a box, and the first two who drew balls of the same letter were matched against each other, and continued the struggle until one of them yielded, by holding up his finger. In this contest the prize was adjudged by umpires, amongst whom, according to Pausanias, certain ladies in disguise managed to introduce themselves, to bestow the palm of victory upon their favourite champion; in consequence of which it was ordered that in future the judges should sit unclothed with the victorial garlands before them.

Many of these combats were mortal, and attended with circumstances of great ferocity. At first the parties fought with fists, into which were introduced balls of stone, iron, or some hard substance. The Cæstus was then introduced,—a heavy glove or gauntlet of thick leather studded with nails and pellets of iron or brass: hence fatal results were most frequent. Anacharsis the Scythian observed, that he admired how the Grecians could so much honour and encourage this exercise, when, by their laws, all violence and injury were severely punished. Ælian mentions a Crotonian Pancratiast who dropped down dead while they were carrying him to the judges to receive the garland. The same author relates the case of another pugilist, who, having received a blow in the mouth that knocked in all his teeth, swallowed them together with the blood that followed, in order to conceal from his antagonist an injury that might have induced him to continue the contest with greater ardour. Pausanias relates several extraordinary instances of the kind: one of a man named Arrachion, who had been twice crowned at the Olympic games, who fought and conquered all who entered the lists against him till but one remained, who, running violently upon him, at the same time entangled him with his feet, and with his hand grappled his throat, which strangled him; but, before Arrachion expired, he broke off a toe of his adversary, which gave him such pain that he died on the spot. The judges ordered the dead body of Arrachion to be crowned with the palm of victory. Two other combatants, named Creugas and Damoxenus, fought until weary with equal advantage, when it was agreed that the combat should end, and be decided by two blows on the same part; that is, he who gave the first blow, should suffer the other to return it on the same place. It fell by lot to Creugas, who struck his antagonist on the head, which almost stunned him; Damoxenus, afterwards, in violation of the conditions, seized Creugas under the ribs, and with his nails tore out his bowels. The victorious wreath was bestowed upon Creugas, and his treacherous opponent was banished. In these combats killing was judged neither criminal nor punishable. Our modern boxing is little more than a continuance of this practice, which cannot possibly be said to constitute duelling, in which a personal injury is supposed, at least, to have been received by the challenging party. In modern times, as I shall shortly show, ladies have been known to fight duels; but it appears that, if pugilistic feats are to be considered such, the fair sex of antiquity offer a flattering precedent. Not only did Roman ladies patronize these amusements by their presence, but they themselves not unfrequently stepped into the lists; according to Tacitus, ladies of quality were of the number. Juvenal, in his sixth satire, and Statius, have noticed the practice. It is true that they did not fight “altogether naked,” as Cockburn quaintly expresses it, but were dressed like those who were called the Samnites, wearing a shield calculated to protect the breast and shoulders, and growing more narrow towards the bottom, that it might be used with greater convenience.

Not only were women admitted as gladiators, but dwarfs also were matched against each other. If we have seen nobles and knights of more modern times making destruction a pastime, they too could adduce the example of the ancients. Although gladiators were usually slaves or captives, yet freemen and men of rank soon put in their claims to be allowed publicly to destroy each other. Grave senators, to court the favour of their imperial masters, descended into the arena. Augustus was obliged to command that none of the senatorian order should turn gladiators, and soon after laid the same restraint upon knights. These prohibitions were little regarded, since we find Nero exhibiting in one show four hundred senators and six hundred of the equestrian rank. It was chiefly during his reign, and that of Domitian, that the ladies partook of the diversion.

Still, in the midst of this savage practice, we find no traces of duelling, either as an amusement or a satisfaction; and the ladies, instead of procuring champions to fight their quarrels, very independently maintained their own rights.

In more modern times we read in chronicles of various national conflicts of a similar nature. Such was the battle called that of the Thirty, when that number of Englishmen and Frenchmen contended for superiority. Richard Bembrough, an English chief commanding the garrison of Ploërmel, anxious to avenge the death of his comrade Thomas Dagarne, killed before Auray, had ravaged the surrounding country, carrying desolation into every quarter, and murdering indiscriminately traders, artisans, and labourers. The Sire de Beaumanoir, a gentleman of Britanny, asked for a conference; which being granted, he remonstrated with Bembrough on his conduct, reproaching him with waging a cruel and foul warfare, by attacking unarmed and helpless individuals. The British captain, who considered himself insulted by these reproaches, proudly answered, that it little became him and his followers to compare themselves with Englishmen. Beaumanoir immediately challenged him to a trial of arms, which was as readily accepted by Bembrough. The place appointed for the meeting was at a certain ancient oak-tree, between Ploërmel and Josselin; and, on the appointed day, thirty combatants appeared on each side, while all the nobility of the district crowded to the spot to witness the conflict.

Before giving the signal of the onset, Bembrough, it appears, had some scruples; as he considered that the battle would be irregular unless he had received the permission of his prince: he therefore wished to postpone the battle until such leave was obtained. To this proposal the sturdy Breton would not agree, but insisted upon immediately deciding which of the two was the better man, and was loved by the fairest lady; the Countess de Blois being the lady of Beaumanoir’s affection.

The conflict was desperate; and the French chronicler states that nearly all the English bit the dust, the wounded being despatched by the conquerors. Bembrough was killed by a certain Alain de Kaërenrech, when on the point of assailing Beaumanoir. The latter, being grievously wounded, asked for drink, when one of his companions, the Sire de Teuteniac, charitably told him to drink his own blood, and that would quench his untimely thirst.[2]

In 1404 another combat of the same description took place, between seven French and seven English knights, before the castle of Montendre, in Saintonge; Charles VII. having selected Arnault Guillem de Barbazas to lead on the French against their antagonists, commanded by the Lord Scales. The combat took place in presence of both armies; Jean de Harpedene and the Earl of Rutland having been appointed arbiters by their respective monarchs. Here again, according to Moreri, the French arms were triumphant; and Barbazas was honoured with the title of the Chevalier sans reproche, and allowed to bear the fleur de lis without a bar on his escutcheon, Charles VII. moreover ordained that he should receive sepulchral honours in the church of St. Denis, and be buried by his own side.

At various periods we see sovereigns challenging each other, but reserving to themselves the option of accepting or declining the combat. Thus, Francis I, when a prisoner of Charles V, conceived himself insulted when the latter monarch very justly reproached him with having broken his royal word, by violating every promise which he had made to him; for, in order to obtain his liberty, the French prince made many solemn promises, amongst others the cession of Burgundy, which he broke so soon as he was free, on the plea of having acted under moral violence. A similar plea was adduced, during the late war, by the many French prisoners who so repeatedly broke their parole. The challenge of the French King is so curious and bombastic, and so unbefitting a man who had just violated every law of honour, that it is worth translating.

“We, Francis, by the grace of God, &c. to you, Charles, by the same grace, King of Spain, do maintain that if you accuse me of having done any act unbecoming a gentleman jealous of his honour, we tell you that you have lied in your throat so often as you may have made, or shall make, such an assertion. And, as we are determined to defend our honour to the end of our life, we protest that, after this declaration, in whatever place you either speak or write any matter against our honour, any delay in the combat shall, to your shame, be attributed to you, as your attending this challenge will put an end to all further correspondence.”

Charles V. did accept the challenge, and sent to the French King a herald, bearing what was called la sureté du camp, to appoint time and place. The French monarch, however, received the messenger in the hall of the Louvre in presence of all his court and the foreign ambassadors; when, strange to say, in the exercise of his kingly power, he would not permit the herald to open his lips; thus pusillanimously avoiding a meeting he had so impudently provoked.

What made this gasconading worse than ridiculous was, the circumstance of Francis applying to Pope Clement VII. for absolution for having ceded Flanders and Artois; thus requiring absolution for the maintenance of an oath that he could not violate, without asking for a similar exoneration for the breach of the solemn promise he had made to give up Burgundy. Voltaire has truly said of this rodomontade, “Tant d’appareil n’aboutit qu’au ridicule, dont le trône même ne garantit pas les hommes.”

Not unfrequently was this recourse to arms declined both in ancient and modern times. Metellus in Spain refused the challenge of Sertorius; Antigonus was defied by Pyrrhus; and Marius sent word to a Teutonic chief, who urged him to a personal trial of prowess, that, if he was tired of life, he had better hang himself.

Our Edward III. provoked Philippe de Valois to a similar trial, either in single combat, or by an action of a hundred against a hundred men; when the latter declined the meeting, alleging that a vassal could not encounter his sovereign, Edward having done homage to him for the duchy of Guienne: but subsequently, when the arms of Edward were triumphant, Philip expressed a desire to accept the former challenge; the victorious monarch, however, in his turn very wisely declined a meeting which would have staked the glory he had obtained on the hazard of a doubtful rencontre. To the first challenge of Edward, Philip had replied, that he offered to hazard his own person only, against both the kingdom of France and the person of its King; but that if the latter would increase the stake, and put also the kingdom of England on the issue of the meeting, he would very willingly accept the challenge. Hume very justly observes, that “it was easy to see that these mutual bravadoes were intended only to dazzle the populace, and that the two kings were much too wise to think of executing their pretended purpose.”

Christian IV. of Denmark answered a defiance of Charles IX. of Sweden by strongly advising him to take a dose of hellebore; and Charles Gustavus, when similarly circumstanced with Frederick of Denmark, simply replied, that he only fought in good company. In our own days Gustavus IV. challenged Napoleon; and the only reply he received from the French Emperor is said to have been, that he would send him a fencing-master as a plenipotentiary, with whom he might arrange the proceeding.

Duels, as I have before said, were unknown amongst the ancients, however acute and fastidious might have been their feelings of what is called honour, and the duties which it imposes. The lie—the blow—the most slanderous abuse—were not then considered a stain upon a man’s character requiring an appeal to arms in order to verify the old saying, that the dead are always in the wrong. When Eurybiades raised his stick against Themistocles, the youthful hero merely replied, “Strike, but listen to me!” Lycurgus did not deem it necessary to avenge the blow he received from Alcander, although it deprived him of an eye; nor did Cæsar bring Cato to account for the ridicule he heaped upon him in the senate. Agrippa, one of the bravest chiefs of Augustus, allowed the son of Cicero to throw a cup at his head; and it appears that this rude custom often prevailed at their festive boards.

Cæsar relates that two of his centurions, who could never agree, decided that they should both rush on the ranks of the enemy, to put each other’s valour to the test. Sophocles, being advised to prosecute a man who had struck him, calmly replied, “If a donkey kicked me, would you recommend me to go to law?” Indeed, the Roman law clearly stated that a blow did not dishonour,—Ictus fustium infamiam non importat.

The advocates of personal meetings have gone so far as to maintain that duels are recorded in Holy Writ, for such they consider the murder of Abel, and the combat between David and Goliath: they have also compared the combats of the Roman gladiators to duelling,—a most absurd view of the subject, since those victims of Roman ferocity entertained no personal hostility towards each other; and Sully, in his Memoirs, justly observes, that “duellists have revived the base profession of gladiators, and rendered themselves more contemptible and hateful than the unfortunates who bore that name.”

CHAPTER III.

THE ORIGIN OF DUELLING.

Since no traces of this practice can be found in the records of antiquity, we must seek for its origin in more modern times, and we shall find that it arose from an association of brute courage with superstition of the most credulous and degrading nature. In those rude ages when personal valour and prowess were considered the greatest qualifications for public and private estimation, the strongest was sure to rule. Religion and love, two of the most mighty levers of mankind, were soon associated to warrant the commission of the most ruthless excesses, and the palm of victory was supposed to be suspended over the head of each combatant by the Deity and woman: a just cause could be maintained by the sword alone, and true love only proved by the lance.

The barbarous courage of the northern nations has been fully illustrated by their historian Tacitus, and it was their firm belief that both public and private quarrels could only be decided by single combat; when we consider that these savage and superstitious hordes afterwards overran the whole of Europe, the practice of a personal appeal to arms may be easily traced to their irruption in the fifth century, when their innumerable masses poured forth from their ancient and gloomy forests, to seek a more congenial clime, and a more profitable field for the display of their overwhelming power. The Anglo-Saxons inundated the British isles; while the Lombards, the Suevi, the Vandals, the Visigoths and Ostrogoths, established their iron sway in Italy, Spain, Portugal, and Sarmatia.[3]

Thus did these barbarians establish an universal militarism, the parent of feudality—its first-born offspring, when only two classes were recognised in society—the powerful and the weak—the lord and the villain. The soldier and the militant priest reigned with despotic rule; all learning and intellectual improvement were considered hostile to their mighty power, and every institution that they framed was consistent with ignorance and barbarity.[4]

To give their decrees a greater moral weight, they were clothed with the sanctity of a divine law. The sword was considered the only mode of arbitrating between right and wrong. Whatever the priest had stigmatized by bell, book, and candle, was considered detestable in the eyes of God, and therefore doomed to worldly destruction: plunged in an abyss of apathetic stupidity in all matters where judgment should have decided, or hurried headlong by a vortex of superstitious fears, man had no light to guide him but the ignis fatuus of bigotry.

All these barbarous races knew no other mode of deciding differences but that of brute force. Tacitus informs us that, when a tribe of Germans contemplated a war with any neighbouring race, they endeavoured to take one of them prisoner, and, by setting the captive to fight one of their own people, formed an idea of their chances of success. Plutarch informs us that Alexander tried the same expedient ere he commenced his attack on Darius.[5]

In vain had the Romans endeavoured to civilize the Cimbri and the Teutones. In vain did Varus seek to arbitrate amongst them, and terminate their bloody feuds; if, for a moment they seemed to yield to his suggestions, it was the better to conceal their preparations for the destructive insurrection they meditated.

A speedy recourse to arms must have been the natural result of any difference that arose amongst men who never assembled but in warlike array, whether the object of the meeting was public or private: and, superstition inducing them to believe that the gods would shield the innocent, an “ordeal” was established, by which the accuser was to make good his assertions, and the accused defend his innocence; and these combats were thence called judicial.[6]

The first legal establishment of these ordeals is to be found in the laws of Gundebald, King of the Burgundians, A. D. 501. This law enacted that Gundebald, being fully convinced that many of his “subjects suffered themselves to be corrupted by their avarice, or hurried on by their obstinacy, so as to attest by oath what they knew not, or what they knew to be false: in order to put a stop to such scandalous practices, whenever two Burgundians are at variance, if the defendant shall swear that he owes not what is demanded of him, or that he is not guilty of the crime laid to his charge; and the plaintiff, on the other hand, not satisfied therewith, shall declare that he is ready to maintain, sword in hand, the truth of what he advances; if the defendant does not then acquiesce, it shall be lawful for them to decide the controversy by dint of sword. This is likewise understood of the witnesses of either party; it being just that every man should be ready to defend with his sword the truth which he attests, and to submit himself to the judgment of Heaven.”

To a certain extent, to the shame of the civilized world be it said, this savage and absurd decree is acted upon in the present age!

The manner in which these judicial combats were carried on was equally ferocious and disgusting. “The accuser was with the peril of his own body to prove the accused guilty; and, by offering his glove, to challenge him to this trial, which the other must either accept, or else acknowledge himself culpable of the crime whereof he was accused. If it were a crime deserving death, then was the combat for life and death either on horseback or on foot. If the offence only deserved imprisonment, then was the combat accomplished when the one had subdued the other, by forcing him to yield, or disabling him from defending himself. The accused had the liberty to choose a champion in his stead; but the accuser must appear in his own person, and with equality of weapons. No women were allowed to behold the contest, nor male children under the age of thirteen. The priests and the people did silently pray that the victory might fall on the guiltless; and, if the fight were for life or death, a bier stood ready to carry away the dead body of him who should be slain. None of the people might cry out, shriek, make any noise, or give any sign whatever; and hereunto, at Hall in Suevia, (a place appointed for a camp-fight,) was so great a regard taken, that the executioner stood beside the judges, ready with his axe to cut off the right hand and left foot of any party so offending. He that, being wounded, did yield himself, was at the mercy of the other, to be killed or allowed to live: if he were slain, he was buried honourably, and he that slew him reputed more honourable than before; but if, being overcome, he was left alive, then was he declared by the judges void of all honest report, and never after allowed to ride on horseback or to carry arms.”

In later days, the Burgundians, faithful to their early institutions, and the Flemish citizens governed by the Duke of Burgundy, used to settle their disputes in a manner somewhat similar. In imitation of the ancient athletæ, who anointed their bodies with oil, these worthies smeared themselves over with tallow or hog’s lard, and then, with a buckler and club, fell to; having first dipped their hands in ashes, and filled their mouths with honey or sugar. They then contended until one of the parties was killed,—and the survivor was hanged for his trouble.

As civilization improved, the ladies were allowed to witness these exhibitions; and a curious duel is related by Brantôme. At the coronation of Henry II, a dispute arose between a Baron des Guerres and a certain Seigneur de Faudilles, and they applied for a “field” to settle the quarrel: the sovereign, however, had made a vow not to sanction any duel since the death of his favourite De la Chasteneraye; and they therefore met at Sedan, which was under the sovereignty of Monsieur de Bouillon. The combatants appeared after all due preparation; Le Sieur de Faudilles having lighted a fire and set up a gallows, to the which he intended to suspend the corpse of his antagonist. They were both attended by their parrains; the baron being armed with a peculiar sort of sword, called épée bâtarde, the dexterous use of which had been taught him by a cunning priest. The action commenced, when Faudilles ran his sword through the baron’s thigh, and inflicted a large wound that bled most profusely; then, throwing away the sword, a wrestling match ensued, the baron being very expert in this exercise, which had been taught him by a priest of Brittany, a chaplain of Cardinal de Lennicourt. Both parties now belaboured each other furiously, although from loss of blood the baron was every moment becoming more weak; until a scaffolding, upon which were collected a vast throng of ladies and elderly gentlemen assembled to see the fight, broke down with a tremendous crash. The outcries and shrieks of the ladies, with limbs bruised and fractured, added to the general uproar, the bystanders not knowing whom they should first assist,—the combatants, who, sprawling on the ground, were still pummelling each other; or the affrighted ladies: while the relations and friends of the baron, perceiving that he was becoming more enfeebled, roared out, “Throw sand in his eyes and mouth—sand—sand in his eyes and mouth!” which advice they dared not have given but for the interruption of the fall of the scaffolding; for the bystanders were not allowed to speak, move, or even blow their noses: the baron took the hint, and lost no time in seizing a handful of sand, and cramming it into the eyes and mouth of his opponent, who gave in, amidst the loud shouts of the spectators, some approving and others blaming the stratagem; the baron’s friends asserted that his opponent had yielded, which his party as firmly denied; and had it not been for M. de Bouillon, the judge of the “field,” both parties would have come to blows.

These barbarous ordeals and judicial combats were managed with great solemnity: the ground being selected, as we have seen in the last duel, a large fire was kindled, and a gallows erected for the accommodation of the vanquished; two seats, covered with black, were also prepared for the combatants, on which they received certain admonitions, and were made to enter into various obligations, such as to swear on the Holy Evangelists that they had not had recourse to any sorcery, witchcraft, or incantation. Each combatant selected his seconds, who were styled parrains, or godfathers, and who at first had no other duties to perform than to guard with vigilance the rights and privileges of their principals, but who were afterwards obliged either to support or to avenge their champion. This practice arose in France, amongst the “mignons” of Henry III, in 1578, having been introduced from Italy.

These preliminaries settled, the champions were to take God, the Virgin Mary, and all the saints, more especially Monsieur St. George, chevalier, to witness that their cause was a just one, and that they would maintain it; having previously attended the celebration of mass, the forms of which are still to be found in certain old missals, where it is called Missa pro duello. The advantages of ground, wind, and sun, were then fairly divided; and, not unfrequently, sweetmeats and sugar-plums were distributed at the same time. The arms of the combatants were next measured; and, when they had taken their ground, the marshal of the “field” exclaimed “Let go the good champions!” During the fight no one was allowed to speak, to cough, spit, sneeze, blow his nose, or, in short, do anything that could possibly disturb the combatants, or communicate a preconcerted signal or advice.

The weapons admitted in these meetings were a double-edged straight sword, a cuirass, a buckler, and a lance when the combatants were mounted. Villains were only allowed to decide their differences with cudgels.

In the reign of St. Louis (1283), these combats not only took place between the principals, but were allowed between one of the parties and the witnesses of his opponent; and, in the event of such witness being discomfited, his evidence was considered perjury. The latitude of impeaching an accusation went further; for the accused, found guilty upon evidence, could sometimes tell the judge that he had asserted a falsehood, in which case he was obliged to give him satisfaction sword in hand.

The form of denial was most eloquent:—“Thou liest, and I am ready to defend my body against thine; and thou shalt either be a corpse or a recreant any hour of the day: and this is my gage.” So saying, the appellant knelt, and presented a glove, or some other gage, to his accuser.

This privilege granted the accused, was, however, only allowed when the judge was not his lord or suzerain; in the which case, his presuming to doubt his judgment and hereditary wisdom was not deemed a felony; for, in other cases, as Desfontaines has it, “Between thee, my lord, and thy villains, there is no other Judge than God.”

In certain cases of physical inability, and where women and the clergy were concerned, a battle by proxy was allowed; and regular bravoes, called champions, were employed,—a trade rather perilous, since their right hand was lopped off in the event of their being worsted, perhaps to encourage their companions to more zeal on the behalf of their clients, or more dexterity. The case of the principals was not much pleasanter; for, while their champions were discussing the point, they were kept out of the lists with a rope round their necks, and the one who was beaten by proxy was forthwith hanged in person, although in certain cases they were indulged with decapitation.

A gentleman could call out a villain, but the villain had not the slightest right to demand satisfaction from his superior; therefore he had no other resource than an appeal to the trial of hot iron, and water boiling or cold, which was conducted in the following manner:

In the trial by hot iron, the defendant was obliged to hold a heated plate of iron for a certain time in his hand; his hand was then bandaged, and a seal affixed upon it. When this dressing was raised three days after, if any burn was apparent, his cause was lost. It appears that proxies with hands callous and fireproof were often procured for this operation.[7]

In the trial by hot water, the accused was ordered to withdraw a consecrated ring from a vessel filled with boiling water. In the ordeal of cold water, the patient was thrown into a pond with his hands and feet tied up. If he did not sink, his guilt was evident; inasmuch as, the water having previously received a priest’s blessing in Latin, its refusal to receive the patient was a convincing proof of his unholiness and criminality.

There was another test of guilt, called the ordeal of the cross. The prisoner having declared his innocence upon oath, and appealed to the judgment, two sticks were prepared exactly like each other, and the figure of the cross was cut upon one of them; each of them was then wrapped up in wool, and placed upon a relic on the altar. After proper prayers, a priest took up one of the sticks; and, if it was the one that bore the sign of the cross, the accused was proclaimed innocent. There was another ordeal of the cross, resorted to in civil cases. The judges, parties, and all concerned, being assembled in a church, each of the parties chose a priest, the youngest and stoutest he could find, to be his representative in the trial. These representatives were then placed one on each side of some famed crucifix, and, a signal given, they both at once stretched their arms at full length, so as to form a cross with their bodies. In this painful posture they continued to stand while divine service was performing; and the party whose representative dropped his arm first, lost his cause. Under Charlemagne, this trial took place to settle litigations on account of children; but, under Louis le Debonnaire, it was confined to ecclesiastical disputes.

It is somewhat curious, that similar ordeals have been practised by various nations in modern times, who, in all probability, never heard of these ancient absurdities. In the kingdom of Siam, both in criminal and in civil causes, the parties are made to swallow certain pills; and the one that is first affected is considered convicted. In Thibet the plaintiff and defendant are made to take out of a vessel filled with boiling water a black and a white counter; the one who has the good luck to draw the white prize is declared innocent, although both parties are generally so scalded as to be crippled for the remainder of their days.

It appears that the trial by ordeal was an ancient usage amongst the Hindoos, and continues to this day to be practised in nine different ways: 1, by the balance; 2, by fire; 3, by water; 4, by poison; 5, by cosha, or water in which an idol has been washed; 6, by rice; 7, by boiling oil; 8, by red-hot iron; and 9, by images.

1. The ordeal by balance is thus performed. The beams having been adjusted, the cord fixed, and both scales made perfectly even, the person accused and a Pundit fast a whole day. After the accused has been bathed in sacred water, the horna, or oblation, presented to the fire, and the deities worshiped, he is carefully weighed; and, when he is taken out of the scale, the Pundits prostrate themselves before it, pronounce a certain mentra, or incantation, agreeably to the Sastra; and, having written the substance of the accusation on a piece of paper, bind it on his head. Six minutes after they place him again in the scale; and, if he weigh more than before, he is held guilty; if less, innocent; but, if exactly the same, he must be weighed a third time, when, as it is written in the mitacshera, there will certainly be a difference in his weight. Should the balance, though well fixed, break down, this circumstance would be considered as a damning proof of criminality.

2. In the fire ordeal, an excavation nine hands long, two spans broad, and one span deep, is made in the ground, and filled with a fire of pippal wood. Into this the person accused must walk bare-footed; and, if his foot be unhurt, they hold him guiltless.

3. The water ordeal is performed by causing the person accused to stand in a certain depth of water, either flowing or stagnant, sufficient to reach his middle; but care is taken that no ravenous animal be in it, and that it be not moved by much air. A Brachman is then directed to go into the water, holding a staff in his hand; and a soldier shoots three arrows on dry ground from a bow of cane. A man is then despatched to bring the arrow that has been shot the farthest; and, after he has taken it up, another is ordered to run from the edge of the water: at which instant, the person accused is told to grasp the foot, or the staff, of the Brachman, who stands near him in the water, and immediately to dive. He must remain under water till the two men who went to fetch the arrows are returned; for, if he raise his head or body above the surface before the arrows are brought back, his guilt is considered as fully proved. A peculiar species of water ordeal prevails on the coast of Malabar: a person accused of any enormous crime is obliged to swim over a large river abounding with crocodiles, and, if he escapes unhurt, he is esteemed innocent.

4. The trials by poison are of two sorts. In the first, the Pundits having performed their horna, and the accused person his ablution, two rettis and a half, or seven barleycorns, of Vishanaga, a poisonous root, or of Sanc’hya, or white arsenic, are mixed in eight marhas of clarified butter, which the accused must eat from the hand of a Brachman. If the poison produce no effect, he is declared innocent.

In the second method, the hooded snake, called naga, is thrown into a deep earthen pot, into which is dropped a ring, coin, or seal. This the accused person is ordered to take out; and, if the serpent bite him, he is pronounced guilty.

5. In the trial by cosha, the accused is made to drink three draughts of the water in which the images of the Sun, Devi, and other deities have been washed for that purpose; and if within fourteen days he has any sickness or indisposition, his crime is considered as proved.

6. In the trial by rice, which is resorted to under accusation of theft, some dry rice is weighed with the sacred stone called salgram, or certain slocas are read over it; after which the suspected persons are severally ordered to chew a quantity of it. As soon as they have chewed it, they are to throw it on some leaves of the pippal, or, if none be at hand, on some B’hurja patra, or bark of a tree from Nipal or Cashmere. The man from whose mouth the rice comes dry, or stained with blood, is holden guilty.

7. In the ordeal by hot oil, the ground appointed for the trial is cleared, and rubbed with cow-dung; the next day, at sun-rise, the Pundit worships Ganesa, or the Hindoo Janus; presents his oblations, and pays adoration to other deities, conformably to the Sastra. Then, having read the incantations prescribed, he places a covered pan of gold, silver, copper, iron, or clay, sixteen fingers broad, and four fingers deep, and throws into it one S’ér or eighty sicca weight of clarified butter or oil of seramurz. After this a ring of gold, silver, or iron, is cleaned, washed with water, and cast into the oil, which they proceed to heat, and, when it is very hot, put into it a fresh leaf of pippela or of bilna. When the leaf is burned, the oil is known to be sufficiently hot. Then, having pronounced a metra over the oil, they order the accused to take out the ring; and if he withdraw it without being burnt, or without a blister on his hand, his innocence is considered evident.

8. In the red-hot iron trial, an iron ball, or the head of a spear red-hot, is placed on the hand of the accused.

9. To perform the ordeal by Dharm’anch, an image named Dharma, as the genius of justice, is made of silver, and another called Adharma, of clay or iron, both of which are thrown into a large earthen jar; the accused, having thrust his hand into it, is acquitted if he draw forth the silver image, but condemned if he bring out the iron. In another form of this trial, the figure of a deity is painted on white cloth, and another on black; the first of which is named Dharma, and the second Adharma. These are severally rolled up in cow-dung, and thrown into a large jar, without having been shown to the accused, who must put his hand into the jar, and is acquitted or convicted as he draws out the figure on the white or black cloth.

A strange and poetical method of deciding a quarrel is said to be adopted in Greenland: each of the parties is obliged to sing in public a satirical attack against his opponent, and the production which is considered the most virulent, or which excites the most mirth, is deemed conclusive.

The practice of ordeals may be traced to the remotest antiquity. In Sicily, near the temples of the Palici, were two pools of sulphureous water, supposed to have sprung from the earth when these deities were born; the most solemn oaths were taken near these springs by those who had quarrels to decide. These oaths being inscribed were thrown into the mystic waters; if they floated upon the surface, innocence was proved, and the perjured was instantly punished in some supernatural manner. When both their tests remained buoyant, the oracle was to decide, and the altars of the Palici were constantly polluted by human sacrifices.

Amongst the Jews, women accused of adultery were obliged to drink water in which ashes had been mixed. Grotius mentions many instances of water ordeal in Bithynia, Sardinia, and other countries.

These ordeals were distinguished into the Judicium Dei, or judgment of God, and the Vulgaris Purgatio.

The first account we have of the appeal to the fire ordeal as a proof of innocence, is that of Simplicius bishop of Autun, in the fourth century. This prelate, as the story is related, before his promotion to the episcopal dignity, had married a wife, whom he fondly loved, but who, being unwilling to leave him after his clerical preferment, continued to sleep in the same chamber with him. The sanctity of Simplicius suffered materially, at least on the score of fame, by the constancy of his wife’s affection; and it was rumoured that the holy man, though a bishop, persisted, in opposition to the canonical laws, to taste the sweets of matrimony. Upon which his wife, in the presence of a great concourse of people, took up a considerable quantity of burning coals, which she applied to her breast, without the least hurt to her person or garments. It is needless to add that this was a sufficient proof of her husband’s innocence. In the fifth century, St. Brice went through the same trial on a similar occasion.

The ordeal of hot water was resorted to by Lothair the husband of Teutberge, daughter of a duke of Burgundy, who was accused of incest with her brother, a monk and deacon; for the which he sought a dissolution of his marriage, that he might wed his mistress Valrade. The poor Queen immediately justified herself by proxy, getting her attorney-general to draw out a blessed ring from a kettle of hot water; but the obdurate King swore that her champion had recourse to witchcraft or cunning, and was possessed of some secret that rendered him proof against hot water. Others, however, were not so incredulous; and her innocence was proclaimed as having been confirmed by a Divine judgment, although it appears that the Queen had confessed her guilt to her confessor. To decide therefore between a supposed Divine judgment and an admission of her offence became a matter of such a ticklish nature, that it was very properly submitted to the consideration of two ecclesiastical councils, who thereupon pronounced a divorce.

Howbeit, Pope Nicholas I, who of course must have known more of the business than any other earthly power, annulled the decision, and excommunicated and anathematized Goutier, the archbishop of Cologne, who had had the impudence to advocate the divorce; but this refractory prelate’s subsequent conduct showed his criminality, for he thus animadverts on the pontiff’s act: “Although our lord, Nicholas, whom people call Pope, has thought proper to excommunicate us, we defy his nonsense.” Then, having the presumption to address his holiness personally, he adds: “And let me tell you, we will not receive your cursed sentence—we despise it; we fling you from our communion, being perfectly satisfied with that of our bishops and our brethren, whom you affect to despise.”

This insolent message was carried to Rome by a brother of the archbishop, who, sword in hand, laid the protestation on the very sepulchre that, according to tradition, contains the remains of St. Peter. Nevertheless, the pontiff being succeeded by Adrian II, the doughty archbishop thought it more prudent to submit to the power of the Vatican; and therefore, despite his brother’s gasconading over St. Peter’s sepulchre, addressed the supreme head of the church in the following highly decorous and respectful language:

“I declare before God and all the saints, more especially to you, my lord, Adrian, sovereign pontiff, and to all the bishops that are submitted to your authority, as well as to the Omnipresent, that I humbly submit myself to the excommunication and dismissal canonically inflicted upon me by Pope Nicholas,” &c. &c.

Adrian, thus satisfied, forthwith excommunicates Lothair’s second wife, and orders that prince immediately to take back his former spouse. Of course, all Europe was in a state of commotion. The Emperor, Louis II, uncle of Lothair, takes his part against Pope Adrian, whom he dares to threaten with an invasion; and all Italy is in a state of alarm. Queen Teutberge sets off for Rome, so does Valrade her rival, Lothair’s second wife and his ex-mistress; but her conscience did not allow her to pursue her journey, and her excommunicated husband was obliged to repair to Rome to ask the Pope’s pardon, not from any apprehension of his holiness, but the fear of his uncle, surnamed the Bald, who espoused the pontiff’s cause, put his threat into execution, and stripped his Majesty of the kingdom of Lorraine.

It appears that Adrian II. was a very fastidious and punctilious man, and he would not receive Lothair back into the bosom of the church, despite his most abject excuses, until he swore to him that, since his predecessor Nicholas had thought proper to order him not to keep up any further connexion with Valrade, he had in every sense of the injunction, both in letter and spirit, obeyed the order. To this, Lothair swore most religiously; and, having done so, he was re-admitted into the pale, and shortly after died. Historians agree, and there can be no doubt on the subject, that his death was the just punishment of his perjury; what confirmed the fact was, the circumstance that all his followers who had taken a similar oath (although it is somewhat curious to know how they could have obtained any satisfactory information on so delicate a subject) died in the course of the same year.

CHAPTER IV.

CELEBRATED JUDICIAL DUELS.

Ancient chronicles have transmitted to us several curious duels that have taken place, for the purpose of deciding the justice of a cause by recourse to arms, and maintaining by the sword whatever the lips had asserted.

The combat that took place in 1371 between Macaire and the dog of Montargis has been too frequently related and dramatized to need a repetition. Charles V. was present at the meeting, which took place in the Isle Notre Dame, in Paris; and Macaire, who was conquered by the faithful companion of Aubry de Montdidier, was duly hanged. Montfaucon, in his erudite work, has given an engraving of this event, taken from a painting preserved in the castle of Montargis.

In 590, Gontran, King of Burgundy, was hunting in the royal forest of the Vosges, when he found the remains of a stag which had been killed by some poacher. The game-keeper accused Cherndon the king’s chamberlain, who, being confronted with his accuser, stoutly denied the charge. Gontran immediately ordered a combat. A nephew of the chamberlain was his champion; and in the conflict the game-keeper received a wound from his lance, which pierced his foot: having fallen from the severity of the injury, his antagonist rushed upon him to despatch him, when the prostrate man drew out a knife and ripped up his antagonist’s belly. The two combatants remained on the field, and Cherndon endeavoured to seek refuge in the church of St. Marcel; but Gontran ordered him to be seized and stoned to death.

A curious trial by battle took place in 626. Queen Gundeberge, the consort of Rharvald King of Lombardy, as much admired for her beauty and talents as her unimpeachable virtue, had thought it expedient to drive from her court a certain gossiping slanderous fellow of the name of Adalulf, who, it appears, had presumed to make some base proposal to her majesty. Adalulf forthwith, in a fit of revenge, hastened to the King, and informed him that the sharer of his bed had entered into a plot to poison him, and to marry the Duke Tason her paramour. The indignant Rharvald, without further inquiry, banishes the accused from his presence, and immures her in a castle, although she was nearly related to the Kings of the Francs. An emissary of Clotaire, however, indignant at the usage the Queen had received, urged the monarch to order a judicial contest; and Adalulf was therefore commanded to prepare himself to meet a cousin of the unfortunate Queen, of the name of Pithon, who having cut Adalulf’s throat, the innocence of Gundeberge was made manifest, to the entire satisfaction not only of her royal husband, but of all the gossips of the court of Burgundy. It was in consequence of this favourable and satisfactory result, that Grunvalt, in 668, made some alteration in the laws, by which it was enacted that ladies placed in a similar situation should enjoy the faculty of selecting their own champions.

Brantôme relates a case somewhat similar. Ingelgerius, Count of Gastonois, having been found dead one morning by the side of his wife, a relation of his, named Gontran, not only accused her of murder, but of adultery, offering to substantiate the accusation in person. No one coming forward to defend the afflicted lady, the young Count of Anjou, Ingelgerius, her godson, to whom she had very kindly given her husband’s name, presented himself. The youth, who was only in his sixteenth year, was as anxious to defend his godmother as Cherubino could have been to defend the Countess Almaviva; and having very properly and devoutly attended mass, recommended himself to the Divine protection, distributed alms, and secured himself by carrying with him the symbol of the cross, he hastened to the lists, where he found his antagonist prepared to receive him. The countess having duly sworn both parties, the combatants rushed upon each other. The onset of Gontran was so fierce that his lance bent in the breast-plate of the youthful hero, who forthwith, no ways discouraged by the shock, ran his own through his antagonist’s body: the conqueror nimbly jumped off his horse, and most dexterously severed the slanderer’s head from his base body, and laid it at the feet of his sovereign. It is needless to add, that, the countess’s innocence being thus made manifest, she fondly embraced her liberator, who, on the following day, was promoted to high titles and estates.

The rules and regulations were not only frequently drawn out by the clergy, but ecclesiastics themselves were not always exempted from liability to a trial by battle. Thus we see in the charter of the abbey of St. Maur des Fossés, granted by Louis le Gros, that they possessed bellandi et certificandi licentiam.

It is recorded, in the annals of St. Bertin, that the superior of his abbey in the village of Caumont near Hesdin had to defend certain rights in the field: the abbot of St. Bertin did not make his appearance; but two snow-white doves appeared coming from the Saint himself, and were seen hovering and fluttering over the field. The champion felt so emboldened by this miracle, that he rushed upon his antagonist, and substantiated the claim of the abbey by giving an unmerciful cudgelling to his opponent. In like manner, Geoffroi du Marne, bishop of Angers, ordered certain of his monks to determine their right to tithes by a similar process.

The trials or ordeals by fire and water were not always conclusive; for, in 1103, we find that one Luitprant, a Milanese priest, having accused his archbishop of simony, offered to make good his charge by walking through a fire; a feat which he performed to the amazement of all. However, as the accused was a prelate of distinction, the Pope absolved him, and very properly banished his impertinent accuser, who indeed, if strict justice had been done, ought to have been burnt alive as a wizard.

Our William of Normandy would not allow clerks to fight without due permission from their diocesan: “Si clericus duellum sine episcopi licentiâ susceperit,” &c.

We have abundant authority to show that priests were very frequently expert fencing-masters, and as chaplains of the army were especially celebrated for their skill.

A singular trial by battle took place at Toledo, in 1085, to decide whether the Roman or the Muzarabic ritual was to be observed in the celebration of mass. Two champions were selected. Don Ruiz de Mastanza, the Muzarabic knight, unhorsed his adversary and killed him. But the Queen, who had a particular predilection for the trial by fire, insisted that it should be resorted to: now, as it was contrary to the laws of chivalry that the conquering knight should be sent to the stake, a copy of each liturgy was thrown into the fire; when, as it appears that both of them were consumed, the King decided that in certain churches and chapels prayers should be put up according to the Muzarabic ritual, and in others in conformity with the Roman.—The Muzarabic chapel, a most curious monument, may to this day be seen in the cathedral of Toledo.

Not only did the clergy order that these judicial battles should take place, but many instances are on record where they were instituted by several French parliaments. Under Philip de Valois, the parliament decreed that two knights, Dubon and Vernon, should endeavour to cut each other’s throats; the latter having asserted that the former had bewitched his sovereign. The same learned body ordered a man of the name of Carrouge to fight another man of the name of Legris, to prove to the satisfaction of the public that he had committed an act of violence towards Carrouge’s wife. Carrouge must have been right, for Legris was killed; though, according to President Henault, his innocence was afterwards fully substantiated by his accuser’s confession upon his death-bed. In another instance, a knight, by name Jean Picart, who was accused of an incestuous intercourse with his daughter, was directed to fight her husband.

The frequency of these duels induced several monarchs to issue various edicts. In 1041 was issued one called the Saviour’s truce, in which duels were prohibited from Wednesdays to Mondays, these days having been consecrated by our Saviour’s passion. In 1167, the King prohibited all duels upon claims that did not exceed two-pence halfpenny. In 1256, causes of adultery were to be brought to this issue; while, in 1324, it was enjoined in cases of rape and poisoning. In 1145, the provost of Bourges was instructed to call out all persons who did not obey his orders.

In the reign of Henry II. the celebrated judicial duel (for such it might be considered) between Jarnac and De La Chasteneraye took place under very peculiar circumstances, carefully extracted from ancient chronicles by Cockburn, who gives us the following interesting account, most descriptive of the brutal manners of those chivalrous days.—“The persons were the Lords of Chasteneraye and of Jarnac, who were both neighbours and kinsmen. The first had said to Francis I. that the other was maintained so plentifully by his mother-in-law, with whom he had unlawful conversation. The King told this to Jarnac, for whom he had a great affection. Upon which Jarnac said to the King, that Chasteneraye had lied to him; but he not only maintaining what he had said, but adding that Jarnac had divers times owned it to himself, Jarnac did earnestly supplicate the King that the truth might be tried by combat; which Francis I. first granted, but afterwards recalled.

“Upon his death, an earnest supplication was made to his successor, Henry II. who, with the advice of his council, not only allowed, but appointed it at St. Germain-en-Laye, on the 10th July 1547, when the King, the whole court, the constable, admiral, and marshals of France being present, the two parties were brought before the King, attended by their several friends and trumpets, when each took the usual oaths. After this they were led to their several pavilions, where they were dressed for the combat, each having a friend and a confidant in the other’s pavilion while this was doing. It is said that Jarnac was but newly recovered of a sickness, and that he whispered to a friend, if he did not trust to the goodness of his cause, he should fear the acting of the part of a poltroon. When all the usual preamble of the ceremonies was over, they were call out by the King’s trumpet, and by his herald commanded to end their difference by combat. Chasteneraye was observed to brave it with some insolence; but Jarnac carried it modestly and humbly.

“Each attacked the other with great vigour; and, after several strokes and trifling wounds on both sides, while Chasteneraye was making a pass at Jarnac, he fetched a stroke which cut the ham of Chasteneraye’s left leg, and presently redoubling his stroke, cut also the ham on the right:[8] upon which Chasteneraye fell to the ground, and the other ran up to him, telling him that now his life was at his discretion, yet he would spare it if he would restore him his honour, and acknowledge his offence to God and the King. Chasteneraye answering nothing, Jarnac turned to the King, and, kneeling down, prayed that now he might be so happy as to be esteemed by him a man of honour; and, seeing his honour was restored, he would make his majesty a present of the other’s life, desiring his offence might be pardoned, and never more imputed to him or his, being the inconsiderate act of youth:[9] to which the King made no answer. The former returned to his antagonist, and finding him still upon the ground, lifted up his face and hands to Heaven, and said, Lord, I am not worthy; not to me, but unto thy name be thanks! having said this, he prayed Chasteneraye to confess his error: but, instead of this, the latter raised himself on his knee, and, having a sword and buckler in his hand, offered a pass at Jarnac, who told him that if he offered to resist any more he would kill him, and the other bid him do it; without, however, doing him any harm, Jarnac made a second humble address to the King to accept of Chasteneraye’s life, to which the King made no manner of reply.

“Whereupon Jarnac coming back to his antagonist, who was lying stretched out upon the ground, his sword out of his hand, and his dagger out of its sheath, he accosted him with the fair words of old friend and companion, entreated him to remember his Creator, and to let them become friends again. But he attempting to turn himself without the signs of repentance and submission, Jarnac took away his sword and dagger, and laid them at the King’s feet, with repeated supplications to interpose for Chasteneraye’s life; which the King at last was advised to do, and ordered some of the great officers to go to him, and surgeons to take care of his life; but he would not suffer his wounds to be dressed, being wearied of life because of his disgrace, and so died in a little time through the loss of blood. It being told the King that, according to custom, Jarnac should be carried in triumph, Jarnac protested against it, saying that he affected no ostentation or vain-glory, that he had been only desirous to have his honour restored, and was contented with that; upon which the King made him this compliment, that he fought like Cæsar, and spoke like Aristotle. Yet the King’s inclinations were towards Chasteneraye. The poor lady, Jarnac’s mother-in-law, whose honour was at stake too, was all the while at St. Cloud, fasting and praying, and waiting impatiently the issue of this purgation of her innocency.”

Chasteneraye was considered the first swordsman in France, and he certainly did display in this transaction a singular mixture of vanity and brutality. Brantôme, who was a nephew of Chasteneraye, endeavours to show that there was foul play in this meeting, and that Jarnac wore a brassart without joint, by which means the buckler was held with greater security; at the same time, he states that Chasteneraye’s right arm was still weak from a wound he had received at Conys, in Piedmont. Howbeit, this unfortunate young man, who was only in his twenty-eighth year, was considered such an expert fencer and wrestler, that several duels were fought when a report of this fatal duel had been spread abroad, as his partisans would not admit the possibility of his succumbing before any other combatant: his dexterity in wrestling was so great, that Jarnac, to avoid the chances of a struggle, had insisted that both parties should wear two daggers.

By way of retribution, the monarch expressed his royal pleasure that no further duels should be allowed: indeed, this duel may be considered the last judicial one that has been recorded in France; although Charles IX. did authorize a combat between Albert de Luignes, who had been accused of treasonable practices by Panier, a captain in the guards. The parties fought in presence of the King and his court, in the wood of Vincennes: Panier inflicted a severe wound on the head of his opponent, who fell upon his knee; his seconds ran to his rescue; but Luignes, recovering himself, gave him a mortal thrust through the body. Nor was this the only instance where this weak and savage prince had recourse to the swords of others to rid himself of an enemy; he employed a famed bravo of the name of Maugerel to fight for him, who was therefore called the King’s Killer; and it is well known that he instructed Villequen to seek a quarrel with Lignerolles, the favourite and confidant of the Duke d’Anjou, while they were out hunting, on which occasion Lignerolles was killed.

While such was the practice in France, and other parts of the continent of Europe, England was not exempt from similar scenes of cruelty and superstition, and it was only during the reign of our Henry III. that the trial by ordeal, or ordaly, was abolished, in 1219: for, although several historians have doubted the fact, there is great reason to believe, from the barbarous customs of the times, that Edward the Confessor did actually compel Emma, the Queen Dowager, to the ordeal of the heated ploughshares, on the charge of her having participated in the murder of Alfred, besides having been guilty of a criminal intercourse with the Bishop of Winchester; the prelate very wisely refused to submit himself to a similar trial, by producing a letter written by Pope Stephen VI. to the Archbishop of Mayence in 887, in which he prohibited such practices.

The personal combat that is said to have taken place between Edmund Ironside and Canute, near Gloucester, appears to be a fabulous tradition, although the following account of it has been chronicled: “Edmund had the advantage of stature and of strength, but Canute possessed most address and activity. The conflict which took place in the presence of both their armies, was long and doubtful, until the Dane, beginning to lose ground, proposed an amicable settlement of their differences, thus addressing his adversary: ‘Valiant prince, have we not fought for a sufficient length of time to prove our courage? Let us therefore show proofs of our moderation; and, since we have equally shared the sun and the honour of this day, let us quit the field of battle and share the kingdom.’” This is evidently a fiction of romance, although there is some reason to believe that a challenge might have passed between them. We may view with similar hesitation of belief other no less chivalric relations of that important battle, in which it is stated that Edwi having cut off the head of one Osmer, whose countenance bore a strong resemblance to that of Edmund, had it carried on a spear, calling out to the English that their sovereign was no more; when Edmund, observing the consternation of his troops, took off his helmet to prove the error under which they laboured. It appears more probable that both these princes were compelled to enter into an amicable treaty by their own nobility and their troops, when Canute reserved to himself the northern division, and Edmund retained the sovereignty of the southern provinces.

Doubting the truth of this hostile personal meeting, several writers, amongst others Selden, maintain that duels were not known in England until the Norman invasion, when it is recorded that William sent a message by certain monks to Harold, requiring him either to resign the kingdom, submit their cause to the arbitration of the Pope, or fight him in single combat, to which Harold replied, that the God of battles would soon be the arbiter of their differences.

It has been observed, that, had the practice of duelling on such occasions been prevalent, the English chief could not, consistently with the laws of honour as then understood, have refused the challenge. It is, moreover, certain that at this period single combats were common in Normandy and other provinces in France; and what renders it probable that duelling, to ascertain rights maintained by the trial of combat, was introduced on the Norman accession, was the entrance of a champion in the ceremonial of the coronation, to this day preserved, who, casting down the gauntlet of defiance, declares himself ready to meet any one who dares contest the sovereign’s right to the throne, and originally to the dukedom of Normandy.

Prior to the Norman conquest we have no record of any duel or trial by battle, although the Anglo-Saxon laws were framed to prevent private quarrels and acts of vindictive violence. The law of Alfred enjoined, that if any one knows that his aggressor, after doing him an injury, is determined to keep within his own house, or on his own lands, he shall not fight him till he require compensation for the injury. If he be strong enough to besiege him in his house, he may do it for seven days; and, if the aggressor is willing during that time to surrender himself and his arms, his adversary may detain him thirty days, but is afterwards obliged to restore him safe to his kindred, and be contented with the compensation; but, if he refuses to deliver up his arms, it is then lawful to fight him. A slave might fight in his master’s quarrel; a father might fight in his son’s, with any one except with his master.

King Edmund, moreover, in the preamble to his laws, alluded to the multiplicity of private feuds and battles, established various enactments to check the evil; and regulated certain compensations for the loss of life, without any distinction between murder and manslaughter: every head had its price, from the king’s, that was valued at 30,000 thrimsas, considered to be about 1,300l. to that of a ceorle, or husbandman, 266; in this tariff, an archbishop’s head was rated at a much higher value than a monarch’s.

The price all wounds and injuries was also regulated: a wound of an inch long under the hair, one shilling; one of a like size in the face, two shillings; the loss of an ear, thirty shillings; and, according to the rare code of Ethelbert, any one who committed adultery with another man’s wife was obliged to buy him a new one.

This commutation for crimes appears to have been universal in ancient times. Blackstone informs us that in Ireland, by the Brehon laws, a murderer was obliged to give the surviving relatives of the slain a recompense, called Eviach. In Homer we have the same practice during the Trojan war; Nestor in his speech to Achilles thus addressing him:— If a brother bleed,
On just atonement we remit the deed:
A sire the slaughter of his son forgives:
The price of blood discharged, the murderer lives.
And again, in the 18th book of the Iliad, in the description of Achilles’s shield:— There in the Forum swarms a numerous train,—
The subject of debate, a townsman slain;
One pleads the fine discharged, which one denied,
And bade the public and the law decide.

The most curious part of this law of compensation was the weighing the value of a witness:—a man whose life was worth one hundred and twenty shillings counterbalanced six labourers, the life of each being estimated at twenty shillings; his oath was therefore considered equivalent to that of all the six.

These laws descended from the Germans, who, with the exception of the Frisians, sought to check the natural propensity of the people to acts of bloodthirsty revenge: thus we find, that if any man called another pare, or accused him of having lost his shield in battle, he had to pay a heavy fine; according to the laws of the Lombards, if a man called another arga, or “good for nothing,” he had a right to demand immediate satisfaction by arms.

These compensations and fines were called a fredum. For the proofs of guilt, ordeals similar to those described as having existed in France and other countries on the continent of Europe, were adopted in England: one of them, which was abolished in France by Louis le Debonnaire as impious, long prevailed amongst us,—the decision of the cross.

The compurgators were to be freemen, and relations or neighbours of the accused, who upon their oath corroborated what he had asserted. It appears that in some cases the concurrence of no less than three hundred of these auxiliary witnesses was required. As men who are capable of disregarding truth are not deterred by the solemnity of an oath, this system of compurgation was found to be fraught with such flagrant iniquity, that appeals to Heaven were considered more effectual in ascertaining guilt or innocence.

The trials by hot iron and water were similar to those already described. In addition to these ordalies was the trial by the consecrated bread and cheese, or Corsned, commonly appealed to by the clergy when they were accused of any crime, and adopted by them, since it was not attended with danger or inconvenience. This ordeal was performed in the following manner:—A piece of barley-bread and a piece of cheese were consecrated; and prayers were then put up, to supplicate that God would send his angel Gabriel to stop the gullet of the priest, so that he might not be able to swallow the sacred bread and cheese, if he were guilty. This ceremony being concluded, the accused approached the altar, and took up the testing food: if he swallowed freely, he was declared innocent; if, on the contrary, it stuck in his throat, (which we may presume was rarely the case,) he was pronounced guilty. Our historians assert that Godwin Earl of Kent, in the reign of Edward the Confessor, abjuring the death of the King’s brother, at last appealed to the Corsned, “per buccellam deglutiendam abjuravit,” which stuck in his throat and killed him.

Whether, in the settlement of feuds, pecuniary compensation was deemed more satisfactory than the adversary’s blood, it is not an easy matter to decide; but certain it is, that duels do not appear, until the period alluded to, to have been as frequent in England as upon the Continent. Good cheer, and good horses, seem to have been considered as equivalent to cash: we find in our history a woman giving two hundred fat hens to the sovereign for permission to spend one night in prison with her husband, and bringing the monarch one hundreds fowls on account; while another unlucky wight gave five of his best palfreys to his sovereign lord the King to induce him to be silent regarding a faux pas of his wife. But, once established, it appears that trials by battle prevailed in England for a longer period than in any other country.

In 1096, William Count d’Eu, having been accused of a conspiracy against William Rufus by Godefroi Baynard, engaged him in single combat at Salisbury, in presence of the King and the whole court: the unfortunate count, having been worsted, was forthwith ordered to be emasculated, after both his eyes had been put out; his esquire at the same time whipped, and then hanged. Jussuque ideò Regis et concilii, ejiciuntur illi oculi testiculique abscinduntur; dapifero suo Willielmo de Aldori, filio amitæ ejus, sæviter flagellato et suspenso.

On Henry II.’s invasion of Wales, Henry de Essex, the hereditary standard-bearer, having been accused of felony by Robert de Montfort, his own relation, for dropping the standard on the field of battle and taking to flight, exclaiming that the King was killed, the parties met in single combat near Reading Abbey, where Essex was left for dead upon the field. However, upon his body being borne to the abbey, the monks perceived some traces of life; and, instead of his being hanged according to custom, the brethren of the monastery recovered him; but, as he was considered morally dead, he spent the remainder of his days in their holy cloisters.

From the time of William of Normandy, until that of Henry II, trial by single combat was the only honourable mode of decision of battle of right, until the alternative of the grand assizes, or the trial by jury, was instituted by the latter sovereign.

When the tenant in a writ of right pleaded the general issue, and offered to decide the cause by the body of a champion, a piece of ground was selected sixty feet square, inclosed with lists, and on one side a court was erected for the accommodation of the judges of the court of Common Pleas, who attended there in their scarlet robes: a bar was also prepared for the sergeants learned in law. When the court sat, which was before sun-rising, proclamation was made for both parties and their champions: the latter were introduced by two knights, and were dressed in a coat of mail, with red sandals, bare-legged from the knee downwards, bare-headed, and with arms bare to the elbows. The weapons allowed them were batons, or staves of an ell long, and a four-cornered leathern target, so that death very seldom ensued from these civil combats. In the court military, however, they fought with sword and lance.

When the champions thus armed arrived within the lists, or place of combat, the champion of the tenant took his adversary by the hand, and made oath that the tenement in dispute was not the right of the demandant; the champion of the demandant of course took a contrary oath. Another oath was then taken against sorcery and enchantment, in the following form:

“Hear this, ye justices, that I have neither eaten, drunk, nor have I upon me either bone, stone, or grass,—no enchantment, sorcery, or witchcraft, whereby the law of God may be abased, or the law of the devil exalted; so help me God and his saints!”

The battle then began, and the combatants were bound to fight till the stars appeared in the evening; and, if the champion of the tenant could defend himself till the stars appeared, the tenant prevailed in his cause, and the vanquished was proclaimed a Craven: a degradation of the highest importance; for when a champion had once admitted that he was “Craven,” or one who craves for mercy, he ceased to be a freeman—liber et legalis homo, and, having been proved forsworn, was no longer eligible as a juryman, or in any manner entitled to belief or respect.

In appeals of felony, the parties were obliged to fight in their proper persons, unless the appellant were a woman, a priest, or an infant,—of the age of sixty, lame, or blind; in either which cases, he or she counter-pleaded, and threw themselves upon the country. Peers of the realm could not be challenged to wage battle; nor the citizens of London, it being specified in their charter that fighting was foreign to their education and employment.

In regard to trial by battle in civil cases, the mystic appeal to the judgment of God at this period was abandoned, and the institution of chivalry gave to personal combats a character totally different.

CHAPTER V.

INSTITUTION OF CHIVALRY AND DUELS.

Mistaken views of religion no longer presided over bloodshed, and priests found that they gradually lost the power of controlling the unruly by their simple commands; it therefore became necessary that their influence over those who could support their power by arms should be of a more permanent and efficacious nature. Youth, upon whose future courage and energies they could depend, were now enrolled in an instituted body; and the assumption of arms, so soon as they were able to wield them, became a solemn religious rite: until they could don their armour, they were clad in white, like clerical neophytes; and, as Scott truly observes, “the investiture of chivalry was brought to resemble, as near as possible, the administration of the sacraments of the church.”

Still this combination of religious and military zeal was not considered sufficient to lead a man to risk his life blindly, and the art and the all-powerful aid of woman were invoked.

Gallantry now presided over deeds of arms; which, to use the words of Montesquieu, was not love, but its light, delicate, and perpetual errors.

An ingenious writer, C. Moore, has described the origin of chivalric laws and customs in the following passage:—“War, and the single combat, were still the ruling passions of the soul; and whatever improvement had militated against these favourite and ferocious ideas would have been treated with the utmost contempt and indignation. Some, however, whose minds were more enlightened, endeavoured to turn this torrent of courage and military violence upon itself, and to the correction of its own abuses. They formed themselves into martial societies for the relief of injured innocence and distressed virtue; for the redress of all oppressions and grievances; for the protection of the weak and defenceless, particularly of the fair sex; for the correction of abuses, and the general promotion of the public utility and safety. But, in compliance with the strong prejudices of the times, all was still to be determined by the sword, and by feats of personal valour. Such was the introduction of chivalry and knight-errantry.”

For the honour of mankind, desirable indeed would it have been if chivalry had been carried on upon such philanthropic grounds, however barbarous might have been the means resorted to in the furtherance of its ends: it is more probable that it was the result of growing civilization, with its concomitant pride, pomp, and circumstance. When love, being associated with religion, shed a halo over the knight’s proud helm, the spirit of chivalry withdrew its advocates from the trammels of judicial courts; and, although the hostile meetings of contending knights, might not have been considered an ordeal to obtain the judgment of God, the vanity arising from the renown of personal prowess and superiority in war and in love rendered its champions regardless of those fine and delicate feelings to which their institution has been attributed. It is true that, the courtesy and rising polish of society being added to religious zeal and blind superstition, this combination tended to soften down the rude relics of former ferocity, and to combine courage with humanity, introducing as far as was practicable the courtesies of peace into scenes of strife; and such we may well imagine may have been the results of such an institution when woman became associated with all its bearings. Education became more gentle, and, ere the accolade of knighthood was conferred, the candidate to the honour had passed through the gradation of page and squire; first the follower of woman, a blind adorer and slave, then the attendant on his leader in the chase or the battle-field.

As civilization progressed, the rude customs of barbarous nations must have gradually sunk into disrepute; and war, which had once been a necessity in defence of person and property, now became only an honourable profession.

While we admit, with Scott, that the tenets of chivalry were exalted and enthusiastic, we cannot but consider that many acts of exaltation and enthusiasm, among the most illustrious, were little short of mental aberration, qualifying the heroic champion for the lunatic asylum, rather than the courts of sovereigns; and I think that we may consider many of our modern honourable institutions, which are traced to chivalry, more as the effect of gradual intellectual improvement than of the frolics of knight-errantry, however honourable they may have appeared in theory. No one can pretend to deny that Don Quixote’s ideas of honour were as correct as they were punctilious.

It is unfortunate that romance has so distorted human actions as to shed lustre upon deeds which ought to have been veiled in everlasting obscurity for the honour of mankind. It is owing to these fatal illusions, that, to the present hour, the chimerical word Honour leads the enthusiast or the slave of society’s prejudiced views to the commission of criminal acts, and adapts its supposed laws and dictates to the Procrustean standard of the “world’s” opinion.

Previous to the institution of chivalry, fighting became necessary for individual protection; but knighthood rendered it a fashionable accomplishment, and, as real injuries were not likely to occur every day, artificial grievances were created, and tilts and tournaments became the constant sports of the day. John, Duke of Bourbon, being overcome, no doubt, with ennui, offered to go over to England with sixteen knights, to avoid idleness, and further, to merit the good graces of his mistress; and it is clear that this noble institution, as it is called, greatly increased duelling instead of checking its barbarity, while, by rendering it a polite accomplishment, it has transmitted down to posterity a detestable heir-loom of barbarous times.

Not only were knights obliged to fight their own battles, but they were bound to espouse the disputes of others, and volunteer fighting whenever a “good quarrel” could be established.

It is to chivalry, introduced in the train of the Norman conquerors, that England owed its first degradation. Chivalry deluged Italy in blood, and rendered Spain a by-word of ferocity and madness. The desperate pranks of the lunatic Crusaders were the deeds of monomaniacs let loose by popery: Scott has truly said, that “the genius alike of the age and of the order tended to render the zeal of the professors of chivalry fierce, burning, and intolerant.” “If an infidel,” says a great authority, “impugn the doctrine of the Christian faith before a churchman, he should reply by argument; but a knight should render no other reason to the infidel than six inches of his falchion thrust into his accursed bowels.” The massacre of the Albigenses was one of the proud results of this noble institution!

Debased by superstition and priestcraft, knighthood became instrumental to every ambition, clerical or military: the hand of Heaven was seen guiding every gleaming falchion; the saints were seen hovering over the battle-field; and Froissart tells us that a black cur, which was always barking when the infidels approached the Christian camp, was called by the whole army the dog of Our Lady. If such were the public evils that arose from chivalric institutions, how much more fearful was their influence in society when we find Francis I, who certainly respected the faith of engagements as conveniently as expediency could dictate, laid down as a principle of honour, which prevails to this very day, That the lie was never to be put up with without satisfaction, but by a base-born fellow! For fear of any possible mistake, lies were divided into thirty-two categories, with their corresponding degree of satisfaction. In a succeeding chapter I shall endeavour to show that most edicts promulgated to check the practice of duelling rather increased it, and its gradual approach to desuetude can only be attributed to the influence of reason: until this influence obtains, all laws will be rendered nugatory by the established code of honour.

Nothing can be more absurd than the regret for the “glorious days of Chivalry!” It is very true, that nothing could be more beautiful and praiseworthy than the theory on which it was grounded; but a legislature might just as wisely sit down and embody an Utopian code of laws as to expect that a soldier will only draw his sword in the defence of innocence,—it is too absurd a dream to be entertained even in romance.

The exact origin of chivalry is a matter of doubt. By some historians it is attributed to Henry I, King of Germany, in 936, called the “bird-catcher,” from his partiality to field pursuits. Others have traced it to Geoffrey de Preuilly, who died in 1066; but it appears that he was only celebrated from his having collected and published the laws of tournaments. History records a chivalric meeting that took place as early as 858, near Strasburgh, between Charles the Bald, and his brother, Louis of Germany. In France it was in general practice in 1136; and in Spain and England in 1140.

The rules and regulations in the management of these tournaments were curious, and showed that the profession of arms was supposed to be the proof of virtue as well as of courage. By these institutes it was ordered—

I. Whosoever has done or said anything against the holy Christian faith shall be excluded; and if any such shall presume to intrude himself, on the account of his family and ancient nobility, he shall be beaten and driven back.—This first article was proposed by the Emperor Henry I. himself.

II. If any, however nobly descended, have done or said anything against the Roman empire, or the sacred majesty of the Emperor, he shall not be admitted, but publicly punished before the assembly.—This article was proposed by Conrad, Prince of Palestine.

III. If any have betrayed or deserted his lord and master, or have been the occasion of any mutiny, disorder, or shameful flight in an army; or have oppressed and unjustly killed any of his subjects and vassals, or other innocent person, he shall be publicly punished.—Duke of Franconia.

IV. Whosoever has committed violence upon virgins or oppressed widows, or has violated and defamed any woman by word or deed, when he appears at the public tournament, shall be disgraced and punished.—Duke of Suevia.

V. Whosoever has been guilty of perjury, of forging hand or seal, or lies under any other infamy, shall be held unworthy of the honour of a tournament; and, if he enter, he shall not be suffered to go away without some punishment.—Duke of Bavaria.

VI. Whosoever has secretly or openly made away with his wife, or has advised or assisted the killing of his superior, whose vassal he was, let him be debarred, and let the law of tournament be executed upon him.

VII. Whoever have been guilty of sacrilege, by robbing churches or detaining what belongs to them, or have wronged widows and children to whom they were left guardians, shall not be admitted, but punished.

VIII. Whosoever keeps up an unreasonable feud with another, and will not refer the difference to law or to a fair battle, but invades his adversary’s land, burning and spoiling it, and carrying off his goods, especially if he has destroyed corn, which has caused a dearth or a famine,—if he appear at the tournament, let him be put to death.

IX. Whosoever has been the author of any new gabel or imposition in any province, city, or other dominion, without the consent of the Emperor, by which means subjects are oppressed, and trade and commerce with strangers are hindered and discouraged, let him be punished.

X. Whosoever is guilty of adultery, let him be punished.

XI. Whosoever doth not live suitably upon his lawful rents and income, but debaseth his dignity by buying and selling, and using mean and sordid arts to the damage of his neighbours and oppression of his tenants, let him be beaten.

XII. Whosoever cannot prove his nobility for four generations at least by both father and mother, shall not have the honour of being admitted into the tournament.—The two last articles were proposed by Philip, the secretary of the Emperor.

These ordinances are a strong illustration of the habits and practices of the nobles at that period, and present a vivid picture of the times, when few indeed must have been the champions who could have qualified for the lists.

Although, on the commencement of these exercises, blunt weapons were used, fatal accidents were nevertheless very frequent; and it is said of a Turkish ambassador, who was present at a tournament at the court of Charles VII, that, on beholding several of the combatants killed and wounded, he exclaimed, “If they are in earnest, this is not enough; but, if it is only in jest, we have had too much of it.”

It was the frequency of these playful accidents that induced the clergy to forbid tournaments; as appears in the canons of the council of Rheims in 1148, by which Christian sepulture is refused to those who fall on such occasions.

Howbeit, in 1274, our Edward I, on his passage by Chalons, being challenged by the Count de Chalons, entered into a joust with the French knights, which was so successful on the part of the English, that their opponents, infuriated by their inferiority, made a serious attack upon his retinue; and so much blood was idly shed on the occasion, that the tournament was ever after called “the petty battle of Chalons.”

In 1209 we find Philip Augustus obliging his sons, Louis and Philip, to make a vow against entering into any such meetings. In 1385 we find Francis I. in a tournament between Ardres and Guines; and Henry II. in 1559,—a fatal encounter in which he died from a wound in the eye-ball received from Montgomery, captain of his guards. This accident took place on the occasion of the marriage of the King’s eldest daughter to Philip, King of Spain; in honour of which there were balls, masquerades, and tilting. His majesty, fancying to enter the lists, had a lance sent to Montgomery to encounter him: the captain at first very wisely declined the honour; but, upon the King’s repeated requests, was reluctantly obliged to comply with his orders. The tilt-yard was in the Rue St. Antoine, where the captain purposely and politely broke his lance against his royal master’s breast-plate: unfortunately one of the splinters flew into his eye, and penetrated the ball; the King lingered in great agony for a month and died, after having forbidden all similar exercises.[10]

To form an idea of the ferocity that marked these deadly meetings, and the absurdity of what were called points of honour, we have only to recount the particulars of a combat that took place between two Spanish captains at Ferrara. These two heroes had demanded a “field” of the Viceroy, Monsieur de Nemours. The Duchess of Ferrara was, of course, most anxious to be present at the contest; she being, according to Brantôme, the most beautiful and accomplished lady in Christendom, both as regarded corporeal and mental qualities, speaking moreover force belles langues: therefore was it, (and very naturally,) that M. de Nemours was deeply enamoured of her, and wore her colours, (rather sombre, to be sure,) black and grey. The combatants being engaged, one of the parties received a desperate wound, which occasioned such a loss of blood that he sunk on the ground; when his antagonist, according to the noble institutions of chivalry, rushed on him with the point of his sword to his throat. The which beholding, the Duchess, who was as kind as she was courteous, and as beauteous as she was virtuous, with clasped hands implored M. de Nemours to separate the combatants; to which he replied, rather uncourteously for a knight, “You cannot doubt, madam, that there is nothing in the world that I would not do to convince you of my thorough devotion to your will; but in this instance I can do nothing, nor offend against the laws of battle, nor can I honestly and against reason deprive the conqueror of a prize which he has obtained at the hazard of his life.”

Howbeit, the second of the fallen man stepped forward, and addressing the conqueror, whose name was Azevedo, declared that, knowing well the character of his friend, St. Croix, who would rather die a thousand deaths than admit that he was vanquished, surrendered himself for him, and avowed himself conquered. Azevedo was perfectly satisfied with this admission, and left the field in great pomp and glory, with a flourish of trumpets; while St. Croix’s wounds were dressed, and he was borne off the ground with his arms, which Azevedo had forgot to carry away as trophies of the battle: but, upon his being reminded of the circumstance, he forthwith sent a messenger to demand them. This request, however, being refused, the case was referred to the decision of M. de Nemours, who immediately ordered that the arms of St. Croix should be carried to the conqueror; or that, if he declined to send them, the dressings of his wounds should be taken off, and he should be again carried to the field, and laid in the situation in in which he was placed when his second interfered for his life: however, the second was wise enough to comply with the request. Brantôme observes, that much might be argued on this matter to decide how far Azevedo ought to have been satisfied with the second’s submission instead of the principal’s; as the combat was to have been mortal, the swords and daggers having been placed in the hands of the combatants by the Prior of Messina.

A beau combat is recorded of Monsieur de Bayard and another Spaniard, Don Alonzo de Soto Mayor, who, having been taken prisoner by the former, insulted him so grossly that he offered him the satisfaction of a meeting on foot or on horseback. The day being appointed, Bayard made his appearance, mounted upon a spirited charger and clad in white, a symbol of humility. The choice of arms having fallen upon the Spaniard, he preferred a combat on foot, on the plea that he was not so good a horseman as his adversary, but in reality from his having heard that the French knight was labouring under an intermittent fever, which he had experienced for upwards of two years. Bayard, on account of his indisposition, was strongly urged by his second, Monsieur de la Palisse, and his friends, to insist upon a mounted combat. To this he objected, as he did not wish that his opponent should accuse him of having thrown any difficulties in the way of a fair meeting. The ground was taken, and marked with several loose stones. Bayard, having received his arms, prostrated himself on the ground to put up a fervent prayer, while every one around him joined in the orison upon their knees; then, rising, he made the sign of the cross, and attacked his adversary as cheerfully as if he was stepping out in a ball-room to commence a dance. The Spaniard advanced, and calmly asked him, “Señor Bayardo, que me quereys?” To which he replied, “To defend my honour;” and forthwith attacked him. The struggle was fiercely kept up, and great skill displayed on both sides; until Bayard, by a feint, struck him such a blow in the throat, that, despite his gorget, the weapon penetrated four fingers deep. The wounded Spaniard grasped his adversary, and, struggling with him, they both rolled on the ground; when Bayard, drawing his dagger and thrusting its point in the nostrils of the Spaniard, exclaimed, “Señor Alonzo, surrender—or you are a dead man!” a speech which appeared quite useless, as Don Diego de Guignonnes, his second, exclaimed, “Señor Bayardo, es muerto; vincido haveys!” Bayard, says the chronicler, would have given a hundred thousand crowns to have spared his life; but, as matters turned out, he fell upon his knees, kissed the ground three times, and then dragged his dead enemy out of the camp, saying to the deceased’s second, “Señor Don Diego, have I done enough?” to which the other piteously replied, “Too much, Señor, for the honour of Spain!” when Bayard very generously made him a present of the corpse, although he had a right to do whatever he thought proper with it; an act highly praised by Brantôme, who says it is difficult to say which act did him most honour,—the not having ignominiously dragged the body like the carcase of a dog by a leg or an arm out of the field, or having condescended to fight while labouring under an ague; as an ague in those days (sturdy dogs!) was not considered a sufficient reason to decline a combat.

As fighting became a matter of fashion, and therefore of necessity, it was impossible to be too punctilious in taking offence. Any subject, however trivial, was considered sufficient to warrant a combat, and required blood to wipe off a supposed stain upon a factitious honour; and, when blood could not be obtained for this vital purpose by fair means, assassination was not deemed beneath the dignity of the offended, or incompatible with honour’s laws. Thus we find a Franche-Comté nobleman running another through the body in the very porch of a church, while he was presenting him some holy water; and two other high-born worthies fighting it out before the altar, to decide who had the best right to a seat of precedence, or the first use of the censer.

Tilts and tournaments were simply simulacra of actual combats, training youth to deeds of arms under the flattering auspices of the fair sex, that they might the more diligently and expertly commit murder whenever it suited ambition, fanaticism, or love.

What the ladies expected from their champions cannot be better expressed than in the injunction of the Dame des Belles Cousines to little Jean de Saintré, a subject which Scott has admirably translated in the following quaint and appropriate language:—

“The Dame des Belles Cousines, having cast her eyes upon the little Jean de Saintré, then a page of honour at court, demanded of him the name of his mistress and his love, on whom his affections were fixed. The poor boy, thus pressed, replied that the first object of his love was the lady his mother, and the next his sister Jacqueline. ‘Jouvencel,’ replied the inquisitive dame, who had her own reasons for not being contented with this simple answer, ‘we do not talk of the affection due to your mother and sister; I desire to know whom you love par amours.’

“‘In faith, madam,’ said the poor page, to whom the mysteries of chivalry, as well as of love, were yet unknown, ‘I love no one par amours.’

“‘Ah, false gentleman, and traitor to the laws of chivalry!’ returned the lady; ‘dare you say that you love no lady? Well may we perceive your falsehood and craven spirit by such an avowal. Whence were derived the great valour and the high achievements of Lancelot, of Gawain, of Tristram, of Giron the Courteous, and of other heroes of the round table?—whence those of Panthus, and of so many other valiant knights and squires of this realm, whose names I could enumerate had I time?—whence the exaltation of many whom I myself have known to rise to high dignity and renown?—except from their animating desire to maintain themselves in the grace and favours of their ladies, without which mainspring to exertion and valour they must have remained unknown and insignificant. And do you, coward page, now dare to aver that you have no lady, and desire to have none? Hence, false heart that thou art!’

“To avoid these bitter reproaches, the simple page named as his lady and love par amours Matheline De Coucy, a child of ten years old. The answer of the Dame des Belles Cousines, after she had indulged in the mirth which his answers prompted, instructed him how to place his affections more advantageously.

“‘Matheline,’ said the lady, ‘is indeed a pretty girl, and of high rank, and better lineage than appertains to you. But what good, what profit, what honour, what advantage, what comfort, what aid, what counsel for advancing you in the ranks of chivalry, can you derive from such a choice? Sir, you ought to choose a lady of high and noble blood, who has the talent and means to counsel and aid you at your need; and her you ought to serve so truly, and love so loyally, that she must be compelled to acknowledge the true and honourable affection which you bear to her. For, believe me, there is no lady, however cruel and haughty, but through length of faithful service will be brought to acknowledge and reward loyal affection with some portion of pity, compassion, or mercy. In this manner you will attain the praise of a worthy knight; and, till you follow such a course, I would not give an apple for you or your achievements.’”

The lady then proceeds to lecture the acolyte of chivalry at considerable length on the seven mortal sins, and the way in which the true amorous knight may eschew commission of them. Still, however, the saving grace inculcated in her sermon is fidelity and secrecy in the service of the mistress whom he should love par amours. She proves, by the aid of quotations from the Scriptures, the fathers of the church, and the ancient philosophers, that the true and faithful lover can never fall into the crimes of pride, anger, envy, sloth, or gluttony. From each of these his true faith is held to warrant and defend him. Nay, so pure was the nature of the flame which she recommended, that she maintained it to be inconsistent even with the seventh sin of chambering and wantonness, to which it might seem too nearly allied. The least dishonest thought or action was, according to her doctrine, sufficient to forfeit the chivalrous lover the favours of his lady. It seems, however, that the greatest part of her charge concerning incontinence is levelled against such as haunted the receptacles of open vice; and that she reserved an exception (of which in the course of the history she made a most liberal use) in favour of the intercourse which, in all law, honour, and secrecy, might take place when the favoured and faithful knight had obtained, by long service, the boon of mercy from the lady whom he loved.

The last encouragement which the Dame des Belles Cousines held out to Saintré in order to excite his ambition, and induce him to fix his passion upon a lady of elevated birth, rank, and sentiment, is also worthy of being quoted; since it shows that it was the prerogative of chivalry to abrogate the distinctions of rank, and elevate the hopes of the knight, whose sole patrimony was his arms and his valour, to the high-born and princely dame before whom he carved as a sewer.

“‘How is it possible for me,’ replied poor little Saintré, after having heard out the unmercifully long lecture of the Dame des Belles Cousines, ‘to find a lady, such as you describe, who will accept of my service, and requite the affection of such a one as I am?’

“‘And why should you not find her?’ answered the lady preceptress. ‘Are you not gently born? Are you not a fair and proper youth? Have you not eyes to look on her—ears to hear her—a tongue to plead your cause to her—hands to serve her—feet to move at her bidding—body and heart to accomplish loyally her commands?—and, having all these, can you doubt to adventure yourself in the service of any lady whatsoever?’”

In these extracts is painted the very spirit of chivalry, and the manners of an age which so many modern ladies seem to regret most deeply.

As I have already stated, warlike youth had to a certain degree emancipated themselves from the power of the priesthood, although they were always prepared and willing to rush into battle at their commands; but to the honour of the clergy it must be confessed, that although many individuals of that body might have enjoyed fighting as much as any testy layman, yet they did exert themselves to temper and modify as much as lay in their power the ferocity of the times. Whether in these efforts they were chiefly influenced by motives of humanity, or by opposition to the rivalry of secular power, it is no easy matter to decide.

The secular power of the nobles was very great, and to a certain degree independent of that of the sovereign. President Henault informs us, that during the first, and a considerable period of the second race, dukes and counts, in their quality of provincial governors, administered all regal functions within their jurisdiction, bestowed all military preferments, and judged by sovereign judgment all appeals of the centenaries, or judges nominated by the monarch,—still, in the name of the King. As at that period there could exist no other justice but a royal one, these same dukes and counts, having from the weakness of the government erected their offices into hereditary rights and patrimonies, continued to preserve their authority; and all traces of regal power disappeared in the provinces, with the exception of the government of Hugues Capet as duke and count, and, when he ascended the throne, his droit seigneural was added to his royal authority.

Before such arbitrary tribunals, when the judges were themselves unruly soldiers, utterly ignorant of any kind of jurisprudence, and knowing no other method of deciding a difference than by an appeal to force, the most expeditious method of deciding a quarrel was to make the litigants fight it out.

The only check upon the power of feudality was the influence of the clergy, then divided into secular and regular. The secular clerks officiated in the several sees and parishes, while the regular lived under monastic institutions and discipline.

Ecclesia abhorret sanguine was an old maxim of the church; and, when they condemned thousands to the torture or to death, they considered that they conformed themselves to the letter of this humane precept while handing their victims over to the secular arm to put their sentence into execution. Moreover, as the jurisprudence of the sword interfered with that of the altar, many were the prelates who powerfully declaimed against duelling and its excesses. Such were Gregory of Tours, Avitus, and Agobard. Various councils fulminated their anathemas on the barbarous practice; that of Valence in 855, and of Limoges in 994, and Trent so late as 1563: while several pontiffs, amongst whom we find Nicholas I, Alexander III, Celestin III, and Julius II, excommunicated all sovereigns who permitted duels to take place within their realms; and we see Charles IX. protesting against this papal interference, when, in his edict of 1564, he reserved to himself the power of authorizing duels when he thought it meet.

It is to this interference of the clergy that Europe was indebted for that pacific act called the Truce of God, to which I have already referred. This ordonnance, called Treuga Dei, was promulgated by a council at Toulujes in Roussillon, in the year 1041, when it gradually spread over Europe. In this celebrated act it was specified that upon all festivals, and from Wednesday evening until Monday morning in each week, no disputes should lead to any issue. This regulation was most wise, as it gave three entire days in each week to offended persons to reflect calmly on the nature of their supposed injury, or the benefits that might result from vindictive proceedings.

It appears, however, that the nobles paid but little attention to the Treuga Dei, or any other truce that tended to check their unruly passions. A greater diversion from their private feuds soon drew their attention in another direction; preparing the great moral revolution that marked the eleventh and the twelfth centuries: I of course allude to the Crusades, when, in the words of Anna Comnena, the whole of Europe seemed to have been torn up from its foundations, and ready to precipitate itself upon Asia. Six millions of enthusiasts, according to contemporary writers, rushed forward in this holy war; and in 1096, under the command of Godefroy de Bouillon, an army of about a hundred thousand, chiefly composed of men sufficiently distinguished in their several countries by birth and education to cut each other’s throats with propriety, were patriotic enough to rid their country of their presence, and were soon after followed to Palestine by another draft of pugnacious nobility and gentry from various parts of Europe.

Nor can we be surprised at this ardour, when we consider all the advantages held out to the crusaders both in this world and in the next. They were exempted from all prosecution for debt, and from the payment of all interest thereon. They were freed from taxation; they were taken under the immediate protection of St. Peter; and all who vexed, perplexed, or impeded them in word, deed, or thought, were irrevocably damned. They obtained a plenary remission of all sins past and present, with immunity for future ones; and the gates of heaven were thrown open to them without any other claims on salvation than their having engaged in this expedition.

The crusades moreover produced a great revolution in property; many of these adventurers selling their lands and inheritances at the lowest prices to equip themselves, while many of the nobles, perishing in the expedition, left their fiefs without heirs to increase the revenue and power of the crown.

Thus was this glorious enterprise a fatal blow to feudality; and, when a few of these adventurers returned to their homes, they were so reduced by misery and corrected by misfortunes, that their unfortunate vassals entertained some dawning hopes of better days. These wanderers had travelled over more civilized parts, and brought back some faint notions of justice, humanity, and improvement.

Another circumstance in the twelfth century not a little added to the progress of the human mind in search of amelioration. In 1137, when the imperial troops were plundering and sacking the town of Amalfi, a band of ruffians had found in some ruins an old book, the illuminated pictures of which attracted their notice. The Emperor claimed this curiosity as his prize, having discovered that it was no less than a copy of the Pandects of Justinian; the which he presented as a valuable trophy to the city of Pisa, whence its contents were called “Pandectæ Pisanæ,” till, being borne away in turn by the Florentines, it was afterwards named “Pandectæ Florentinæ.”

This accidental discovery produced a new era in Europe: it showed the barbarians who wielded the brute power of force, that there did exist other arguments than the sword’s point or the spear-head; and murder, which had usurped the seat of justice for upwards of six centuries, was obliged to yield to the influence of reason and interest. Schools of civil law were now opened, that superseded the exercises of the lists; and the study of Roman law succeeded the Lombardian code, despite the endeavour of the clergy to protect their canonical institutions by fulminating anathemas issued from the Vatican. The clergy of England, who, like their predecessors the Druids, had engrossed every branch of learning, lost no time in obtaining a proficiency in all the ancient oral maxims and customs, called common law, which had been handed down from former ages. Hence William of Malmsbury, soon after the Conquest asserted, Nullus clericus nisi causidicus. The judges were created out of the sacred order, and all the inferior offices filled up by the lower clergy, their successors to this day being called Clerks.

Thus we see two events, the crusades and the introduction of civil law, checking the disastrous excesses of duelling and arbitrating all differences by the sword. The future was pregnant with two events of still greater importance towards humanizing Society,—the fall of the Eastern empire, and the discovery of the art of printing: by the one, civilization was thrown back on the West; and by the other gift of Providence man began to learn to think for himself.

We thus perceive the progress of duelling, and its less frequent occurrence, depending in a great measure upon the state of society and the nature of government: by following this progress chronologically in the history of various countries, we shall attain much information, both as regards the prevalence of this barbarous custom, and the success of different governments in their endeavours to suppress, or, at least, restrain its excesses. When, after reading the details of many of these duels, (some of them of perhaps a tedious nature, but all tending to illustrate the manners of the age,) we glance on the civil and religious condition of the people amongst whom they took place, the deductions from these observations may be found to be of more importance than may at first sight appear.

CHAPTER VI.

DUELLING IN FRANCE.

France may be considered the classic ground of duelling, the field of single combat par excellence; whence, from the duchy of Normandy, as we have already seen, it was introduced into the British isles.

If we are indebted to our neighbours for this practice, it is also to them that we owe the various codes and regulations drawn out to equalize, as far as possible, the chances of victory, and to prevent any unfair advantages being obtained to the prejudice of the opposite party. Of these various documents, possibly the rules given by Brantôme may be considered the most curious.

In the first instance, he says:—“On no account whatever let an infidel be brought out as a second or a witness: it is not proper that an unbeliever should witness the shedding of Christian blood, which would delight him; and it is moreover abominable that such a wretch should be allowed such an honourable pastime.

“The combatants must be carefully examined and felt, to ascertain that they have no particular drugs, witchcraft, or charms about them. It is allowed to wear on such occasions some relics of Our Lady of Loretto, and other holy objects; yet it is not clearly decided what is to be done when both parties have not these relics, as no advantage should be allowed to one combatant more than to another.

“It is idle to dwell upon courtesies: the man who steps into the field must have made up his mind to conquer or die, but, above all things, never to surrender; for the conqueror may treat the vanquished as he thinks proper,—drag him round the ground, hang him, burn him, keep him a prisoner, in short, do with him whatever he pleases. The Danes and Lombards, in this, imitated Achilles, who, after his combat with Hector, dragged him three times round the walls at the tail of his triumphant car.

“Every gallant knight must maintain the honour of ladies, whether they may have forfeited it or not,—if it can be said that a gentille dame can have forfeited her honour by kindness to her servant and her lover. A soldier may fight his captain, provided he has been two years upon actual service, and he quits his company.

“If a father accuses a son of any crime that may tend to dishonour him, the son may demand satisfaction of his father; since he has done him more injury by dishonouring him, than he had bestowed advantage by giving him life.”

Notwithstanding Brantôme’s authority, the right of a soldier to call out his captain has been a questionable point; and La Béraudière, and Basnage, and Alciat have discussed the point very minutely. The last author came to the conclusion that such a meeting could only be tolerated when both parties were off duty,—post functionem secus. The same learned writer maintains that you can only refuse to fight a bastard; and he therefore strongly recommends all noblemen to legitimatize their sons, that they may be rendered worthy of the honour of knighthood and of duelling: and he further declares, that all challenges from a roturier, a mere citizen, or a man in business, must be considered as null and void.

There is a passage in Brantôme which singularly applies to modern France, as regards the multiplicity of decorations of honour and their various button-hole badges; distinctions, which, from the facility with which they are obtained, he does not consider as qualifying the wearer to fight a gentleman. “If these people were attended to,” he says, “one could no longer fight a proper duel: such numbers of them pullulate in every direction, that we see nothing but knights of St. Michael and of the Saint Esprit; to such an extent were these orders abused during our civil wars, to win over and retain followers being no longer the meed of valour or of merit.”

To tear off a decoration, or even to touch it, was considered an unpardonable insult; and we have seen in more modern times an example of the respect to which such attributes of distinction are entitled. In August 1833, Colonel Gallois, an officer in the service of Poland, felt himself offended by an article in the Figaro, a paper conducted by Nestor Roqueplan; and, having met him, tore off his riband of the Legion of Honour. The parties met in the wood of Meudon, when Roqueplan received three wounds, and Gallois one in the knee: the two seconds of Gallois at the same time had thrown off their coats, and challenged the seconds of Roqueplan, who very wisely declined any participation in the fight; when one of Gallois’s party insisted upon satisfaction from Mr. Leon Pillet, a friend of Roqueplan, with whom he was on intimate terms, and, to urge his suit, requested that he might be allowed to take the badge of the Legion off his coat, to overcome his apparent repugnance; adding, that he entertained too much friendship and esteem towards him to offend him in any other manner. There was no refusing so polite a request.

The colours of a lady, in a knot of ribands worn by her admirer, and called an emprise, were equally sacred; and, when a brave of those chivalric days was anxious for a combat, he exerted himself to find some daring desperado who would put his finger on the badge of love. In Ireland to this day, in many of its wild districts, a pugnacious ruffian will drag his jacket after him, and fight unto death any spalpeen who ventures to touch it.

Choice of arms was a matter of great importance in these meetings, indeed of a vital nature; since, if a weapon was broken in the hands of one of the parties, he was considered vanquished, and at the discretion of his conqueror,—such an accident being looked upon as a decision of Providence: a miss-fire at the present day is considered a shot, although on a less religious principle. Pistols were introduced in the reign of Henry II; and, being considered as affording a more equal chance to both combatants, this arm has been generally selected in modern duels, more especially in England. On the Continent the small-sword and the sabre were more frequently resorted to; and we shall shortly see the regulations regarding their employment, which in France form a regular code.

Some of the ancient modes of fighting were most singular and whimsical. Brantôme relates a story of two Corsicans who had fixed short sharp-pointed daggers in the front of their helmets, being covered with a suit of mail called a “jacque” over their shirts, although the weather was remarkably cold; such an arrangement having been proposed by the offended, who had the right to select and name the mode of combat, and who was fearful of his antagonist’s renown for his power and dexterity in wrestling. Both were armed with swords, and they fought for some time with such equality of skill that neither was wounded; at length they rushed upon each other, and wrestling commenced. It was during this struggle that the daggers came into play, each butting in his antagonist’s face, and neck, and arms, until blood was streaming in every direction, and in such profusion that they were separated: one of them only lived a month; in consequence of which the survivor was well nigh dying of tristesse and ennui, as they had become friends, and expected that they both should have died.[11]

Notwithstanding this valorous disposition, it appears that the choice of arms and appointments was frequently made a subterfuge to gain time, or cause much trouble and expense; and Brantôme relates, that, in the fatal duel between Jarnac and Chasteneraye, the former proposed no less than thirty different weapons to be used both on horseback and on foot, and had also specified various horses, Spanish, Turkish, Barbs, with different kinds of saddles: in consequence of which our chronicler adds, that if his uncle had not been a man of some independence, and moreover assisted by his royal master, he could not have maintained the challenge; and he very truly observed, when receiving it, “This man wants to fight both my valour and my purse.”

This privilege of the offended to choose their arms and regulate the nature of the combat, however capriciously, afforded considerable advantages; since the art of fencing taught many secret tricks, the knowledge of which gave great reputation to professors. So secret, indeed, were these instructions, that not only was the pupil solemnly sworn never to reveal the mysterious practice, but instructions were given in private, after having examined every part of the room, the furniture, and the very walls, to ascertain that no third person could have been concealed to witness the deadly lesson. To this day in France such cuts and thrusts are called coups de maître, and by the lower classes coups de malins.

A curious case is recorded of a knight, who, having been taught invariably to strike the region of the heart, insisted upon fighting in a suit of armour, with an opening in each cuirass of the breadth of the hand over the heart: the result, of course, was immediately fatal to his antagonist.

The “cunning” of armourers was also frequently resorted to, to obtain unfair advantages. A skilful workman in Milan had carried his mode of tempering steel to such a point of perfection, that the solidity of the sword and dagger depended entirely on the manner in which they were handled: in the hands of the inexperienced the weapons flew into shivers; whereas in the grasp of a skilful combatant they were as trusty as the most approved Toledan blade.

Nor were these valiant knights very particular as to odds. It is related of two French gentlemen, La Villatte and the Baron de Salligny, who fought a duel with two Gascons of the name of Malecolom and Esparezat, that Malecolom having speedily killed his antagonist Salligny, and perceiving that his companion Esparezat was a long time despatching Villatte, went to his assistance. When Villatte, thus unfairly pressed by two antagonists, remonstrated against the treachery, Malecolom very coolly replied, “I have killed my adversary, and, if you kill yours, there may be a chance that you may also kill me; therefore here goes!”

More punctilious, however, were some of these heroes in points of honour. We read in Brantôme of two Piedmontese officers, intimate friends, who having gone out to fight, one of the parties received a wound that was supposed to be mortal; when his opponent, instead of despatching him, assisted him off the ground, to conduct him to a surgeon. “Ah!” exclaimed the wounded man, “do not be generous by halves!—let it not be said that I fell without inflicting a wound: so, pray wear your arm in a scarf, and say that I hit you ere I succumbed.” His friend generously acceded to the proposal; and, having smeared a bandage in his blood, he wrapped it round his arm, publishing abroad that he had been wounded ere his brave companion received his mortal thrust. The wound however not proving fatal, an everlasting friendship, cemented by gratitude, ever after prevailed between them.

Many instances of these singular rencontres and fatal caprices in deeds of arms will be recorded in the course of this history; all of which may be referred to the character of the times, and the existing government’s weakness or tyrannical influence.

In relating the progress of duelling in France during the fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries, I cannot better characterize the state of the country than by quoting a late intelligent writer, M. de Campigneulles:—

“I find between the fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries the same difference that is observable between the seventeenth and the eighteenth; neither of these periods being in my opinion in favour of any progress. Louis XI. will be found preferable to Charles IX; and Charles VIII. will be placed in a more distinguished rank than Henry II. Francis I. will not make us forget Louis XII; and the glorious exploits of the French under Charles VII. will console us for a long time for the miseries of the civil wars under Henry III. I do not think it necessary, to justify the second proposition, to draw a parallel between the reigns of Henry IV. and Louis XIV. on one side, with the regency and reign of Louis XV. on the other. What is not less remarkable is, that the first period of a century has frequently been more worthy of estimation than the second; showing that there is an action and a reaction in the progress of civilization, and that the torrent of ages seems to be subject to the same laws that regulate the waters of the deep.

“Under Charles VII. the aristocracy was too deeply engaged in their national contest with England to occupy themselves with personal feuds; the aristocracy, in the enormous sacrifices which this struggle required, was drained both of men and money. The people gained nothing,—the royal authority alone reaped any advantage that might have resulted from this state of affairs; for from this reign we may date the establishment of standing armies and taxations,—the latter being imposed illegally, and without the sanction of the states-general.

“The policy of Louis XI.’s government turned to a profitable account the state of poverty and depression to which the aristocracy had been reduced. The nobility of France was deteriorated by this cruel prince, who founded his despotic power upon executions; and the blood which had been spilled in the field of battle to defend the country, was now wantonly shed upon the scaffold. There was none left to irrigate a field of private battle.

“These combined circumstances had struck a fatal blow to duelling; and the prejudices which had justified the practice, and which at the same time had advocated the cause of aristocracy, became every day more weak, attesting the homogeneity of their character.

“France has always been considered as giving the ton to Europe; but between us and other countries the exchange has not always been to our advantage, and, for what we may have given to our neighbours of any value, we have received in return sad equivalents. It is to Germany that we were first indebted for judicial combats. It was in Italy that we sought the practice of duelling, which succeeded them; and while this moral contagion was widely spread during the expeditions of Charles VII, Louis XII, and Francis I, a sad physical contamination was transmitted to us through Spain. The practice of duelling had scarcely crossed the Alps, when it gradually disappeared amongst the Italians; and the stiletto became a substitute for the sword.

“It is to the reign of Charles VIII. that we must refer these Italian campaigns, so fatal to our arms and our manners. The ardour of our youth inspired this monarch with a desire of foreign expeditions. In 1494 he overran the kingdom of Naples, losing his conquests as rapidly as he had obtained them. Duelling was then in great vogue over Italy,—a tradition of the Goths and Lombards, modified, or rather exaggerated, by the chivalric fancies of the Spaniards.

“A wish to enforce the rights of Valentine on the duchy of Milan induced Louis XII. to undertake fresh Italian expeditions, although he had strenuously opposed similar projects on the part of his predecessor during his latter days. It was during the reign of this monarch, from 1499 to 1515, that incessant duels thinned the ranks of his armies. They were sanctioned by the Duke de Nemours their leader, and the illustrious Bayard himself was obliged to yield to the torrent of fashion.

“The Italian wars continued to be waged under Francis I. He himself, as we have seen, sent a rodomontade challenge to the Emperor Charles; and although neither of the parties entertained a serious intention of putting their boasted threats into execution, yet he had shown an example which was greedily followed by the most distinguished personages of the court.”

It was during his reign that pistols were introduced, and became the fit auxiliaries of the dagger amongst the bandits that infested the realm; and thus does Abbé Villy describe the condition of the country—“Our intercourse with the Italians, amongst whom our armies had lived for more than fifty years, had altered our national character in many respects. Men became less delicate in their means of glutting revenge. Assassinations and premeditated murders became each day more frequent. Already it was not considered sufficient to await an enemy upon the road, or attack him in his dwelling. It was at the corner of a street or in an open square, and in the presence of their fellow-citizens, that public functionaries fell under an assassin’s blow. Relays of horses were ready to enable the criminal to escape, and the crime to remain unpunished.”

“Charles IX. was the last French monarch who allowed a duel, and was present when it took place. He was also the first to prohibit the practice; and his ordonnance of 1566 in this respect was admirable, wherein he commanded that all differences should be submitted to the decision of the constables and marshals of France, more especially in such cases where the lie had been given.

“Henry III. was the last who appeared in a tournament, with his brother Charles IX; and he also issued severe orders concerning murderers and assassins, who, however, from his want of energy, applied with more audacity and impunity than at any other period, converting the country into a cut-throat: and if this prince ended by discouraging duels, it was only when from his affections towards his unworthy favourites he felt their loss, and, without possessing sufficient energy to avenge them, their tragic end only gave rise to fresh scandal in the indecency of his grief. D’Audiguier, the duellist, called him the best prince in the world; and Brantôme says that he was so good, that he never could punish rigorously, he so loved his nobility.

“The fever of duelling was not mitigated during the long period of our religious wars. Civil wars differ widely from those that are carried on to defend national honour against a foreign enemy. When these break forth, personal feuds are appeased, and one interest predominates; our blood is reserved for our country, and duels will cease: but when in an impious conflict citizens are armed against each other, every evil passion is unbridled; no law, no check, can restrain them; everything becomes a weapon; men no longer fight, but kill; and what the sword may have spared is doomed to the scaffold. Thus did murders assume every possible form during the convulsions of the sixteenth century; every instrument of destruction was brought to bear; the dagger rivalled the sword; and, as we already were indebted to Italy for duelling, an Italian Queen, one of the Medici, brought in another gift—assassination.”

CHAPTER VII.

DUELS IN FRANCE DURING THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

As we have seen in the preceding chapter, it was during the reign of Francis I. that duels became multiplied, both in the French dominions, and in their armies employed upon foreign service. The influence of the monarch upon his court, and of that court upon the nation, has ever been all-powerful in that country, until the people knew that they were something. We have seen the potato, after being considered by the whole country as only food fit for swine, introduced into fashionable, and thence into general consumption, after Louis XIV. had appeared in court with a nosegay of its flowers at his button-hole.

The gasconading challenge sent by Francis to Charles, although it must have been fully appreciated by reasoning people, acted with electric enthusiasm on the nation; and if a king thought it incumbent on his honour to seek satisfaction for having been accused of asserting a falsehood, how much more urgent did it become for subjects to draw their swords upon the slightest contradiction that could give umbrage to the phantom of chivalric honour? Moreover, it had been currently reported, and of course confirmed by the courtiers, that this monarch, having considered himself offended by the Count of Saxony, then on a visit at his court, had taken him aside in a hunting excursion, without any witness being present to compromise his future safety, and proposed a single combat, which the Count very wisely declined.

Francis, although he not only tolerated, but approved of duelling, was jealous of the right of giving it his sanction, and was much displeased if a challenge was sent without his knowledge. Thus De Cipsière was obliged to absent himself from the Louvre for a considerable time, for having presumed to send his compliments to D’Audoin by Vicomte Gourdon, and to inform him that he was going to hear mass at the church of St. Paul, where if M. D’Audoin would attend at the same time, they would afterwards take a walk into the country by the Porte St. Antoine. Several duels during this reign may almost be considered as judicial combats, since they took place in the presence of the sovereign, who thus constituted himself an arbiter.

The reign of Francis might have been one of gallantry and of pleasure; and there are not wanting even ladies who, in the present day, look upon its profligacies and their ferocious results as noble deeds,[12] the effects of chivalric devotion. I must confess that, in looking over its annals, I can find nothing remarkable, except an outrageous breach of all morality and decorum, and a wanton waste of human blood.

The miserable successor of this prince, Henry II, whose reign was ushered in by the disgraceful duel between Jarnac and La Chasteneraye, which I have already related, encouraged duelling by his want of energy; the princes of the blood followed the general example: and we find the Prince Charles, brother to the Duke de Bourbon Montpensier, fighting with D’Andelot, brother of the Admiral Coligny, at a hunting party.

It was during this reign that a singular duel took place between a youth of the name of Châteauneuf, and his guardian Lachesnaye, an old man of eighty. The champions met at the Isle Louviers, the subject of the dispute being a lawsuit concerning the minor’s property. Châteauneuf asked the old gentleman, if there was any truth in the reports circulated, that he had made use of disrespectful language concerning him; which the other positively denied on the word of a gentleman. This assertion satisfied the youth; but the old man would not let the matter rest. “You may be satisfied,” he replied, “but that is more than I am: and, since you have given me the trouble of coming here, we must fight. What would all those folks say, who have done us the honour of collecting to see us on both sides of the river, if they found that we came here to talk instead of acting? Our honour is concerned; let us therefore begin.” Both were armed with swords and daggers; when Lachesnaye exclaimed, “Ah! paillard! tu es cuirassé!” which we might translate into modern phraseology, “You varmint! you have a cuirass on. “Ah! je t’aurai bien autrement!”—“You shall catch it in another manner!” and forthwith made his cut and thrust at the face and throat; an attack which by no means disconcerted the young combatant, who very quietly ran the old gentleman through the body.

The youth of those gallant times were not very punctilious when they were less successful than Châteauneuf, as appears in the following adventure:—

The King, being out at a stag-hunt in the wood of Vincennes, accompanied by the nephew of Marshal St. André, this youth sought a quarrel with an elderly gentleman of the name of Matas, and they repaired to a lonely part of the wood, where Matas gave him a salutary lesson in fencing, by disarming him, whipping his sword out of his hand as soon as he was on guard; adding, “For the future, young man, learn to hold your sword, and do not seek to encounter a man like me! Take up your sword; depart, and I forgive you.” So saying, he was mounting his horse, when his adversary having raised his sword from the ground, thought the best use he could make of it was to rid himself of so troublesome a witness of his shame; he therefore stabbed him in the back, and left the corpse on the ground. The chronicler adds, “No notice of this transaction took place, for the young man was nephew of Marshal St. André; whereas the other was only a relation of Madame de Valentinois (the famed Diana de Poitiers), who, after the death of Henry II, had lost all her influence at court.” Nay, poor Matas was even blamed for having rebuked a fiery and honourable youth! “It is wrong,” says the chronicler, “for old boasting fencers to abuse their good fortune, and taunt a youth who is only in the bud,—car Dieu s’en attriste!”—It grieves God!

Nothing could exceed the sang froid that these desperate men exhibited on such occasions. Brantôme relates the case of a duel between a Norman gentleman and a little chevalier named De Refuge. They had taken a boat to go over to the Isle du Palais, to fight without witnesses; when, perceiving that several other boats were in pursuit of them, they jumped on shore, one of them exclaiming, “Pray, let us make haste, for they are coming to separate us!” and, so saying, they attacked each other. After four lounges, they were both dead. The same writer mentions a Seigneur de Gensac, who was eager to encounter two champions at once; and, when the absurdity of the attempt was alleged, merely replied, “Why, history is full of such deeds! and, mon Dieu! I am determined to have my name recorded.”

The following adventure of an illustrious murderer, called by Brantôme the Paragon of France, may give an idea of those glorious times:—

Duprat, Baron de Vitaux, was son of the Chancellor Duprat, and from early life had displayed symptoms of undaunted “courage.” He commenced his career in arms by killing the young Baron de Soupez, with whom he had quarrelled at dinner, when Soupez threw a candlestick at him and broke his head: he waylaid him on the road to Toulouse; and, having despatched him, effected his escape in female attire. His next exploit was murdering a gentleman of the name of Gounelieu, to avenge the death of one of his brothers, a lad of fifteen, whom Gounelieu had killed; on this expedition he was accompanied by a young nobleman named Boucicaut; their victim was travelling post near St. Denis, when they met with him: after this achievement, he fled to Italy, Gounelieu being a favourite of the King. Vitaux, however, could not remain long in exile and inactivity, but returned to France for the express purpose of revenging the death of another brother, killed by a near relation of his own, the Baron de Mittaud.

This Baron was a Seigneur from Auvergne, and had been summoned to court by Charles IX. to act as an interpreter to the ambassadors from Poland, who came to offer the crown of that kingdom to the King’s brother, the Duc d’Anjou. Mittaud, little suspecting that Vitaux was in Paris, was not upon his guard; while Vitaux, who had allowed his beard to grow to a considerable length, and was disguised as a lawyer, was watching every opportunity to surprise him,—having taken an obscure lodging on the Quai des Augustins, in company with his old companion Boucicaut, and a brother of his, both of them brave and valiant men, and called the Lions of the Baron de Vitaux. These worthies, having met the Baron de Mittaud, immediately despatched him; but it so happened, that, in defending himself, he had wounded one of the Boucicauts, who, not being able to keep pace with the two other assassins in their flight, was obliged to stop at a barber’s shop to get his wound dressed: he had been tracked by the traces of the blood he had lost in his flight, and was taken up by the Archers of the Provost twelve leagues from Paris; and, being confined in Fort l’Evêque, expected to have been executed, since both the King and his brother decided that he should forfeit his life.

It so happened, that the Polish ambassadors lodged in the house of the prisoner’s brother, who was Provost of Paris, and who earnestly supplicated them to apply to the King and his brother for the culprit’s pardon. The Polish envoys, backed by President de Thou, made a long harangue in Latin; which, whether the monarch understood them or not, succeeded in ultimately attaining their demand, and Boucicaut shortly after appeared at court as gay and as unconcerned as ever.

This event only encouraged our hero, who shortly after returned to Paris, and killed with “incredible audacity,” says the chronicler, Louis de Guart, the King’s favourite, who had presumed to oppose the grant of his pardon. Vitaux, with seven or eight companions, entered Guart’s house, and killed him in his bed; using for the purpose “a sword very short and very keen, which, upon such occasions, is considered preferable to a long one.” “This act,” adds the historian, “was considered one of great resolution and assurance.” One might have expected that such a ruffian would have died on the gallows; but he sought the protection of the Duc d’Alençon, being under the patronage of Queen Marguerite, of whom he was a special favourite.

At last, the Baron de Mittaud, brother of the one he had assassinated eight years previously, called him out: both parties were duly examined, although it was maintained that Mittaud wore a thin cuirass, painted flesh-colour, under his garments. Howbeit, the point of Vitaux’s sword was bent either upon this protection, or one of his ribs; finding that all his lounges and thrusts were of no avail, he had recourse to hacking and hewing, when in four well-applied cuts his adversary despatched him, without having had the “courtesy of offering him his life.” “Thus,” further says the historian, “died this brave Baron, the Paragon of France, where he was as much esteemed as in Spain, Germany, Poland, and England; and every foreigner who came to court was most anxious to behold him: he was small in stature, but lofty in courage: his enemies pretended that he did not kill people ‘properly’ (il ne tuait pas bien ses gens), but had recourse to various stratagems; wherein,” says Brantôme, “it is the opinion of great captains, even Italians, who were always the best avengers in the world,—that stratagem might be encountered by stratagem, without any breach of honour.” Brantôme adds, “I have spoken enough of him; although I should immortalize him were it in my power, as much for his merits, as for the sincere friendship that existed between us!”

The duel that most grieved the heart of Henry III. was that which occurred between his favourite mignons, Caylus and D’Entragues, who had fallen out about some fair ladies of the court. Riberac and Schomberg, a young German, were seconds to D’Entragues; Maugerin and Livaret were the seconds of Caylus. The parties met near the ramparts of the Porte St. Antoine, no one being present but three or four “poor persons, wretched witnesses of the valour of these worthy men.”

The moment the principals had commenced, Riberac addressed Maugerin, saying, “Methinks that we had better endeavour to reconcile these gentlemen, rather than allow them to kill each other.” To which unworthy proposal the other replied, “Sir, I did not come here to string beads; I came here to fight!” “And with whom?” innocently asked Riberac; “since you are not concerned in this quarrel,—with whom?” “With you, to be sure,” was the laconic reply of Maugerin. “If that be the case,” added Riberac, “let us pray;” and, so saying, he drew his sword and dagger, and placing the hilts cross-ways, fell upon his knees to put up proper orisons: but Maugerin thought his doxology too prolix; and, swearing most irreligiously, told him “that he had prayed long enough.” Upon which they furiously attacked each other, until both fell dead.

Schomberg, the other second, beholding this episode, addressed Livaret very politely, saying, “These gentlemen are fighting; what shall we do?” To which the other replied, “We cannot do better than fight, to maintain our honour.” Schomberg, who was a German, forthwith cut open the cheek of his adversary; a compliment which Livaret politely returned by a thrust in the breast, which stretched him a corpse, to keep company with the body of Maugerin. Riberac was borne from the field, and died of his wounds the next day. D’Entragues, though severely wounded, effected his escape; while Caylus was carried to his death-bed, where he bitterly complained that his adversary had a dagger in addition to his sword. In consequence of being obliged to parry the thrusts of the former with his hand, he had been stabbed in several places. He further stated, that he had said to D’Entragues, “You have a dagger, and I have none!” To which the other replied, “So much the worse for you; you ought not to have been such a fool as to have left it at home.” Brantôme observes, that he does not exactly know whether, from a sense of gentillesse chivalaresque, he ought not to have laid aside his dagger. Livaret, two years after, was killed in a duel; when his servant, on seeing him fall, picked up his sword, and killed his adversary, the son of the Marquis de Pienne. The King was so afflicted at the death of Caylus, that he gave orders to have him buried by the side of another of his mignons, Sainct Megrin, who was assassinated by the Duke de Guise at the Louvre gate.

The custom of the seconds fighting with each other appears to have been introduced by the royal mignons, who, no doubt, vied with each other for the monarch’s favour. In these murderous contests, one of the most celebrated bravoes was Bussy d’Amboise, one of the principal actors in the massacre of St. Barthelemi, during which he assassinated his own near relation, Antoine de Clermont, with whom he was at law. This was undoubtedly a more expedient motive than the one that induced him to call out a gentleman of the name of St. Phal, who having an X embroidered on some part of his apparel, Bussy maintained that it was a Y. A combat forthwith took place, of six against six. One could scarcely believe that the brave Crillon should have risked his life with such a pernicious cut-throat. Yet it is recorded that, having met him one day in the Rue St. Honoré, Bussy asked him the hour; when Crillon, drawing his sword, replied, “It is the hour of thy death!” Fortunately the combatants were separated. The intrigues of Bussy with Marguerite de Valois are well known; and at the same period he boasted of the favour of the Countess de Montsoreau, whose husband was master of the hunt of the Duke d’Alençon; and having written to that prince, that he had caught a deer of the Count’s in his snares, the letter was shown to Henry III, who kindly put it into the husband’s hand. The master of the hunt did not deem it advisable to risk his life in seeking revenge, but compelled his faithless spouse to give a rendez-vous to her paramour; when, instead of his mistress’s embraces, he was received by the daggers of hired bravoes.

The assassination of this monarch himself (Henry III.) afforded a singular instance of the manners of the time, and the reckless character of the courtiers. A young man in the royal household, of the name of Isle Marivaux, determined not to survive his royal master; and begged to know if any one would do him the favour of fighting with him, to give him a fair chance of being killed. Fortunately for him, another courtier, of the name of Marolles, took him at his word; and, after a few lounges, gratified his best wishes.

Such were what historians called “the good old times,” when, as a late writer asserts, the lasciviousness of Messalina was combined with the ferocity of Nero and the gluttony of Heliogabalus; and when wit and ribaldry were the associates of assassination. Thus, when Catherine de Medicis was informed upon her death-bed of the murder of the Duke and Cardinal de Guise, she replied, “’Tis well cut out, my son; but now your work must be stitched!”

CHAPTER VIII.

FRANCE IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

We now come to a reign which was considered the most glorious in the annals of French history—that of Henry IV. Yet France showed that the private character of a monarch can exert but little influence over the manners of a people previously demoralized by capricious tyranny and by civil war. It has been truly said, that “Henry, surnamed the Great, did not illustrate the character of his times, but Ravaillac;” it is also a singular fact, that the name of Henry seemed to be fatal to the French monarchy, and five assassins were found to raise their murderous hands against a sovereign said to be beloved.

In vain did Henry IV. issue the most positive edicts against duelling; his commands were unheeded, and his humane intentions invariably set at nought. From his accession to the throne in 1589, until 1607, it was calculated that no less than four thousand gentlemen were killed in affairs of honour; and we find that, in a journal of the 8th of August 1606, was to be read the following paragraph:—“Last week we had in Paris four assassinations and three duels, no notice having been taken of these events.” The desperate nature of these bloody feuds was such, that whole families were destroyed. This was instanced in the case of two persons of the name of Joeilles and Devese, the former having seduced the wife of the latter. Devese only accepted the challenge to draw his enemy into an ambush, with the intention of murdering him; but he fortunately escaped with a wound in the back. Having joined the army in Savoy some time after, he again sought his adversary, who fired a pistol at him, and ran away. The King, on hearing of this offence, dismissed Devese from his regiment, granting a permission to Joeilles “to attack him in whatever manner he thought proper, to seize upon his property and houses, and his person wherever he found him.” However, a reconciliation was attempted to be brought about, and the hand of a sister of Devese was to be the pledge of peace; but Joeilles, bent upon revenge, so managed it, that he seduced the young lady, and then refused to marry her. Her brother soon avenged her wrongs by waylaying and killing him, when a relation of Joeilles got him shot with a musket by a person of the name of D’Aubignac, In fine, one girl was the only survivor of the two families; illustrating, during the far-famed reign of this sovereign, the vendeta of the Corsicans.

This evil may have been justly attributed to the chivalrous ideas of the monarch, who acted in defiance of his own wise decrees; since we find him writing to his friend, Duplessis Mornay, who complained of having been insulted, “I feel much hurt upon hearing of the insult you have received, and in which I sympathise both as your sovereign and your friend. In the first capacity, I shall see justice done, both for your sake and mine; and if I only bore the second quality, you should find me most ready to draw my sword, and most cheerfully to expose my life.” Can it be surprising that such a monarch should have fallen under an assassin’s blow? In November 1594, the eldest son of the Duc de Guise, having sought a quarrel with the Comte de St. Pol, ran him through the body in the streets of Rheims; yet, two years after, the King appointed that very person to the government of Provence.

Ruffians of the most sanguinary disposition became noted and respected under this popular Henry IV. One of them named Lagarde Valois, was celebrated for his brutal deeds; another quarrelsome ruffian, named Bazanez, was determined to have a trial of skill with him, and for this purpose sent him a hat, ornamented with feathers, and accompanied with a message, stating that he would wear it at the peril of his life. Lagarde immediately put the hat upon his head, and set out in quest of Bazanez, who was also looking for him in every direction. Having at last met, after an exchange of mutual civilities the combat began. Lagarde inflicted a wound on the forehead of his antagonist; but, the head being harder than his steel, his sword was bent on the skull: he was more fortunate in his next lounge, which penetrated his antagonist’s body, when he exclaimed, “This is for the hat!” Another thrust was equally successful, when he added, “And here is for the feathers!” This purchase he did not deem sufficient, and he therefore gave him a third wound, exclaiming, “And this is for the loop!” During this polite conversation, seeing the blood of his opponent streaming from his several wounds, he complimented him on the elegant fit of his hat, when Bazanez infuriated, rushed upon him, breaking through his guard, and, throwing him down, stabbed him in the throat with his dagger, and repeated his desperate blows fourteen times in his neck, chest, and stomach; while at each stab, as the wretched man roared out for mercy, the other replied at every reiterated thrust, “No! no! no!” However, during this conflict, the prostrate Lagarde was not altogether idle; he bit off a portion of his adversary’s chin, fractured his skull with the pommel of his sword, and “only lost his courage with his life.” During this scene, the seconds were amusing themselves also in fencing, until one of them was laid dead on the field of honour. This Lagarde, it appears, was as concise in his epistolary style as in his colloquial eloquence during a fight: the following is a copy of one of his letters to a man whom he was determined to despatch. “I have reduced your home to ashes; I have dishonoured your wife, and hanged your children; and I now have the honour to be your mortal enemy,—Lagarde.”

It has already been stated, that during the reign of Henry IV. four thousand gentlemen lost their lives in single combat; and, by the statement of Daudiguier, this monarch granted fourteen thousand pardons for duelling. It was in vain that the wise Sully exerted his influence to check this execrable practice; the following extract from his Memoirs affords a striking illustration of the times:—

It was in consequence of the constant remonstrance of this minister that Henry issued various prohibitory edicts, which criminated duellists as guilty of lèse-majesté, and punished the offence with death. The edict of Blois, in 1602, not only condemned both the challenger and the challenged, with their seconds, to death, and confiscation of their goods; but further ordered that all offended parties should submit their complaints to the governor of their province, to be laid before the constable and marshals of France. This was the origin of the jurisdiction of the “point of honour,” which may, however, be partly referred to an edict of Charles IX. of 1566, but which was only embodied as a code under Louis XIV.

Bellieme, then chancellor of France, maintained that duels would not cease until the King ceased to intermeddle with them; but, if left to him, he would soon put a stop to the practice by refusing a pardon to all offenders; observing, that the most forward to fight would draw back, if, whatever were to be the issue of the duel, they saw that death was inevitable. Such was the course adopted by the Prince de Melfi, who commanded the army in Piedmont, and who obliged both the challengers and the offenders to fight upon a narrow bridge without rails or parapet, and guarded at both extremities, so that there was no escaping from drowning, or being run through the body.

It appears that all these edicts, notwithstanding the severity of their formulary, were unheeded, and seldom or never carried into execution; indeed, there were as many saving clauses and loop-holes in these decrees as in any of our modern acts of parliament, through which it has been truly observed, one could drive a coach and four: for instance, while duels were denounced as impious and infamous, it was provided that the offended parties should have the power of applying to the sovereign through the marshals of France for permission to fight; another clause specified that “a person who demanded a battle without sufficient reason, should be dismissed with shame:” but there is not a single instance of the application of this law upon record; and D’Audiguier observes, “that as the King never granted permission to fight to any applicant, and had frequently refused it, it was evident that there was no use in making an application, therefore the parties came to blows without any reference to authority, and were, with very few exceptions, pardoned by the royal clemency.” Sully observes on this subject, “that the facility with which the King forgave duels tended to multiply them, and hence these fatal examples pervaded the court, the town, and the kingdom.”

Montaigne says on this subject, that he verily believes, “if three Frenchmen were put into the Libyan desert, they would not be a month there without quarrelling and fighting;” and Hardouin de Perefix, Bishop of Rhodes, observes, in his Life of Henry IV, “that the madness of duels did seize the spirits of the nobility and gentry so much, that they lost more blood by each other’s hands in time of peace, than had been shed by their enemies in battle.” Chevalier, in his work called “Les Ombres des Defunts,” asserts that, in the province of Limousin alone, in the space of six or seven months, there were killed one hundred and twenty gentlemen.

But such is the empire of prejudice, and the contagion of fashion, that Sully frankly avows that he was nigh quarrelling with his royal master for having had the imprudence to consent to be present at a duel, when Henry IV. briefly told him that he deserved to lose his head for having dared to assume a regal power in the precincts of his court; and most probably the minister would have been disgraced, but for the interference of the ladies of the court.

In fact, these edicts, like many other criminal laws, defeated their own intention by their severity, which would have rendered their application as ferocious as the offences which they were to punish; they were thus rendered illusive in practice, however praiseworthy they might have been in theory,—the one neutralizing the operation of the other. Sully justly observed on this subject, “that the excessive severity of the means would be the source whence would arise the principal obstacles to their execution; and frequently the penalties which produce the greatest impression are such, that one cannot apply for forgiveness.” Sully, however, failed in his laudable exertions to check this practice; and we shall find that Richelieu, whose power was much more formidable, did not meet with much greater success while endeavouring to crush the proud and unmanageable aristocracy of France.

In the midst of these scenes of blood, it affords some relief to find that there were individuals who dared the prejudice of public opinion, and, respecting the laws both of God and man, firmly resisted the practice. History records the instance of Monsieur de Reuly, a young officer, who could not be induced to fight a duel under any circumstances. Having once been grievously offended, he submitted the case to the decision of his generals, who determined it in his favour; but his opponent insisted upon a personal meeting, and sent him a challenge. De Reuly told the servant who brought it, that the person who had sent him was much in the wrong, and that he had received all the satisfaction which in justice or reason could be demanded. But the other still pressing and repeating his challenge, and that too with some insolent and provoking language, Reuly stated “that he could not accept the challenge, since God and the King had forbidden it; that he had no fear of the person who had insulted him, but feared God, and dreaded offending him; that he would go every day abroad, as he was wont, wherever his affairs should call him; and that, if any attack was made upon him, he would make his aggressor repent it.”

His adversary, unable to draw him into a duel, sought him with his second; and, having met him when only attended by his servant, attacked him, when both the principal and his second were severely wounded by him; and, assisted by his servant, he carried them both to his quarters, where he got their wounds dressed, and refreshed them with some wine: then, restoring to them their swords, he dismissed them, assuring them that no boasting of his should ever compromise their character; nor did he ever after speak of the transaction, even to the servant who had been present at the affair.

CHAPTER IX.

DUELS DURING THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIII.

During the reign of this monarch, or rather the sovereignty of his minister, private rencontres were carried on with as much ferocity as ever, and some of these meetings were attended with circumstances which rendered them as absurd as they were atrocious. In one instance we see two champions getting into a puncheon and fighting with knives; and in another two noblemen fought with daggers, holding each other by the left hand; while the 16th of January 1613 was rendered remarkable by the tragic end of Baron de Luz and his son, who were killed by the Chevalier de Guise.

The baron had met De Guise in the Rue St. Honoré, and some words arose between them relative to the death of the late De Guise, who had been assassinated at Blois by order of Henry III. The baron was on foot, De Guise on horseback; he immediately alighted, and requested the baron to draw: the old man could scarcely believe that the chevalier was in earnest, yet drew his sword in self-defence. He was aged, and for years had been out of practice; whereas his antagonist was a young man, in the prime of life, and famed for his swordsmanship. His first thrust proved fatal, his sword passing through the body of his adversary, who staggered to a shoemaker’s shop hard by, and fell down dead. His antagonist quietly remounted his horse, and rode off in the most unconcerned manner.

The deceased had a son about the same age as the chevalier, who upon hearing of his father’s death, was determined to avenge him. From the high rank and station of De Guise, he well knew that, if he fell, no part of Europe could afford him an asylum from prosecution; yet was he determined in so just a cause to run every risk, and, as he did not dare approach the hotel of the proud nobleman, he sent him a challenge by his squire, couched in the following respectful language.

“No one, my lord, can bear witness to the just reason of my sorrow more forcibly than your lordship; I therefore entreat your lordship to forgive my resentment when expressing my desire that you will do me the honour of meeting me sword in hand, to give me satisfaction for my father’s death. The esteem which I entertain for your well-known courage induces me to hope that your lordship will not plead your high rank to avoid a meeting in which your honour is so deeply compromised, The gentleman who bears this, will conduct you to the place where I am waiting for your lordship with a good horse and two swords, of which you will have the choice; or, should your lordship prefer it, I shall attend you at any place you may command.”

The meeting took place on horseback; and, after a desperate conflict, the murderer of the father gave the son the satisfaction of taking his life also: while they were fighting, their seconds wounded each other. D’Audiguier, who gives the particulars of this duel, adds, that “this victory would have been more gratifying to God if he had fought for the same cause that led his ancestors into Palestine!”

This De Guise was grandson of Henri de Lorraine, Duc de Guise, surnamed the Great, and who was killed at the siege of Orleans; his father, surnamed the Balafré, from a deep scar on the face, was assassinated at Blois: they were both looked upon as Doctors in the science of duelling, and their opinion and decision considered law.

This De Guise was banished to Italy by Richelieu, where he died in 1640. His son, Henri de Lorraine, was equally celebrated for his amorous adventures and chivalric achievements, and was brought to trial by Richelieu as an accomplice in the conspiracy of the Count de Soissons, and sentenced to death, par contumace, as he had fled to Italy; but he returned afterwards to France, and we find him one of the champions in the celebrated carousel of 1662, having previously killed in a duel the Count de Coligny, grandson of the admiral, who was assassinated in the massacre of St. Barthelemi: with him ended the turbulent and bloodthirsty family of De Guise, as society was rid of him in 1664.

The Balafré had a third son, Louis, who was a cardinal, and archbishop of Rheims. This prelate was a worthy scion of the desperate stock. He was often seen doffing his canonical vestments to don the cuirass and helm; he fought in the ranks of his sovereign during his expedition in Poitou, and died after the attack on Saint Jean d’Angely. This worthy member of the church militant, having a lawsuit with the Duke de Nevers, wanted to decide the cause at the point of the sword.

D’Audiguier, who has related many of the duels of his time, was a gentleman belonging to the court of Louis XIII, and made a supplication to that monarch not only to cancel all edicts against duelling, but to allow the practice, in the following terms: “A great trial, Sire, is carried on between the nobility and the law in your Majesty’s dominions, in which you alone can decide: your nobility maintain that a gentleman whose honour is impeached should either vindicate it with his sword, or forfeit his life; whereas law asserts that a gentleman who draws his sword shall lose his life: and surely your Majesty, who is the chief of the most generous nobility in existence, cannot feel it your interest thus to blunt their valour; or, under the vain pretence of preserving their honour, behold them reduced to the necessity of losing sight of its dictates, or seek to maintain it with their pen, like the low-bred, disputing the right of arms before menial clerks.” Our advocate of the rights of honour concludes by imploring the King to render duels less frequent by permitting them to take place on certain occasions when the King himself should be present; and when the public, he adds, “instead of being involved in differences and lawsuits, which consume both blood and fortune, would be delivered of the two monsters, and would feel proud of displaying their courage in your service, and their valour in your royal presence.”

Despite these arguments, various prohibitory edicts were issued during this reign: one in particular, dated 1626, forbade all applications for pardon or solicitation in favour of the criminals; and, like his predecessor Henri IV, Louis even denounced as criminal all such applications from the Queen, whom he called his très chère et aymée compagne; he further protested and declared before Heaven, that he would never grant any exemption from this ordonnance. Notwithstanding the sanctity of these protestations, we find Louis XIII. granting a free pardon to duellists, “on account of the earnest entreaties made by his much-loved and dear sister, the Queen of Great Britain, upon the occasion of her marriage.”

Duels must have been of frequent occurrence during this reign, since Lord Herbert of Cherbury, then our ambassador at the French court, asserts that there was scarcely a Frenchman deemed worth looking on who had not killed his man in a duel.

This chivalric nobleman, to show the prevalence of duelling in France, and the respect in which duellists were held, relates the case of a M. Mennon, who being desirous to marry a niece of M. Disancour, who it was thought would be his heiress, was thus answered by him; “Friend, it is not time yet to marry: I will tell you what you must do if you will be a brave man. You must first kill in single combat two or three men; then marry, and engender two or three children; and the world will neither have gained nor lost by you.” Of which strange counsel, Disancour was no otherwise the author than inasmuch as he had been an example, at least of the former part, it being his fortune to have fought three or four gallant duels in his time.

Another anecdote of Lord Herbert shows in what consideration duellists were held by the fair sex. “All things being ready for the ball, and every one being in their place, and I myself next to the Queen, expecting when the dancers would come in, one knocked at the door somewhat louder than became, I thought, a very civil person; when he came in, I remember there was a sudden whisper amongst the ladies, saying, ‘C’est Monsieur Balaguy!’ Whereupon I also saw the ladies and gentlemen, one after another, invite him to sit near them; and, what is more, when one lady had his company a while, another would say, ‘You have enjoyed him long enough, I must have him now.’ At which bold civility of them, though I was astonished, yet it added to my wonder that his person could not be thought at most but ordinary handsome; his hair, which was cut very short, half grey; his doublet, but of sackcloth, cut to his skin; and his breeches only of plain grey cloth. Informing myself by some standers-by who he was, I was told that he was one of the gallantest men in the world, as having killed eight or nine men in single fight, and that for this reason the ladies made so much of him; it being the manner of all French women to cherish gallant men, as thinking they could not make so much of any else with the safety of their honour.”

It appears, however, that, notwithstanding this reckless spirit of duelling that prevailed in France, Lord Herbert had found some difficulty in bringing various noblemen to the field; and the following account gives a fair picture of the times.

“It happened one day that a daughter of the Duchess de Ventadour, of about ten or eleven years of age, going one evening from the castle to walk in the meadows, myself, with divers French gentlemen, attended her and some gentlewomen that were with her. This young lady wearing a knot of riband on her head, a French cavalier took it suddenly and fastened it to his hatband: the young lady, offended, herewith demands her riband; but he refusing to restore it, the young lady, addressing herself to me, said, ‘Monsieur, I pray, get my riband from that gentleman.’ Hereupon, going towards him, I courteously, with my hat in my hand, desired him to do me the honour that I might deliver the lady her riband or bouquet again; but he roughly answering me, ‘Do you think I will give it to you, when I have refused it to her?’ I replied, ‘Nay, then, sir, I will make you restore it by force!’ Whereupon, also, putting on my hat, and reaching at his, he to save himself ran away; and after a long course in the meadow, finding that I had almost overtook him, he turned short, and, running to the young lady, was about to put the riband in her hand, when I, seizing upon his arm, said to the young lady, ‘It was I that gave it.’ ‘Pardon me,’ quoth she, ‘it is he that gives it me.’ I said then, ‘Madam, I will not contradict you; but, if he dare say that I did not constrain him to give it, I will fight with him.’ The French gentleman answered nothing thereunto for the present, and we conducted the lady again to the castle. The next day I desired Mr. Aurelian Townshend to tell the French cavalier that he must confess that I constrained him to restore the riband, or fight with me. But the gentleman, seeing him unwilling to accept of this challenge, went out from the place; whereupon, I following him, some of the gentlemen that belonged to the Constable, taking notice hereof, acquainted him therewith, who, sending for the French cavalier, checked him well for his sauciness in taking the riband away from his grandchild, and afterwards bid him depart his house: and this was all I ever heard of the gentleman, with whom I proceeded in that manner, because I thought myself obliged thereunto by the oath taken when I was made Knight of the Bath.”

It seems that our hero was a very pugnacious defender of ladies’ top-knots and ribands, for he relates another quarrel of a similar nature, in the case of a Scotch gentleman, “who, taking a riband in the like manner from Mrs. Middleton, a maid of honour, in a back-room behind Queen Anne’s lodging in Greenwich, she likewise desired me to get her the said riband. I repaired, as formerly, to him in a courteous manner to demand it; but he refusing, as the French cavalier did, I caught him by the neck, and had almost thrown him down, when company came in and parted us. I offered, likewise, to fight with this gentleman, and came to the place appointed, by Hyde Park; but this also was interrupted, by order of the Lords of the Council, and I never heard more of it.”

His lordship, notwithstanding his constant quarrels, which he most decidedly sought for, by his own account, asserts “that, although I lived in the armies and courts of the greatest princes in Christendom, yet I never had a quarrel with man for mine own sake; so that, although in mine own nature I was ever choleric and hasty, yet I never, without occasion given, quarrelled with anybody: for my friends often have I hazarded myself, but never yet drew my sword for my own sake singly.”