A few days previous to the one fixed for the duel, the guest, under pretence of paying a visit to his relatives, withdrew from the Count of Conversano’s castle, and secretly returned to his former lord, where he lost no time in communicating to his nephew all the peculiarities and advantages repeated experience had enabled him to remark in the count’s manner of fencing. The Duke de Martina was thereby taught that the only chance of success which he could look to, was by keeping on the defensive during the early part of the combat: he was instructed, that his antagonist, though avowedly the most able swordsman in the kingdom, was extremely violent; and that, if his first passes could be parried, his person, somewhat inclined to corpulency, would speedily be exhausted from the effects of his impetuosity. The Duke de Martina, furnished with this important advice, and strong in the conviction of what he considered a just cause, waited in calm anxiety the day of battle; and the behaviour of the two combatants on the last morning strongly characterized their different dispositions, as well as the manners and habits of the age they lived in. The duke made his will, confessed himself, and took an affectionate leave of his mother, who retired to her oratory to pass in prayer the time devoted to the conflict, while the Count Conversano ordered a sumptuous feast to be prepared, and invited his friends and retainers after the fight. He then carelessly bade his wife farewell; and, brutally alluding to his adversary’s youth and inexperience, remarked, “Vado a far un capretto,”—“I am going to kill a kid.”
The parties met at the place appointed. It was an open space, before a monastery of friars, at Ostuni; but these good fathers, by their intercessions and prayers, prevailed upon the combatants to remove to another similar spot of ground, in front of the Capuchin convent, in the same town. Here the bishop and clergy, carrying the host in solemn procession, attempted in vain to dissuade them from their bloody purpose; they were dismissed with scorn, and the duel began.
The conflict was of long duration, and afforded the duke an opportunity of availing himself of the counsels he had received: when he found the count began to be out of breath, and off his guard, he assumed the offensive, and, having wounded him, demanded if he was satisfied, and proposed to desist from any further hostility; but, stung to the soul by this unexpected reverse, he proudly rejected all offers of accommodation; actuated by blind revenge and redoubled animosity he soon lost all command of himself, and received a second wound, which terminated the contest together with his life.
It appeared afterwards that the Prince de Francavilla, whose principles were as little honourable as those of his adversary, and whose thirst of revenge was no less insatiable, had appointed a band of bravoes to waylay and murder him on his way home, had he been victorious.
When Marshal de Crequi carried the Fort des Barreaux, commanded by Philippin, natural brother of the Duke of Savoy, the latter escaped with great difficulty, by exchanging his dress for the uniform of a common soldier, with whom he left a lady’s scarf which he had worn. The following day, a truce having been demanded to bury the dead, Crequi sent word by the officer who bore it, to advise Philippin to be more careful for the future of his lady’s gifts; upon which Philippin sent a challenge to the French general, which he accepted, but his adversary was prevented from attending the meeting by the duke his brother. The following year, Crequi having been made a prisoner, the challenge was renewed, when Philippin was wounded in the thigh. The Duke of Savoy, offended at the thought that his brother should owe his life to Crequi’s forbearance, insisted upon another meeting, in which Philippin was killed, or, to use the expressive language of D’Audiguier, “Crequi ran him through the body, and stitched him to the ground.” Crequi’s friends exclaimed, “Kill him! kill him!” while Philippin’s second begged for his life, which Crequi would only grant at his own supplication; this, however, was a difficult matter, as the unfortunate man was already dead.
Not only were the duels in Italy remarkable for the treacherous acts of its combatants, but similar breaches of good faith and honour were observed in their tournaments and passages of arms. In one instance a tournament took place between twelve Frenchmen and twelve Italians, in which many of the latter were dismounted, when they crept in between the other champions, and with their stilettoes stabbed the horses of the French knights. This perfidious conduct is related by Guicciardin.
Beccaria accounts for the frequency of duelling in Italy on the following grounds:—“It was owing to the necessity of the good opinion of others, that single combat was resorted to during a state of legal anarchy. It was in vain that this practice was forbidden under pain of death; it was found impossible to check a custom founded upon sentiments which were considered dearer than life. Why do not the lower classes of society imitate the conduct of their superiors? Simply because they stand in less need of the esteem of others, than those who, from their position, are subject to more suspicion and distrust.”
Filangieri follows up the argument, by maintaining, that in a duel, it is a dolo (a ruse) on the part of the aggressor, and a fault on the part of the offended, if he kills or injures his enemy, as very probably he might have avoided such a catastrophe; the offended party has only committed a fault, since he was compelled to fight by public opinion: it is, therefore, only those who have violated the established laws of duelling, who can be considered as guilty of assassination. The sophistry of this doctrine is worse than absurd.
The history of Italy shows us, that Beccaria’s opinions on the subject were not exactly correct, for, while the upper classes challenged each other to single combat, we find other grades of society, even artists, avenging their wrongs with the stiletto. From this charge, we must, however, exonerate Michael Angelo Caravaggio, who, to avenge the insult offered to him by Arpino, who had presumed to criticise some of his productions, sent him a challenge, which was rejected on the plea of disparity of condition; when our artist, to qualify himself for future occasions of the kind, went over to Malta and got himself dubbed a knight. With this distinction, it appears that he sought endless quarrels, was obliged to fly from Malta, and killed a critic in Rome, finally ending his days in abject poverty on the high-road.
It may be easily imagined that, from the constant revolutions to which Italy was exposed, the clashing interests and consequent altercations amongst its petty principalities, and the long-protracted wars the country had to wage against France and Spain, disputes and sanguinary frays must have been very frequent, and that, from the want of power, treachery was often resorted to. Convulsed by intestine discord, exposed to foreign hostility, suspecting the good faith of their allies, and oppressed by their various masters,—intrigue among the Italians became indispensable, and assassination was safer than open vengeance. We need not, therefore, be surprised that the policy of Machiavel should have been considered a national code; and in these weak states, we find that the stiletto was the weapon of diplomacy, as well as of popular animosity. In the cabinet, assassination became a science, in the streets it was an art; and more elaborate works have been written on duels, satisfaction of wounded honour, and the various qualifications of murder, by Italians, than by the natives of any other country.32 There does not exist a more consuming and ardent passion, than an impotent thirst of revenge for injuries inflicted by those whose power we dread, and whose position is such as to place them beyond the reach of legal pursuit and of justice. Assassination in such a state of society becomes a natural impulse, when the wrongs of power drive the weak and the helpless to actual madness. It is therefore unfair to stigmatize a nation with the brand of cowardice, from the prevalence of this blood-thirsty practice. It is simply the result of a bad government, corrupted nobility, and a culpable or inefficient magistracy, when crimes may be considered as an unavoidable catenation between causes and effects; and there can be no doubt that the prevalence of duelling and gambling amongst the great, and of thieving amongst the lower orders, will lead to assassination.
In viewing the nature of the governments in the various states of Italy, it may not be uninteresting to discover in which of them the practice of duelling was most general. In the Roman states they were rare; at Naples much more frequent. In Piedmont and Savoy personal meetings were seldom heard of, more especially since the French occupation; previously to which, the professors and students at the universities were in the habit of wearing swords. Yet hostile meetings occasionally take place amongst the military, engendered by disputes at balls and by love matters. The same may be said of Sardinia, where duelling is confined to the troops, and an officer is placed in a situation somewhat similar to that of our own army. If he is insulted, and does not demand satisfaction, he is expelled by his corps; and, if he fights, he is sentenced to an imprisonment of three or six months in a fort called the Fenestrellas. In Corsica a bloody spirit of vengeance is generally prevalent, and gave rise to that system of murder called the vendetta, which is frequently resorted to amongst its savage mountaineers. In these desperate excesses whole families and clans indulged, and regular challenges were interchanged. These hostile declarations were followed by every kind of atrocious acts; and constant ambuscades, combats, burning of houses, destruction of property, and slaughter even of infants, were incessantly disturbing the public peace. These intestine broils were only terminated by treaties of peace between the parties, regularly drawn out, and registered in the archives of Ajaccio.
These excesses, at the present time, are less frequently committed; but private feuds are still decided by assassination, when the murderer generally escapes by taking to the woods and mountains, and there proscribed, he is called a bandetto. When taken and condemned, national prejudice absolves him from punishment as an honorato. In such a ferocious state of society duelling is a practice unknown; and the man who would assassinate his enemy without remorse, would scorn to commit a theft. It is in vain that courts of justice have endeavoured to check these barbarous deeds; in a late case of vendetta, the murderer having been acquitted, the son of the deceased, who was a magistrate, exclaimed, “The jury have acquitted thee, but I condemn thee to death.” It is needless to add, that the sentence was soon carried into execution.
Italian customs prevailed in the island of Malta, and duels were frequent amongst the knights of that order, although prohibited by most of the grand masters. The Strada Stretta was the spot in which these meetings usually took place, and the friends of the combatants, stationed at each end of the narrow lane, prevented them from being disturbed. Assassinations at one time were so frequent in this quarter, that an edict was issued, denouncing the penalty of death on every person who was found in it armed with pistols or daggers. But, by a singular regulation of the order, every person was obliged to return his sword into the scabbard when ordered to do so by a woman, a priest, or a knight. A cross was usually painted on the wall, opposite the spot where a knight had been killed, to commemorate his fall, and claim the prayers of those who passed by, to relieve his soul from purgatory.
Although the statutes of the order of St. John of Jerusalem prohibited duels, yet a knight was considered disgraced if he refused to accept a challenge. A case is recorded of two knights, who having had a dispute at a billiard-table, one of them, after much abusive language, struck a blow; but, to the surprise of all Malta, after so gross a provocation, refused to fight his antagonist. The challenge was repeated, but still he refused to enter the lists. He was therefore condemned by the chapter to make an amende honorable in the church of St. John for forty-five successive days, then to be confined in a dungeon without light for five years; after which he was to remain a prisoner in the castle for life.
A very curious duel took place at Valetta between a Spanish commander, of the name of Vasconcellos, and a French commander, M. de Foulquerre, the latter having had the insolence to present some holy water to a young lady entering a church, whom the Castilian was following. Foulquerre was one of the most noted disturbers of the Strada Stretta; and, although he had been engaged in many duels, on this occasion he repaired to the rendezvous with some reluctance, as though he anticipated the result of the meeting. As soon as his adversary appeared, he said, “What, sir, do you draw your sword upon a Good Friday! Hear me:—it is now six years since I have confessed my manifold sins, and my conscience reproaches me so keenly, that in three days hence——.” But the Spaniard would not attend to his request, and pressed upon him; when his opponent, mortally wounded, exclaimed, “What! on a Good Friday! May Heaven forgive you! Bear my sword to Tête Foulques, and let a hundred masses be said for the repose of my soul, in the chapel of the castle.”
The Spaniard paid no attention to the dying man’s request, and reported the circumstance to the chapter of the order, according to the prescribed rules; nevertheless he was promoted to the priory of Majorca. On the night of the following Friday, he dreamt that he was in the Strada Stretta, where he again heard his enemy enjoin him to “bear his sword to Tête Foulques;” and a similar vision disturbed his slumbers every succeeding Friday night.
Vasconcellos did not know where this Tête Foulques was situated, until he learned from some French knights, that it was an old castle four leagues from Poitiers, in the centre of a forest remarkable for strange events; the castle containing in its halls many curious collections, amongst which was the armour of the famed knight Foulques Taillefer, with the arms of all the enemies he had slain in single combat; and from time immemorial, it appeared that all his successors deposited in this armoury the weapons which they used either in war or in private contests.
Our worthy prior having received this information, determined to obey the injunction of the deceased, and set out for Poitiers with the sword of his antagonist. He repaired to the castle, where he found no one but the porter and the chaplain, and communicated to the latter the purport of his visit. He was introduced into the armoury, and on each side of the chimney he beheld full-length, portraits of Foulques Taillefer, and his wife, Isabella de Lusignan. The seneschal was armed cap-a-pié, and over him were suspended the arms of his vanquished foes. The Spaniard, having laid down the sword, proceeded to tell his beads with great devotion until nightfall, when he fancied that he saw the eyes and mouths of the seneschal and his wife in motion; and he distinctly heard the former addressing his wife, saying, “What dost thou think, my dear, of the daring of this Castilian, who comes to dwell and eat in my castle, after having killed the commander without allowing him time to confess his sins?”—to which the lady replied in a very shrill voice, “I think, Messir, that the Castilian acted with disloyalty on that occasion, and should not be allowed to depart without the challenge of your glove.” The terrified Spaniard sought the door of the hall, but found it locked, when the seneschal threw his heavy iron gauntlet at his face, and brandished his sword. The Spaniard, thus compelled to defend himself, snatched up the sword that he had deposited, and falling on his fantastic antagonist, fancied that he had run him through the body, when he felt a stab from a burning weapon under the heart, and fainted away. When he recovered from his swoon, he found himself in the porter’s lodge, to which he had been carried, but free from any injury. He returned to Spain; but ever after, on every Friday night, he received a similar burning wound from the visionary Taillefer; nor could any act of devotion, or payment of money to friars or priests, relieve him from this horrible phantom.
Great events frequently arise from trifling causes; and it is possible, that had Count Julian challenged the Goth Roderic for having dishonoured his daughter, instead of requesting the aid of the Moors, Spain would not have been for eight centuries under the yoke of the infidels. At this period of the peninsular history duelling was unknown, although it is to the Arabs that some writers have attributed the institution of chivalry; and, most unquestionably, the poem of Antar may be considered a recital of chivalric deeds and adventures, as romantic as any record of knight-errantry or tournament. This curious work was the production of Asmaï the grammarian, reader to the famed Kalif Aroun-al-Raschid, and appears to have been written about the year 800. The hero of this romance always fights on horseback; his steed is named Abjer, his resistless sword Dhamy; and the loves of Khaled and Djaïda are certainly as whimsical and adventurous as those of any couple in the palmy days of chivalry. It is more than probable that many more chivalric tales would have been found amongst the Moors, had not Cardinal Ximenes ordered all their religious works to be burnt, after the taking of Cordova, when the soldiery destroyed every MS. they could find. Few of these valuable documents were preserved; and those that are now in the Escurial relate chiefly to grammar, astrology, and theology. Florian has given the following opinion of the Moors:—“A gallantry, delicate and refined, rendered the Moors of Grenada celebrated over Europe, and formed a strange contrast with the natural ferocity of the African races. These Mussulmans, who in the battle prided themselves on their dexterity in cutting off heads, which they suspended at their saddle-bows, to exhibit them afterwards at the gates of their palaces, were the most tender, impassioned, and devoted lovers. Their wives, although in a servile condition, became absolute sovereigns when they were beloved. It was to please them that they sought for glory, and exposed their lives, rivalling each other in the magnificence of their festivals and their deeds of valour. Was this strange anomaly of mildness and ferocity, of delicate feelings and cruelty, transmitted from the Spaniards to the Moors, or did the former imbibe these mingled sentiments from their infidel invaders? This is uncertain: one can only remark, that such a mixed character was unknown in Asia, the birth-place of these Arabs, and is still less observed in Africa, where their conquests naturalized them. From this circumstance I am disposed to think that it was due to the Spaniards. In fact, subsequent to the Moorish invasion, the court of the Kings of the Goths exhibited various instances of this disposition. After this period, we see the knights of Leon, of Navarre, and of Castile, as renowned for the ardour of their love, as for their deeds of arms; and the name of the Cid must recall vivid recollections of tenderness and of valour.”
The celebrated combat between four Spanish knights and four Arabs of the tribe of Zegris, the implacable foes of the Abencerrages, has been the subject both of poetical fiction and historical record. This meeting was to vindicate the honour of the Sultana Zoraide, accused by the Zegris of an adulterous intercourse with Aben Hamet. The indignant husband had decapitated the offender, and exiled the Abencerrages. Zoraide was condemned to the stake, unless some champion came forward to maintain her innocence. Juan Chacon, of Carthagena, answered the appeal of honour, and, accompanied by three other knights, appeared in the square of Grenada in front of the Alhambra, and in presence of the whole court. The beautiful princess was covered with a black veil, and placed on a scaffold, round which were heaped the faggots that were to consume her, in the event of her champions being conquered; but they, fortunately for her, overthrew their infidel antagonists, and proved her innocence.
In 1491 a young Spaniard fought and killed a Moor, when Ferdinand, as a reward of his valour, authorised him to bear as his motto the letters of the Ave Maria; and Roderic Telles, grand master of Calatrava, was renowned for his many combats with the infidels. The annals of Spanish valour abound with instances of duelling, which was sanctioned and even encouraged by various laws, more especially in Castile and Aragon.
It appears that in 1165 the King and council of Aragon abolished the practice; yet, in 1519, we find it to have been so frequent, that Charles V. issued an edict to forbid it. Nor can we be surprised at the state of barbarism in which Spain was involved: the continued incursions of the Moors, the undisciplined state of the troops, without pay or provisions, and the incessant feuds, not only between the nobles and their sovereigns, but amongst each other and their vassals, must have occasioned constant tumult and discord. Society was not secured by any pact; and rude passions alone dictated the actions of these unruly barbarians, for such, despite their affectation of gallantry, they must be called. The unfortunate inhabitants, exposed to these continued depredations, were obliged to incorporate themselves into military bodies, to protect life and property; and we find in 1260 they had assembled in a brotherhood, under the protection of their saints, forming what was called the Santa Hermandada, a corps which gradually dwindled into a paid police force, resembling the maréchaussée and gendarmerie of France. The immortal author of Don Quixote often refers to this military jurisdiction, which in reality mainly contributed to put an end to the atrocities that were daily committed; and it was chiefly during the reign of Ferdinand the Catholic that these excesses were restrained.
Not unfrequently was religion mixed up with these ferocious broils; and we find the founder of the order of the Jesuits, Loyola, offering to fight a Moor who denied the Divinity of the Saviour. In the council of Pennafiel, in 1302, it had been found necessary to prohibit challenges being sent to bishops or canons; a prohibition renewed in 1669. In Portugal duelling was punished by transportation to Africa, with confiscation of goods and chattels; and in that country duels to the present day are very rare, and considered a deadly sin. Subjects of dispute are carried before a competent tribunal, and the complaint is called querelar; when the parties are ordered to enter into security for keeping the peace, and are bound bene vivere. Not long since, when the Portuguese court was at Brazil, the Count Linhares had offended in a ball-room the Marquis de Lavradro, who sent him a message; but Linhares having fallen from his horse, the offended party felt satisfied and withdrew the challenge. Gaston de Camara, since Count Paypa, had offended in a sonnet Castello Branco, son of the Marquis de Bellari: a meeting took place, and the poet was wounded; but such meetings, both in Spain and Portugal, are very uncommon. In the late disastrous conflict between Carlists and Christinos, the challenge sent by General O’Donnel to the Christino Brigadier Lopez was considered a singular event. The chivalric bombast of this challenge is worthy of record, and highly illustrative of the Spanish character:—
“The cavalry of Don Carlos ardently desires to measure itself with that of Donna Christina; but, as the results of battles are uncertain from position, or from the number of the combatants, let us, chiefs of party, imitate the knights of old, and select an equal number of warriors who, sword in hand, will decide the question by their sheer valour. On my side, I swear upon my honour not to bring into the field a greater number of combatants than shall be agreed upon. Trusting that my enemy will follow my example, I salute all my numerous friends and former companions who now serve in the Christino ranks, wishing them every prosperity, excepting in battle, for I know no enemy save those I meet in the field.”
This challenge was accepted by the Christino general, who issued the following order of the day:—“I merely wait to know the appointed ground, to lead you into the conflict. Death is a noble reward to all those who feel Spanish blood flowing in their veins; and you will find your commander at the head of this romantic duel.” It is needless to add, that this gasconading did not even end in smoke.
Notwithstanding the barbarous nature of duels, they are rarely resorted to by ferocious nations, who prefer the more certain revenge that assassination affords. There is a civilization and an honourable bearing in a duel, foreign to the Spanish character; and it cannot be expected that men capable of murdering women can meet a brave adversary in single combat, governed by the laws of honour. What can be thought of a nation whose generals issued orders to put any surgeon to death who had been known to dress the wounds of an enemy? It is painful to reflect, that after the events of June in 1833, the French police issued an order nearly as barbarous to all medical men, to send in the names of the wounded they had been called upon to dress. Frederic the Great had also issued an edict in which surgeons were prohibited from attending any person wounded in a duel!
During the middle ages Germany was desolated by feuds and hostile meetings, which had succeeded the barbarous excesses committed by the savage hordes poured forth from the northern woods and fastnesses that sheltered the descendants of the ancient Scythians and Sarmatians. The Scandinavian traditions of the wonderful deeds of their champions may prove interesting to the lovers of fiction, but they are of little importance to the historian; for, although the sages of Iceland abolished duelling after the fatal meeting that took place between the poets Gunnlang and Rafn for the beautiful Helga, in which both lovers fell, the annals of the north are fraught with the poetic details of numerous single combats and wondrous exploits.
By an ancient law of Sweden, if a man told another that he was inferior to any other man, or had not the heart of a man, and the other replied, “I am as good a man as yourself,” a meeting was to follow. If the aggressor came to the ground, but did not find the offended, the latter was to be considered dishonoured, and held unfit to give testimony in any cause, and deprived moreover of the power to make a will. But if, on the other hand, the insulted party came forward, and the offending party did not make his appearance, the former was to call him aloud by name three times, and, if he did not appear, make a mark upon the ground, when the offender would be held as infamous and false. When both parties met, and the offended was killed, his antagonist had to pay a half compensation for his death; but, if the aggressor succumbed, his fate was to be attributed to temerity and an unguarded expression, therefore his death called for no compensation. In Norway, any gentleman who refused satisfaction to another was said to have lost his law, and could not be admitted as evidence upon oath. According to the Danish laws, it was held that force is a better arbiter in contestations than words; and in the judicial combats, which frequently arose on the slightest provocation, no champion was allowed to fight in the cause of another, however feeble or unskilled in arms he might be: women were not even allowed a proxy to defend them, but obliged to defend their honour personally. In such cases, to afford the woman a better chance, the man who had offended her was obliged to get into a pit up to his waist, by which means his Amazonian opponent could wheel round him and strike him on the head with a sling or a leather thong to which was suspended a heavy stone; the male combatant was armed with a club, and if he missed her three times, or struck the ground instead of her, he was declared to be vanquished.
The Scandinavian combatants frequently selected small islands for their meetings, to prevent either of the parties from fleeing; these islands were called Holms, and the duels Holms-gang. Sometimes a hide seven ells long was spread upon the ground; at others, the lists were enclosed by circular stakes, or marked off with stones, to circumscribe their limits: whoever stepped beyond this barrier, or was beaten out of the circle, was considered conquered. The kamping matches of our Norfolk and Suffolk peasantry are traces of these exercises, which were called kempfs.
In Sweden, gentlemen fighting a duel were sentenced to death, and the memory of the deceased declared infamous. On other occasions, when the meeting had not proved fatal, the parties were condemned to two years’ imprisonment on bread and water, and obliged to pay a heavy fine.
Under the reign of Gustavus II, a contemporary of Louis XIII. of France, the fashion of duelling was at its height; and this monarch had prohibited single combat by the most severe edicts, but to no purpose. It is related of this prince, that, having heard that two officers of his army contemplated a meeting, he preceded them on the ground. On the arrival of the parties, they were not a little surprised to find the King: they were about to withdraw, when Gustavus pointed to a gallows, at the foot of which stood the hangman, and added, “Now, gentlemen, you may proceed.”
It is also related of Gustavus Adolphus, that having had a dispute at one of his reviews with Colonel Seaton, an officer in his service, he gave him a blow. As soon as the troops were dismissed, the officer waited upon the King and demanded his discharge, which the sovereign signed; and the colonel withdrew without a word being said on the subject of the quarrel.
Gustavus, however, on coolly considering the matter, reproached himself for his want of temper; and hearing that Seaton intended to set out for Denmark the next day, followed him, attended by an officer and two or three grooms. When his Majesty reached the Danish frontier, he left all his attendants, except one, and overtaking Seaton on a large plain, said to him, “Dismount, sir. That you have been injured, I acknowledge, and I am now come to give you the satisfaction of a gentleman; for, being now out of my own dominions, Gustavus and you are equal. We have both, I see, swords and pistols; alight immediately, and receive the satisfaction which your wounded honour demands.”
Seaton, recovering from his surprise, dismounted, as the King had already done, and falling on his knees, said “Sire, you have more than given me satisfaction, in condescending to make yourself my equal. God forbid, that my sword should do any mischief to so brave and gracious a prince. Permit me to return to Stockholm, and allow me the honour to live and die in your service.” The King raised him from the ground, embraced him, and they returned together to his capital.
The early annals of Germany afford many curious instances of trials by ordeal; but, perhaps, one of the most romantic was in the case of Maria of Aragon, consort of Otho III, and the Messalina of her time. It is related of her, that she generally went abroad with a youth disguised in female attire, who was afterwards buried alive. Having become desperately enamoured of a count of Modena, who rejected her addresses, she accused him with having attempted to seduce her. The count was allowed to prove his innocence by the trial of battle; but, having been vanquished, was sentenced to lose his head. Prior to his execution he acquainted his wife with the particulars of his unfortunate case, and enjoined her to avenge his death. She, faithful to his last request, took the bloody head, and, placing it under the cloak of one of her followers, proceeded to the court; then, presenting the gory head to the sovereign, she demanded justice. Otho, struck with horror at the appalling sight, asked her what she wanted, and of whom she had to complain. “Of you, Cæsar,” was her reply; “you behold the result of a most iniquitous deed, and I am ready to submit myself to the ordeal of fire, to prove the innocence of my unfortunate husband.” The Emperor consented, and a brazier with a red-hot iron bar was brought forward. The tradition states that the countess seized the iron without dismay or injury; when, addressing the Emperor, she demanded his head, since he had been found guilty of the death of an innocent man. The prince, however, as might be expected, demurred at this proposal, but ordered his guilty wife to be burned alive; a sentence that was carried into execution at Modena, in 998. The Empress of Henry II, the beautiful Cunegonde, was equally fortunate in handling red-hot bars of iron when accused of having been criminally connected with the devil, who was seen coming out of her bed-chamber every morning. Baronius, in his Ecclesiastic Annals, asserts that she handled the burning metal like a nosegay. Gunehilde, wife of Henry III, and daughter of our Canute, was also very lucky in the choice of a champion when basely accused of infidelity. Her accuser was a gigantic man of the name of Rodinger; but she selected for her defender a little boy, whom she had brought from England, and who miraculously cut the hamstrings of his colossal antagonist.
Amongst the curious records of these barbarous and fabulous times, an edict of Frederick II. forbade his nobles from fighting, plundering travellers, and circulating base coin, which had been considered a privilege of feodality; and in his Sicilian and Neapolitan constitution he exempted his subjects from the necessity of accepting a challenge.
In more modern times, various enactments, called duell mandates, have forbidden duels. In 1779, one was issued in Bavaria, which punished a challenge with the loss of office, if the parties held a public situation; if otherwise, with a confiscation of property, and an imprisonment of three years: but, when a duel had actually taken place, the parties were condemned to death.
In the Austrian states, by an edict of 1803, a duel is punished by an imprisonment of from one year to five: if one of the parties is wounded, the confinement is from five to ten years; and, when death ensues, from ten to twenty; and the remains of the deceased are not allowed sepulture in consecrated ground. The seconds are also subject to an incarceration of from one to five years. A penal code somewhat similar exists in Prussia.
An anecdote is related of Joseph II, who, having been informed that one of his officers had slapped the face of another, sent for both parties. The following day, on parade, the Emperor appeared on the balcony of his palace with the offended person, whom he cordially embraced; at the same time, a scaffold was erected, on which the public executioner slapped the face of the offender, who was afterwards conveyed to a fortress.
The following letter from this monarch, exhibits the sentiments he entertained on the practice of duelling.
“General,
“I desire you to arrest Count K—— and Captain W—— immediately. The count is of an imperious character, proud of his birth, and full of false ideas of honour. Captain W——, who is an old soldier, thinks of settling everything by the sword or the pistol. He has done wrong in accepting a challenge from the count. I will not suffer the practice of duelling in my army; and I despise the arguments of those who seek to justify it. I have a high esteem for officers who expose themselves courageously to the enemy, and who, on all occasions, show themselves intrepid, valiant, and determined in attack as well as in defence. The indifference with which they face death is honourable to themselves and useful to their country; but there are men ready to sacrifice everything to a spirit of revenge and hatred. I despise them. Such men, in my opinion, are worse than the Roman gladiators. Let a council of war be summoned to try these two officers, with all the impartiality which I demand from every judge; and let the most culpable of the two be made an example by the rigour of the law. I am resolved that this barbarous custom, which is worthy of the age of Tamerlane and Bajazet, and which is so often fatal to the peace of families, shall be punished and suppressed, though it should cost me half my officers. There will be still left men who can unite bravery with the duties of faithful subjects. I wish for none who do not respect the laws of the country.
“Vienna, August 1771.”
It is related of Charles XII. of Sweden, that, riding out one day, he left his attendants at some distance; and, coming to a gate, opened it, but neglected to shut it again, according to the laws of the country. The owner of the land, who was an ensign in the army, came up, and, not knowing the King, inquired why he did not shut the gate after him, according to the royal decree; and, as he passed, made use of some uncivil expressions. “Why do you not go and shut the gate yourself?” said the King. This so enraged the gentleman, that he seized the bridle and stopped the horse. On this, Charles put his hand on his sword, but the other snatched it from him. The King then drew out a pistol, and threatened to make him repent his conduct unless he immediately returned the sword. “You would not be so valiant,” said the officer, “if I also was provided with a pistol.” “Then go and fetch one,” said the King. The gentleman immediately went for a pistol, while Charles waited his return; but, as he was coming back, he saw the King’s attendants at a little distance, which giving him some suspicion, he made his retreat.
The ensign acquainted his commanding officer with the circumstance, requesting his interference. A review soon after took place; and, the King observing that this officer was not present, asked the colonel where he was, when he was told that he was upon guard. “Let him be sent for,” said the King. The ensign was brought forward. Charles immediately galloped up to him; then, looking him steadfastly in the face, named him a first lieutenant, and ordered that a grant of money should be given to him.
The enactments against duelling in the German armies place officers in as difficult a situation as in our service. If they allow themselves to be insulted without resenting the injury, they are expelled from their regiment; yet are they punished if they demand satisfaction from the offender: and Dr. Gans of Berlin very justly observes, “Duelling amongst officers is very rare, for their position is most embarrassing. If an officer, whose honour has been impeached, does not fight, he is expelled; and, if he fights, he is shut up in a fortress.” Montesquieu, in his Lettres Persannes, has the following judicious remark: “If you follow the laws of honour,” writes Usbeck, “you die on a scaffold; and, if you follow the dictates of justice, you are banished from society. Thus you have no alternative but that of forfeiting life or being unworthy of living.”
If duels are rare among German officers, they are most common amongst their students or Burschen, whose ridiculous meetings have often been described by travellers. The parties who it is thought necessary should fight usually meet at an inn near their university; they are covered with a thick leather armour that protects them, and their face is the principal vulnerable part. The arm they use is the long German sword, and the shell of its hilt is an additional protection to the combatants.
The students at Jena use a sword called Schlagen, the blade of which is three feet and a half long, and triangular like a bayonet; the handle is protected by a tin plate, ten inches in diameter, which has been jocosely called the soup-plate of honour: this handle, soup-plate, and blade, can all be unscrewed and concealed, the hilt and guard under a cloak, and the blade sheathed in a walking-stick.
By the rules of some universities, called their Comment, the nature of the offence requires a certain number of cuts; twenty-four for the appellation of dummer Junge, or stupid youth, and as many for the epithet infamous. The pistol is scarcely ever selected as a weapon. When perchance a student has killed another, he is advised to quit the university, receiving from the senate what is called a consilium abeundi. This expulsion is called a relegatio, and is published in Latin. In these cases the offender enters another college. At Gottingen the students were long overawed by a ruffian of the name of Luderf, of great personal strength, and who not unfrequently lopped off arms and hands with his Teutonic glaive.
In 1833, the corpse of a Lieutenant-colonel de Keunaw was found in a forest near Dreisen, pierced with a sword-wound and weltering in blood. It appeared, upon inquiry, that a councillor of the name of Von Zahn had asked in marriage the daughter of a Baron Haller, who at the same time was courted by a Baron Linsmar, a friend of Von Zahn, who, to rid himself of his rival, had recourse to the most diabolical stratagem. He was on terms of intimacy with De Keunaw, who was considered a most dexterous swordsman, whereas Linsmar was totally unacquainted with the use of the weapon. Von Zahn, therefore, exerted himself to foment discord between them, until at last their constant dissensions led to a duel. Von Zahn insisting upon being the second to his friend, a meeting took place; when, by one of those chances in arms, the inexperienced combatant killed his expert antagonist. Von Zahn was brought to trial and condemned to death, and Baron Linsmar to ten years’ imprisonment. The sentence of the former, however, was commuted into twenty years’ confinement.
In 1834 the German papers gave an account of a duel of a most romantic nature:—“A Baron Trautmansdorf was paying courtship to the widow of a Polish general, the young Countess Lodoiska R——; he only awaited an appointment to an embassy to marry her. In the mean time a Baron de Ropp courted the lady, and in a sonnet turned his more successful rival into ridicule. The baron immediately sent him a message, which Ropp accepted; but on the ground proposed a champion, who espoused his cause, when Trautmansdorf fell. His second, indignant at this act of treachery, insisted that Ropp should give him satisfaction. The second was also mortally wounded, when it was found out that Lodoiska herself had accompanied her betrothed in male attire. Ropp, having recognised her when she fell, felt so deeply the turpitude of his conduct, that he threw himself on his own sword, and expired near the bodies of Lodoiska and her lover.”
Duels are so very rare in Germany, that a hostile meeting that took place at Frankfort in 1834 between two officers, and which proved fatal to one of them, was considered a remarkable event; and all Vienna was astonished when a noble German sent a challenge to Baron Rothschild for having refused to lend him money.
Madame de Staël’s observations on duelling in Germany are worthy of remark:—“Germany, if we except some courts anxious to imitate the manners of the French, was never assailed by that infatuation, immorality, and incredulity, which, since the regency, had changed the natural character of the French. Feudality still maintained in Germany some of its chivalric maxims: duels occasionally took place, but they were not so frequent as in France; for the Germans do not possess the same vivacity and petulance as the French nation, nor do they partake of the same notions of courage, public opinion being much more severe on the want of probity and fair dealing. If a man had transgressed the laws of morality, ten duels a day would not have enabled him to recover the esteem he had forfeited. In France we constantly see persons of distinguished rank, who, when accused of an improper action, will say, “It may have been wrong, but no one will dare assert it to my face!” Such an expression is an evident proof of confirmed depravity; for what would be the condition of society, if it was only requisite to kill one another, to commit with impunity every evil action,—to break one’s word and assert a falsehood, provided no one dared tell you that you had lied?
“The spirit of chivalry still reigns amongst the Germans,—but passively. They are incapable of deceit, and in every transaction act with loyalty; but that energy which exposed man to so many sacrifices, which exacted from woman so many virtues,—the chivalric spirit of olden times,—has only left feeble traces in Germany, where noble actions will only be the result of that liberal impulse which in Europe has succeeded chivalry.”
Chateaubriand pays a similar compliment to the German people:—“I love Germany; I admire its domestic virtues and its hospitable manners; its poetic and religious sentiments, and its love for science. Amongst the Germans we feel that invincible power that conceals the positiveness of the world and the prosaism of life.”
In Russia duels very rarely took place, a circumstance which in a great measure may be attributed to the ferocity of their princes, who not only saw the penal laws executed, but not unfrequently acted themselves as executioners: a fact illustrated by Peter I, who gave the signal for the judicial massacre of the revolted Strelitz, his Pretorian guards, by seizing an axe and striking off the heads of a hundred of his victims. The gross and brutal conduct of the Russian autocrat towards women was imitated by his court and the people; and it can scarcely be expected that a nice sense of honour can prevail in the minds of men who only punished infidelity by a bastinade inflicted on both the offending parties, and who usually testified their affection by submitting the object of their love to the knout,—indeed, the fair sex of Muscovy considered this infliction as a gallantry on the part of their husbands; nor could their sense of delicacy be very acute, when we find their Empress kneeling at the shrine of the Virgin and St. Nicholas, to ask from what company of her guards she was to select her favourite paramour.
The Russian laws against duelling were most severe. In the military penal code of Peter I. it was ordered, that whoever provoked another to fight a duel should be hanged, whether the duel took place or not; that the seconds should suffer the same punishment, unless they exerted themselves to prevent the meeting. That in the case of any dispute, or blow being given, the aggressor was to ask pardon of the offended party in presence of the military tribunal; and that whoever should slap another’s face was to submit to a public retaliation. In the code of Catherine we find, in the 234th article, the following view of the subject:—“As to duelling, the best mode of preventing it is to punish the aggressor, and to declare the innocence of the man who, without any fault of his own, has found himself under the necessity of avenging his honour.” We also find in an ukase of Catherine the following enactment:—
“Whoever insults or strikes a citizen with an unarmed hand, shall forfeit the amount of whatever yearly tax the citizen pays to the state. Whoever insults or injures the wife or the daughter of a citizen, shall pay double the amount for the wife, and four times the amount for the daughter, of the annual tax the father or husband pays to the state.”
It was, however, no uncommon practice on the part of the Czars to strike their officers and attendants. Peter the Great would cane any person, whatever might have been his rank, who had offended him. Indeed, a blow from an imperial hand was considered an honour: though this was not the case with a French architect, of the name of Le Blond, who, after a caning, took it so much to heart, that he fell ill of a fever and died.
It appears that no prestige of rank could screen Russian ladies from the brutal treatment of their husbands and lovers; and the Empress Catherine herself was frequently horsewhipped by Gregory Orloff, the most favoured of the five brothers of that name who shared her smiles. No duels arose among her numerous lovers. Potemkin, playing one day at billiards with Alexis Orloff, a brother-favourite, had some difference, when Orloff struck him on the eye with a cue: the parties were separated; but Alexis complained to his brother Gregory, then the greater favourite, who insisted that Potemkin should be immediately exiled, a request that the Empress did not dare refuse; and Potemkin, who had lost an eye in the affray, was banished to Smolensko. He was recalled, however, a year afterwards, and he soon avenged himself by banishing his former rival, whom he succeeded; and shortly after, he ceded her charms to another lover of the name of Lanskoi. Orloff travelled, married, and visited the court of France, which he publicly insulted by going to a levee in a common undress suit of clothes; an offence which was not resented by Choiseul, the French minister. Orloff’s wife soon after died, when he returned to St. Petersburgh on the very night that the Empress was giving a ball in the palace of Tzarco-zelo. He repaired to the festive hall in deep mourning, and made up to Catherine, who was leaning on the arm of her favourite Lanskoi, when he exclaimed with a ferocious look, “So, Kalinga, you are still fond of dancing;—will you waltz with me? You hesitate: does my dress alarm you? Do you know,” he added in a dismal tone of voice, “do you know that my wife is dead? do you know it? and, if you knew it, how did you dare to give this entertainment?” and, thus saying, he seized a chair and dashed it to pieces. Lanskoi wanted to rush upon the ruffian, but Catherine forcibly held him back, and assured Orloff that she was not aware of his wife’s death; when he continued, “Yes, she is dead, and I am alive! I am miserable, Kalinga! for I loved my wife dearly!” and, so saying, he burst into tears; when, suddenly casting his eyes upon Lanskoi, he exclaimed, “So, this is the young new-comer! Ha! you are very young, my boy! poor blind buzzard, to be caught in such a snare!” Again Lanskoi wanted to have recourse to force to expel the bold intruder, who threatened to throw him out of the window if he stirred one step; while Catherine exclaimed in agony, “He is mad! he is mad!” “Yes, I am mad!” replied the ruffian with a bitter laugh; “but who maddened me?—was it not thou, Kalinga? was it not for thee that I became a regicide, an assassin? and now, woman, you tell me I am mad!” So saying, he raised his hand to strike her; but Catherine swooned on a sofa, and Orloff stalked out of the ball-room unmolested. No punishment was inflicted on him for this audacious conduct; on the contrary, he frequently attended the court, until he died of a brain-fever in 1785. Lanskoi soon followed him to the grave; when Potemkin sought to assuage the despair of Catherine by privately marrying her, receiving as a marriage portion a palace worth 600,000 roubles, a coat embroidered with diamonds worth 200,000 roubles, and 200,000 peasants! Such was the wealth lavished on this favourite, that he died worth 300,000,000 francs!—Could duels, or any feeling of honour, be known in such a court?
However, at a later period, under Alexander I, who entertained some chivalric notions and a faint idea of honour, duels came into fashion. A singular manner of settling a quarrel was instanced in the case of an old general officer of the name of Zass, who, having received from Prince Dolgoroucki an order which would have defeated his plan of operations, refused to obey him. High words ensued, and a challenge was forwarded. At that moment the Swedish artillery was heard, and intelligence was brought that the enemy were attacking a redoubt. “Prince,” said the general, “we cannot fight a duel when our duty calls us to meet the enemy; but let us both stand in an embrasure of that battery, against which the enemy are directing their fire, and let us remain there until one of us is struck.” Dolgoroucki accepted the proposal. They both exposed themselves to the enemy’s fire, standing erect with one hand on the hip, and looking fiercely at each other, until the prince was cut in two by a cannon-ball; this desperate resolve being witnessed by the whole army.
A conflict no less singular occurred in the case of one of the most celebrated Russian duellists, a Count de Tolstoy, who, having quarrelled with a naval officer, sent him a message, which was declined on the plea of the count’s dexterity in the use of arms. Tolstoy then proposed that they should fight with pistols muzzle to muzzle; but this also the sailor declined, and insisted upon fighting according to what he called a naval manner, which was, to seize each other and jump into the water, the victory being awarded to the party that escaped drowning. The count in his turn objected to the proposal, on the plea that he could not swim, on which his adversary accused him of cowardice; when he rushed upon him, seized him, and threw himself with him into the sea. However, they were both drawn out of the water; but the naval officer was so much injured, that he died a few days after.
In the annals of Poland judicial combats were not unfrequent, and were similar to those resorted to in other countries; and we find the wife of a grand duke of Lithuania accused of an adulterous intercourse, when twelve champions presented themselves to defend her cause. The proposal was objected to, and the law of the land, which was somewhat singular, prevailed. The accuser was condemned to place himself on all fours, like a quadruped, under a bench, and then to unbark his assertion, by publicly declaring that he had lied like a dog.
The jocularity of the Poles appears to have been occasionally of a very rough nature. It is related of an Italian nobleman, that, being invited by Prince Zboruski to his castle, he was made the butt of the company, who one day proceeded to strip him; and, after smearing him all over with honey, introduced him to some tame bears, who, licking off the honey with their rough tongues, did not produce a very agreeable sensation. The offended Italian wanted to depart, but the prince had ordered the wheels of his carriage to be taken off. He contrived, however, to effect his escape, and sent a challenge to Zboruski, accompanied with a copy of his genealogy, to prove that he could not refuse to meet him on the plea of a disparity of rank. But the Pole thought otherwise, and declined the honour.
Since the misfortunes of the Poles, duelling has frequently taken place amongst these exiles; and Lelewel observes on this subject, “that emigrants fight from idleness, and that condition of suffering and demoralization which renders every feeling susceptible of the slightest offence.” During the generous struggle of this unhappy people with their ferocious oppressors, a conflict of a most desperate nature took place between a Polish and a Russian officer near Warsaw; the following are the particulars:—A young Polish officer, who had served under Napoleon in his Guards, had paid his addresses to a young lady of Warsaw, who was carried off by a Russian officer; he offered his hand in vain to his victim, who scorned his proposal with indignation: the retreat of the Russian was discovered; a challenge was sent and accepted. The ground was fixed in a wood four leagues from the city; and, after measuring eight paces, swords marked the distance. The combatants were armed with pistols, and were to advance upon each other, and fire at will; the Russian fired first, and wounded his antagonist in the breast, when the Pole exclaimed, “Come on, wretch, and receive your death,—I still possess sufficient strength and life to deprive thee of thine;” but the Russian mounted his horse and galloped off. His seconds, indignant at such cowardly behaviour, bade the friends of the wounded Pole pursue him, and give him up to them as a disloyal dastard. They rode after him, and cutting him down, brought him to an inn where the Pole had been also borne: upon seeing his wounded antagonist, the Pole collected the little strength that remained in him, and, seizing his sword, staggered towards his rival, ran him through the body, and expired. The Russian officer recovered from his wounds, and the young lady was restored to her family.
Although these two countries, both in a religious and political point of view, may be considered most distinct, and nothing but the blindest policy could ever have entertained the notion of uniting res dissociabiles, their close and frequent connexion generally unites their historical annals.
Belgium was the cradle of the monarchy of the Franks: Tournay was one of the first conquests of Clodion over the Romans; in 1653, the tomb of Childeric was discovered; and Aix-la-Chapelle was the capital of Charlemagne. The customs of the Franks were, therefore, prevalent in their several provinces, and trials by battle, ordeals, and the many barbarous modes of settling differences and establishing rights which we have recorded of France and other countries were resorted to in cases where the judgement of God was appealed to. These appeals must have been frequent amongst these turbulent people, who were incessantly embroiled in foreign or intestine wars to such an extent, that it is related of one of the sultans, who, hearing of their endless contests, asked to see the map of the theatre of war; that, amazed at its narrow limits, he exclaimed, “Were I concerned in this affair, I should send my pioneers to cast this little corner of the world into the sea.”
The inhabitants of the Low Countries were ever remarkable for their impatience of control, and their anxiety to preserve their rights and immunities untouched; they were faithful to their antique customs and prejudices, and zealous defenders of what they considered their independence and liberties; and, to their credit, it must be said, that both the aristocracy and the democracy of the land united their efforts in the common cause of their country; while the clergy, all powerful and influential, exercised a mighty power over a bigoted and superstitious people, who, even to the present day, are more imbued with religious prejudices than the inhabitants of any other Roman Catholic realm.
To this hour, the Belgians firmly believe in the traditionary legend of the Abbey of Cambrai, and the duel between Jean le Flamand and a Jew. The Virgin of Cambrai having appeared in a vision to Jean le Flamand, an old carpenter, and complained of the injury done to her image by the impious Israelite, who had falsely pretended to abjure his faith, our worthy immediately repaired to the chapel, and beheld the image of the Virgin with five wounds of a lance, from each of which the blood was flowing. The Jew, named Wilhelm, was immediately apprehended and tortured, but no avowal could be extorted from him by the most ingenious torments. Jean le Flamand thereupon begged to consult the Abbé of Cambrai, who told him that the Virgin commanded him to call out the Hebrew to a single combat, to knock out his brains, and then cut off his empty head. The battle took place with shield and stave, when the Jew, who was a powerful youth, was thoroughly thrashed,—Divinâ cooperante gratiâ; after which he was duly hanged between two dogs, according to custom. Why the poor dogs were hanged with the unbeliever, history does not state.
A celebrated combat that took place at Valenciennes in 1455 has been recorded by many historians. This battle was fought in maintenance of an ancient franchise, which provided that any man who killed another in self-defence, might claim a franchise at Valenciennes, and maintain with staff and shield that the contest had been fair. In this instance, a tailor, named Mahuot Cocquel, sought refuge in this town, after having killed a citizen of Tournay, one Philippe du Gardin, who had had the impertinence to refuse him his daughter. A relation of the deceased, Jacotin Plouvier, followed the tailor, and accused him of having feloniously killed Du Gardin. The two champions were forthwith put in prison; and a Breton (Britanny being renowned for its skill in cudgelling) was attached to each of the parties, to teach them the use of the staff.
On the 20th of May, the field being appointed, the Duke of Burgundy, and his son the Duke de Charolais, attended by a numerous court, proceeded to the spot. A triple barrier had been raised in the market-place, and the ground was deeply covered with sand; the space between the second and third barrier was appropriated to the accommodation of the prevost, the jury-men, and several of the nobility; and the third row was for the reception of three hundred knights, their squires, and the wealthy burghers.
At nine o’clock in the morning, the champions appeared. Their heads had been shaved, and they wore tight leather doublets. Jacotin, the appellant, first appeared, accompanied by his Breton, and followed by a man carrying his target in a sack. After crossing himself several times, he sat down on a chair covered with black cloth; Mahuot Cocquel followed with a similar train, and, falling on his knees, crossed himself with great devotion, kissed the ground, and then seated himself on another stool covered with black.
The magistrates then proceeded to swear the champions on the holy Evangelists. Jacotin kissed the book, and swore that his cause was a just one; Mahuot did the same, and added, that Jacotin was a false and villanous liar; but, on kissing the book a second time, it was observed that he turned pale.
The parties were then smeared with grease from head to foot, to prevent their being easily grasped, and their hands were rubbed with ashes, that their staves might be more securely held. Food was then presented them on two silver salvers; and, to show them that it was not poisonous, the bearers of the collation themselves tasted it. A lump of sugar was then put into their mouths, that they might not become parched, and they were then armed with two knotty cudgels of equal length, and bucklers painted red; but they were obliged to bear the shield with its point uppermost, to show that they were not of noble birth.
The prevost of the town now exclaimed in a loud and audible voice, “Do your duty!” and the combatants rushed upon each other. Mahuot commenced the attack by throwing sand in his adversary’s eyes, and then broke his head with his staff; but Jacotin attacked his antagonist in his turn, knocked his buckler off, and then knocked him down; Mahuot rose to be knocked down again, while Jacotin was rubbing sand in his eyes, biting his ears, and pommelling his face. The Duke of Burgundy, Philippe le Bon, felt compassion for the battered Mahuot, and sent one of his officers to the magistrates, to know if it were not possible to save the life of the unfortunate man; but they replied, that the privileges of their town must be maintained. In the mean time, Jacotin was pursuing his delectable occupation, cramming sand in his opponent’s mouth, biting and scratching him, and then turning him upon his face; in which exploit, however, Mahuot contrived to bite off one of his fingers: a mutilation that so incensed the conqueror, that, according to the chronicler, he broke his arm and his loins, and then jumping upon him, roared out, “Surrender, traitor, and confess the fact, that thou didst murder my poor relation!” to which Mahuot replied, “I confess it! I confess it!” “Speak louder, that thou mayest be heard!” roared out Jacotin. “I did it! I did it!” cried Mahuot; “and oh! my Lord Duke of Burgundy,” he added, “I served you faithfully in your wars of Ghent,—oh! my good lord, I pray for mercy!—for God’s sake, save my life!”
Again the duke sent to the burgomasters; but they remained inflexible, sticking to their fueros. They even maintained that the deceased should not be allowed a Christian burial; and then Jacotin despatched his victim with four desperate blows on the head; after which, he dragged him off the ground by the legs; but Mahuot was not quite dead, for he was able to recite his creed, confess his sins to a Carmelite, and drink several glasses of wine, before he yielded up the ghost.
The magistrates then ascended the bench, and ordered that, according to their sacred municipal privileges, the vanquished should be hanged and strangled as a murderer, which was forthwith done by the executioner. The conqueror then went up to the burgomaster, and asked him, if he had properly done his duty: to which it was replied in the affirmative; and he was informed, that he was free to go wherever he thought proper. He of course proceeded to the chapel of Notre Dame la Grande, to present an offering, and return thanksgivings for her protection. The staves, bucklers, and stools of the combatants were then suspended as trophies in the town-hall.
Amongst the many ferocious combats of these barbarous times may be noticed the duel between Arnold d’Egmont and Adolphus, his son, who was encouraged in his unnatural conduct by his mother, Catherine de Cleves.
Numerous edicts and placards were promulgated at various periods to check the progress of duelling in the Low Countries, but with as little success as in France. Of late years, these hostile meetings have become very rare, and are chiefly confined to the military; although, after the revolution of 1833, duels arose in consequence of the stormy discussions that took place in the chambers. In June 1833, two deputies, Messrs. Rogier and Gendebien, fought with pistols at a distance of forty paces, being allowed to advance ten paces on each other. Rogier fired first, but missed his opponent, who, firing in his turn, at a distance of thirty-five paces, shot his antagonist in the mouth. M. Gendebien was afterwards called out by a French general officer, to apologise for his objection to the employment of foreigners in the Belgian army; but the deputy very wisely refused to meet him, on the score of parliamentary freedom of speech.
In 1834, when Brussels was in a state of great anarchy and confusion, duels were not unfrequent; a man was assassinated in coming out of the playhouse for having declined a challenge; and the minister assured the chamber, that he would adopt the most energetic means to repress these excesses. Notwithstanding the prohibitory laws, several fatal meetings took place without any judicial punishment. A captain of artillery, named Pariset, had reprimanded a M. Vanderstraeten, one of his lieutenants, for not having saluted him, observing, that “he was but a boy.” The lieutenant called out his captain, who declined the meeting; when another captain, of the name of Eenens, took up the quarrel, and obliged Pariset to give him satisfaction, by calling him a coward. The meeting took place in a pine-wood near Waterloo, when Pariset was killed at the first fire. The survivor was tried by a court-martial, but acquitted on the plea that there did not exist any law to punish duelling. More recently, at Luxemburg, a duel was fought between a Baron de Tornaco and a Dutch captain, when the latter was shot dead; but no judicial inquiry followed.
The government of Belgium are at this moment preparing a law for the utter prohibition of this practice, which hitherto has been rarely visited with severity. In the Belgian army, as well as in that of France, duelling, even between officers of great disparity of rank, is only punished by cashiering the offender, as appears in the following order of the day of the minister of war, Count Maison, in 1835:—
“In breach of all subordination, a lieutenant-colonel has presumed to challenge his superior officer. Such a serious transgression, which might prove most injurious to the discipline of the corps, demands a prompt and severe punishment. The minister, therefore, orders, that the lieutenant-colonel shall be forthwith brought before a court-martial. In regard to the superior officer, who might and ought to have exercised the authority which his rank conferred on him, but who condescended to accept the challenge, he is cashiered. The seconds and the other officers who were present at, or who did not prevent the meeting, shall be placed under close arrest for a fortnight.”