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.