Читать книгу The History of Duelling (Vol.1&2) - J. G. Millingen - Страница 6

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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.”