Читать книгу The History of Duelling (Vol.1&2) - J. G. Millingen - Страница 12

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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.