Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions - Chapter 15



      Chapter 15 - Duels and Ordeals

There was an ancient sage philosopher,
Who swore the world, as he could prove,
Was mad of fighting.—Hudibras.

Most writers, in accounting for the origin of duelling, derive it
from the warlike habits of those barbarous nations who overran
Europe in the early centuries of the Christian era, and who knew
no mode so effectual for settling their differences as the point
of the sword. In fact, duelling, taken in its primitive and
broadest sense, means nothing more than combatting, and is the
universal resort of all wild animals, including man, to gain or
defend their possessions, or avenge their insults. Two dogs who
tear each other for a bone, or two bantams fighting on a dunghill
for the love of some beautiful hen, or two fools on Wimbledon
Common, shooting at each other to satisfy the laws of offended
honour, stand on the same footing in this respect, and are, each
and all, mere duellists. As civilization advanced, the best
informed men naturally grew ashamed of such a mode of adjusting
disputes, and the promulgation of some sort of laws for obtaining
redress for injuries was the consequence. Still there were many
cases in which the allegations of an accuser could not be rebutted
by any positive proof on the part of the accused; and in all
these, which must have been exceedingly numerous in the early
stages of European society, the combat was resorted to. From its
decision there was no appeal. God was supposed to nerve the arm of
the combatant whose cause was just, and to grant him the victory
over his opponent. As Montesquieu well remarks,114* this belief
was not unnatural among a people just emerging from barbarism.
Their manners being wholly warlike, the man deficient in courage,
the prime virtue of his fellows, was not unreasonably suspected of
other vices besides cowardice, which is generally found to be
co-existent with treachery. He, therefore, who showed himself most
valiant in the encounter, was absolved by public opinion from any
crime with which he might be charged. As a necessary consequence,
society would have been reduced to its original elements, if the
men of thought, as distinguished from the men of action, had not
devised some means for taming the unruly passions of their
fellows. With this view, governments commenced by restricting
within the narrowest possible limits the cases in which it was
lawful to prove or deny guilt by the single combat. By the law of
Gondebaldus, King of the Burgundians, passed in the year 502, the
proof by combat was allowed in all legal proceedings, in lieu of
swearing. In the time of Charlemagne, the Burgundian practice had
spread over the empire of the Francs, and not only the suitors for
justice, but the witnesses, and even the judges, were obliged to
defend their cause, their evidence, or their decision, at the
point of the sword. Louis the Debonnaire, his successor,
endeavoured to remedy the growing evil, by permitting the duel
only in appeals of felony, in civil cases, or issue joined in a
writ of right, and in cases of the court of chivalry, or attacks
upon a man's knighthood. None were exempt from these trials, but
women, the sick and the maimed, and persons under fifteen or above
sixty years of age. Ecclesiastics were allowed to produce
champions in their stead. This practice, in the course of time,
extended to all trials of civil and criminal cases, which had to
be decided by battle.

The clergy, whose dominion was an intellectual one, never approved
of a system of jurisprudence which tended so much to bring all
things under the rule of the strongest arm. From the first they
set their faces against duelling, and endeavoured, as far as the
prejudices of their age would allow them, to curb the warlike
spirit, so alien from the principles of religion. In the Council
of Valentia, and afterwards in the Council of Trent, they
excommunicated all persons engaged in duelling, and not only them,
but even the assistants and spectators, declaring the custom to be
hellish and detestable, and introduced by the Devil for the
destruction both of body and soul. They added, also, that princes
who connived at duels, should be deprived of all temporal power,
jurisdiction, and dominion over the places where they had
permitted them to be fought. It will be seen hereafter that this
clause only encouraged the practice which it was intended to
prevent.

But it was the blasphemous error of these early ages to expect
that the Almighty, whenever he was called upon, would work a
miracle in favour of a person unjustly accused. The priesthood, in
condemning the duel, did not condemn the principle on which it was
founded. They still encouraged the popular belief of Divine
interference in all the disputes or differences that might arise
among nations or individuals. It was the very same principle that
regulated the ordeals, which, with all their influence, they
supported against the duel. By the former, the power of deciding
the guilt or innocence was vested wholly in their hands, while, by
the latter, they enjoyed no power or privilege at all. It is not
to be wondered at, that for this reason, if for no other, they
should have endeavoured to settle all differences by the peaceful
mode. While that prevailed, they were as they wished to be, the
first party in the state; but while the strong arm of individual
prowess was allowed to be the judge in all doubtful cases, their
power and influence became secondary to those of nobility.

Thus, it was not the mere hatred of bloodshed which induced them
to launch the thunderbolts excommunication against the combatants;
it a desire to retain the power, which, to do them justice, they
were, in those times, the persons best qualified to wield. The
germs of knowledge and civilization lay within the bounds of their
order; for they were the representatives of the intellectual, as
the nobility were of the physical power of man. To centralize this
power in the Church, and make it the judge of the last resort in
all appeals, both in civil and criminal cases, they instituted
five modes of trial, the management of which lay wholly in their
hands. These were the oath upon the Evangelists; the ordeal of the
cross, and the fire ordeal, for persons in the higher ranks; the
water ordeal, for the humbler classes; and, lastly, the Corsned,
or bread and cheese ordeal, for members of their own body.

The oath upon the Evangelists was taken in the following manner:
the accused who was received to this proof, says Paul Hay, Count
du Chastelet, in his Memoirs of Bertrand du Guesclin, swore upon a
copy of the New Testament, and on the relics of the holy martyrs,
or on their tombs, that he was innocent of the crime imputed to
him. He was also obliged to find twelve persons, of acknowledged
probity, who should take oath at the same time, that they believed
him innocent. This mode of trial led to very great abuses,
especially in cases of disputed inheritance, where the hardest
swearer was certain of the victory. This abuse was one of the
principal causes which led to the preference given to the trial by
battle. It is not all surprising that a feudal baron, or captain
of the early ages, should have preferred the chances of a fair
fight with his opponent, to a mode by which firm perjury would
always be successful.

The trial by, or judgment of, the cross, which Charlemagne begged
his sons to have recourse to, in case of disputes arising between
them, was performed thus:—When a person accused of any crime had
declared his innocence upon oath, and appealed to the cross for
its judgment in his favour, he was brought into the church, before
the altar. The priests previously prepared two sticks exactly like
one another, upon one of which was carved a figure of the cross.
They were both wrapped up with great care and many ceremonies, in
a quantity of fine wool, and laid upon the altar, or on the relics
of the saints. A solemn prayer was then offered up to God, that he
would be pleased to discover, by the judgment of his holy cross,
whether the accused person were innocent or guilty. A priest then
approached the altar, and took up one of the sticks, and the
assistants unswathed it reverently. If it was marked with the
cross, the accused person was innocent; if unmarked, he was
guilty. It would be unjust to assert, that the judgments thus
delivered were, in all cases, erroneous; and it would be absurd to
believe that they were left altogether to chance. Many true
judgments were doubtless given, and, in all probability, most
conscientiously; for we cannot but believe that the priests
endeavoured beforehand to convince themselves by secret inquiry
and a strict examination of the circumstances, whether the
appellant were innocent or guilty, and that they took up the
crossed or uncrossed stick accordingly. Although, to all other
observers, the sticks, as enfolded in the wool, might appear
exactly similar, those who enwrapped them could, without any
difficulty, distinguish the one from the other.

By the fire-ordeal the power of deciding was just as unequivocally
left in their hands. It was generally believed that fire would not
burn the innocent, and the clergy, of course, took care that the
innocent, or such as it was their pleasure or interest to declare
so, should be so warned before undergoing the ordeal, as to
preserve themselves without any difficulty from the fire. One mode
of ordeal was to place red-hot ploughshares on the ground at
certain distances, and then, blindfolding the accused person, make
him walk barefooted over them. If he stepped regularly in the
vacant spaces, avoiding the fire, he was adjudged innocent; if he
burned himself, he was declared guilty. As none but the clergy
interfered with the arrangement of the ploughshares, they could
always calculate beforehand the result of the ordeal. To find a
person guilty, they had only to place them at irregular distances,
and the accused was sure to tread upon one of them. When Emma, the
wife of King Ethelred, and mother of Edward the Confessor, was
accused of a guilty familiarity with Alwyn, Bishop of Winchester,
she cleared her character in this manner. The reputation, not only
of their order, but of a queen, being at stake, a verdict of
guilty was not to be apprehended from any ploughshares which
priests had the heating of. This ordeal was called the Judicium
Dei, and sometimes the Vulgaris Purgatio, and might also be tried
by several other methods. One was to hold in the hand, unhurt, a
piece of red-hot iron, of the weight of one, two, or three pounds.
When we read not only that men with hard hands, but women of
softer and more delicate skin, could do this with impunity, we
must be convinced that the hands were previously rubbed with some
preservative, or that the apparently hot iron was merely cold iron
painted red. Another mode was to plunge the naked arm into a
caldron of boiling water. The priests then enveloped it in several
folds of linen and flannel, and kept the patient confined within
the church, and under their exclusive care, for three days. If, at
the end of that time, the arm appeared without a scar, the
innocence of the accused person was firmly established.115*

As regards the water-ordeal, the same trouble was not taken. It
was a trial only for the poor and humble, and, whether they sank
or swam, was thought of very little consequence. Like the witches
of more modern times, the accused were thrown into a pond or
river; if they sank, and were drowned, their surviving friends had
the consolation of knowing that they were innocent; if they swam,
they were guilty. In either case society was rid of them.

But of all the ordeals, that which the clergy reserved for
themselves was the one least likely to cause any member of their
corps to be declared guilty. The most culpable monster in
existence came off clear when tried by this method. It was called
the Corsned, and was thus performed. A piece of barley bread and a
piece of cheese were laid upon the altar, and the accused priest,
in his full canonicals, and surrounded by all the pompous adjuncts
of Roman ceremony, pronounced certain conjurations, and prayed
with great fervency for several minutes. The burden of his prayer
was, that if he were guilty of the crime laid to his charge, God
would send his angel Gabriel to stop his throat, that he might not
be able to swallow the bread and cheese. There is no instance upon
record of a priest having been choked in this manner.116*

When, under Pope Gregory VII, it was debated whether the Gregorian
chant should be introduced into Castile, instead of the Musarabic,
given by St. Isidore, of Seville, to the churches of that kingdom,
very much ill feeling was excited. The churches refused to receive
the novelty, and it was proposed that the affair should be decided
by a battle between two champions, one chosen from each side. The
clergy would not consent to a mode of settlement which they
considered impious, but had no objection to try the merits of each
chant by the fire ordeal. A great fire was accordingly made, and a
book of the Gregorian and one of the Musarabic chant were thrown
into it, that the flames might decide which was most agreeable to
God by refusing to burn it. Cardinal Baronius, who says he was an
eye-witness of the miracle, relates, that the book of the
Gregorian chant was no sooner laid upon the fire, than it leaped
out uninjured, visibly, and with a great noise. Every one present
thought that the saints had decided in favour of Pope Gregory.
After a slight interval, the fire was extinguished; but, wonderful
to relate! the other book of St. Isidore was found covered with
ashes, but not injured in the slightest degree. The flames had not
even warmed it. Upon this it was resolved, that both were alike
agreeable to God, and that they should be used by turns in all the
churches of Seville.117*

If the ordeals had been confined to questions like this, the laity
would have had little or no objection to them; but when they were
introduced as decisive in all the disputes that might arise
between man and man, the opposition of all those whose prime
virtue was personal bravery, was necessarily excited. In fact, the
nobility, from a very early period, began to look with jealous
eyes upon them. They were not slow to perceive their true purport,
which was no other than to make the Church the last court of
appeal in all cases, both civil and criminal: and not only did the
nobility prefer the ancient mode of single combat from this cause,
in itself a sufficient one, but they clung to it because an
acquittal gained by those displays of courage and address which
the battle afforded, was more creditable in the eyes of their
compeers, than one which it required but little or none of either
to accomplish. To these causes may be added another, which was,
perhaps, more potent than either, in raising the credit of the
judicial combat at the expense of the ordeal. The noble
institution of chivalry was beginning to take root, and,
notwithstanding the clamours of the clergy, war was made the sole
business of life, and the only elegant pursuit of the aristocracy.
The fine spirit of honour was introduced, any attack upon which
was only to be avenged in the lists, within sight of applauding
crowds, whose verdict of approbation was far more gratifying than
the cold and formal acquittal of the ordeal. Lothaire, the son of
Louis I, abolished that by fire and the trial of the cross within
his dominions; but in England they were allowed so late as the
time of Henry III, in the early part of whose reign they were
prohibited by an order of council. In the mean time, the Crusades
had brought the institution of chivalry to the full height of
perfection. The chivalric spirit soon achieved the downfall of the
ordeal system, and established the judicial combat on a basis too
firm to be shaken. It is true that with the fall of chivalry, as
an institution, fell the tournament, and the encounter in the
lists; but the duel, their offspring, has survived to this day,
defying the efforts of sages and philosophers to eradicate it.
Among all the errors bequeathed to us by a barbarous age, it has
proved the most pertinacious. It has put variance between men's
reason and their honour; put the man of sense on a level with the
fool, and made thousands who condemn it submit to it, or practise
it.

Those who are curious to see the manner in which these combats
were regulated, may consult the learned Montesquieu, where they
will find a copious summary of the code of ancient duelling.118*
Truly does he remark, in speaking of the clearness and excellence
of the arrangements, that, as there were many wise matters which
were conducted in a very foolish manner, so there were many
foolish matters conducted very wisely. No greater exemplification
of it could be given, than the wise and religious rules of the
absurd and blasphemous trial by battle.

In the ages that intervened between the Crusades and the new era
that was opened out by the invention of gunpowder and printing, a
more rational system of legislation took root. The inhabitants of
cities, engaged in the pursuits of trade and industry, were
content to acquiesce in the decisions of their judges and
magistrates whenever any differences arose among them. Unlike the
class above them, their habits and manners did not lead them to
seek the battle-field on every slight occasion. A dispute as to
the price of a sack of corn, a bale of broad-cloth, or a cow,
could be more satisfactorily adjusted before the mayor or bailiff
of their district. Even the martial knights and nobles,
quarrelsome as they were, began to see that the trial by battle
would lose its dignity and splendour if too frequently resorted
to. Governments also shared this opinion, and on several occasions
restricted the cases in which it was legal to proceed to this
extremity. In France, before the time of Louis IX, duels were
permitted only in cases of Lèse Majesty, Rape, Incendiarism,
Assassination, and Burglary. Louis IX, by taking off all
restriction, made them legal in civil eases. This was not found to
work well, and, in 1303, Philip the Fair judged it necessary to
confine them, in criminal matters, to state offences, rape, and
incendiarism; and in civil cases, to questions of disputed
inheritance. Knighthood was allowed to be the best judge of its
own honour, and might defend or avenge it as often as occasion
arose.

Among the earliest duels upon record, is a very singular one that
took place in the reign of Louis II (A.D. 879). Ingelgerius, Count
of Gastinois, was one morning discovered by his Countess dead in
bed at her side. Gontran, a relation of the Count, accused the
Countess of having murdered her husband, to whom, he asserted, she
had long been unfaithful, and challenged her to produce a champion
to do battle in her behalf, that he might establish her guilt by
killing him. 119* All the friends and relatives of the Countess
believed in her innocence; but Gontran was so stout and bold and
renowned a warrior, that no one dared to meet him, for which, as
Brantôme quaintly says, "Mauvais et poltrons parens estaient." The
unhappy Countess began to despair, when a champion suddenly
appeared in the person of Ingelgerius, Count of Anjou, a boy of
sixteen years of age, who had been held by the Countess on the
baptismal font, and received her husband's name. He tenderly loved
his godmother, and offered to do battle in her cause against any
and every opponent. The King endeavoured to persuade the generous
boy from his enterprise, urging the great strength, tried skill,
and invincible courage of the challenger; but he persisted in his
resolution, to the great sorrow of all the court, who said it was
a cruel thing to permit so brave and beautiful a child to rush to
such butchery and death.

When the lists were prepared, the Countess duly acknowledged her
champion, and the combatants commenced the onset. Gontran rode so
fiercely at his antagonist, and hit him on the shield with such
impetuosity, that he lost his own balance and rolled to the
ground. The young Count, as Gontran fell, passed his lance through
his body, and then dismounting, cut off his head, which, Brantome
says, "he presented to the King, who received it most graciously,
and was very joyful, as much so as if any one had made him a
present of a city." The innocence of the Countess was then
proclaimed with great rejoicings; and she kissed her godson, and
wept over his neck with joy, in the presence of all the assembly.

When the Earl of Essex was accused, by Robert de Montfort, before
King Henry II, in 1162, of having traitorously suffered the royal
standard of England to fall from his hands in a skirmish with the
Welsh, at Coleshill, five years previously, the latter offered to
prove the truth of the charge by single combat. The Earl of Essex
accepted the challenge, and the lists were prepared near Reading.
An immense concourse of persons assembled to witness the battle.
Essex at first fought stoutly, but, losing his temper and
self-command, he gave an advantage to his opponent, which soon
decided the struggle. He was unhorsed, and so severely wounded,
that all present thought he was dead. At the solicitation of his
relatives, the monks of the Abbey of Reading were allowed to
remove the body for interment, and Montfort was declared the
victor. Essex, however, was not dead, but stunned only, and, under
the care of the monks, recovered in a few weeks from his bodily
injuries. The wounds of his mind were not so easily healed. Though
a loyal and brave subject, the whole realm believed him a traitor
and a coward because he had been vanquished. He could not brook to
return to the world deprived of the good opinion of his fellows;
he, therefore, made himself a monk, and passed the remainder of
his days within the walls of the Abbey.

Du Chastelet relates a singular duel that was proposed in
Spain.120* A Christian gentleman of Seville sent a challenge to a
Moorish cavalier, offering to prove against him, with whatever
weapons he might choose, that the religion of Jesus Christ was
holy and divine, and that of Mahomet impious and damnable. The
Spanish prelates did not choose that Christianity should be com
promised within their jurisdiction by the result of any such
combat, and they commanded the knight, under pain of
excommunication, to withdraw the challenge.

The same author relates, that under Otho I a question arose among
jurisconsults, viz. whether grandchildren, who had lost their
father, should share equally with their uncles in the property of
their grandfather, at the death of the latter. The difficulty of
this question was found so insurmountable, that none of the
lawyers of that day could resolve it. It was at last decreed, that
it should be decided by single combat. Two champions were
accordingly chosen; one for, and the other against, the claims of
the little ones. After a long struggle, the champion of the uncles
was unhorsed and slain; and it was, therefore, decided, that the
right of the grandchildren was established, and that they should
enjoy the same portion of their grandfather's possessions that
their father would have done had he been alive.

Upon pretexts, just as frivolous as these, duels continued to be
fought in most of the countries of Europe during the whole of the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. A memorable instance of the
slightness of the pretext on which a man could be forced to fight
a duel to the death, occurs in the Memoirs of the brave Constable,
Du Guesclin. The advantage he had obtained, in a skirmish before
Rennes, against William Brembre, an English captain, so preyed on
the spirits of William Troussel, the chosen friend and companion
of the latter, that nothing would satisfy him but a mortal combat
with the Constable. The Duke of Lancaster, to whom Troussel
applied for permission to fight the great Frenchman, forbade the
battle, as not warranted by the circumstances. Troussel
nevertheless burned with a fierce desire to cross his weapon with
Du Guesclin, and sought every occasion to pick a quarrel with him.
Having so good a will for it, of course he found a way. A relative
of his had been taken prisoner by the Constable, in whose hands he
remained till he was able to pay his ransom. Troussel resolved to
make a quarrel out of this, and despatched a messenger to Du
Guesclin, demanding the release of his prisoner, and offering a
bond, at a distant date, for the payment of the ransom. Du
Guesclin, who had received intimation of the hostile purposes of
the Englishman, sent back word, that he would not accept his bond,
neither would he release his prisoner, until the full amount of
his ransom was paid. As soon as this answer was received, Troussel
sent a challenge to the Constable, demanding reparation for the
injury he had done his honour, by refusing his bond, and offering
a mortal combat, to be fought three strokes with the lance, three
with the sword, and three with the dagger. Du Guesclin, although
ill in bed with the ague, accepted the challenge, and gave notice
to the Marshal d'Andreghem, the King's Lieutenant-General in Lower
Normandy, that he might fix the day and the place of combat. The
Marshal made all necessary arrangements, upon condition that he
who was beaten should pay a hundred florins of gold to feast the
nobles and gentlemen who were witnesses of the encounter.

The Duke of Lancaster was very angry with his captain, and told
him, that it would be a shame to his knighthood and his nation, if
he forced on a combat with the brave Du Guesclin, at a time when
he was enfeebled by disease and stretched on the couch of
suffering. Upon these representations, Troussel, ashamed of
himself, sent notice to Du Guesclin that he was willing to
postpone the duel until such time as he should be perfectly
recovered. Du Guesclin replied, that he could not think of
postponing the combat, after all the nobility had received notice
of it; that he had sufficient strength left, not only to meet, but
to conquer such an opponent as he was; and that, if he did not
make his appearance in the lists at the time appointed, he would
publish him everywhere as a man unworthy to be called a knight, or
to wear an honourable sword by his side. Troussel carried this
haughty message to the Duke of Lancaster, who immediately gave
permission for the battle.

On the day appointed, the two combatants appeared in the lists, in
the presence of several thousand spectators. Du Guesclin was
attended by the flower of the French nobility, including the
Marshal de Beaumanoir, Olivier de Mauny, Bertrand de Saint Pern,
and the Viscount de la Bellière, while the Englishman appeared
with no more than the customary retinue of two seconds, two
squires, two coutilliers, or daggermen, and two trumpeters. The
first onset was unfavourable to the Constable: he received so
heavy a blow on his shield-arm, that he fell forward to the left,
upon his horse's neck, and, being weakened by his fever, was
nearly thrown to the ground. All his friends thought he could
never recover himself, and began to deplore his ill fortune; but
Du Guesclin collected his energies for a decisive effort, and, at
the second charge, aimed a blow at the shoulder of his enemy,
which felled him to the earth, mortally wounded. He then sprang
from his horse, sword in hand, with the intention of cutting off
the head of his fallen foe, when the Marshal D'Andreghem threw a
golden wand into the arena, as a signal that hostilities should
cease. Du Guesclin was proclaimed the victor, amid the joyous
acclamations of the crowd, and retiring, left the field to the
meaner combatants, who were afterwards to make sport for the
people. Four English and as many French squires fought for some
time with pointless lances, when the French, gaining the
advantage, the sports were declared at an end.

In the time of Charles VI, about the beginning of the fifteenth
century, a famous duel was ordered by the Parliament of Paris. The
Sieur de Carrouges being absent in the Holy Land, his lady was
violated by the Sieur Legris. Carrouges, on his return, challenged
Legris to mortal combat, for the twofold crime of violation and
slander, inasmuch as he had denied his guilt, by asserting that
the lady was a willing party. The lady's asseverations of
innocence were held to be no evidence by the Parliament, and the
duel was commanded with all the ceremonies. "On the day
appointed," says Brantome, 121* "the lady came to witness the
spectacle in her chariot; but the King made her descend, judging
her unworthy, because she was criminal in his eyes till her
innocence was proved, and caused her to stand upon a scaffold to
await the mercy of God and this judgment by the battle. After a
short struggle, the Sieur de Carrouges overthrew his enemy, and
made him confess both the rape and the slander. He was then taken
to the gallows and hanged in the presence of the multitude; while
the innocence of the lady was proclaimed by the heralds, and
recognized by her husband, the King, and all the spectators."

Numerous battles, of a similar description, constantly took place,
until the unfortunate issue of one encounter of the kind led the
French King, Henry II, to declare solemnly, that he would never
again permit any such encounter, whether it related to a civil or
criminal case, or the honour of a gentleman.

This memorable combat was fought in the year 1557. Francois de
Vivonne, Lord of La Chataigneraie, and Guy de Chabot, Lord of
Jarnac, had been friends from their early youth, and were noted at
the court of Francis I for the gallantry of their bearing and the
magnificence of their retinue. Chataigneraie, who knew that his
friend's means were not very ample, asked him one day, in
confidence, how it was that he contrived to be so well provided?
Jarnac replied, that his father had married a young and beautiful
woman, who, loving the son far better than the sire, supplied him
with as much money as he desired. La Chataigneraie betrayed the
base secret to the Dauphin, the Dauphin to the King, the King to
his courtiers, and the courtiers to all their acquaintance. In a
short time it reached the ears of the old Lord de Jarnac, who
immediately sent for his son, and demanded to know in what manner
the report had originated, and whether he had been vile enough not
only to carry on such a connexion, but to boast of it? De Jarnac
indignantly denied that he had ever said so, or given reason to
the world to say so, and requested his father to accompany him to
court, and confront him with his accuser, that he might see the
manner in which he would confound him. They went accordingly, and
the younger De Jarnac, entering a room where the Dauphin, La
Chataigneraie, and several courtiers were present, exclaimed
aloud, "That whoever had asserted, that he maintained a criminal
connexion with his mother-in-law, was a liar and a coward!" Every
eye was turned to the Dauphin and La Chataigneraie, when the
latter stood forward, and asserted, that De Jarnac had himself
avowed that such was the fact, and he would extort from his lips
another confession of it. A case like this could not be met or
rebutted by any legal proof, and the royal council ordered that it
should be decided by single combat. The King, however, set his
face against the duel 122* and forbade them both, under pain of
his high displeasure, to proceed any further in the matter. But
Francis died in the following year, and the Dauphin, now Henry II,
who was himself compromised, resolved that the combat should take
place.

The lists were prepared in the court-yard of the chateau of St.
Germain-en-Laye, and the 10th of July 1547 was appointed for the
encounter. The cartels of the combatants, which are preserved in
the Memoires de Castelnau, were as follow:

Cartel of Francois de Vivonne, Lord of La Chataigneraie.

"Sire,

"Having learned that Guy Chabot de Jarnac, being lately at
Compeigne, asserted, that whoever had said that he boasted of
having criminal intercourse with his mother-in-law, was wicked and
a wretch,—I, Sire, with your good-will and pleasure, do answer,
that he has wickedly lied, and will lie as many times as he denies
having said that which I affirm he did say; for I repeat, that he
told me several times, and boasted of it, that he had slept with
his mother-in-law.

"Francois de Vivonne."

To this cartel De Jarnac replied :—

"Sire,

"With your good will and permission, I say, that Francois de
Vivonne has lied in the imputation which he has cast upon me, and
of which I spoke to you at Compeigne. I, therefore, entreat you,
Sire, most humbly, that you be pleased to grant us a fair field,
that we may fight this battle to the death.

"Guy Chabot."

The preparations were conducted on a scale of the greatest
magnificence, the King having intimated his intention of being
present. La Chataigneraie made sure of the victory, and invited
the King and a hundred and fifty of the principal personages of
the court to sup with him in the evening, after the battle, in a
splendid tent, which he had prepared at the extremity of the
lists. De Jarnac was not so confident, though perhaps more
desperate. At noon, on the day appointed, the combatants met, and
each took the customary oath, that he bore no charms or amulets
about him, or made use of any magic, to aid him against his
antagonist. They then attacked each other, sword in hand. La
Chataigneraie was a strong, robust man, and over confident; De
Jarnac was nimble, supple, and prepared for the worst. The combat
lasted for some time doubtful, until De Jarnac, overpowered by the
heavy blows of his opponent, covered his head with his shield,
and, stooping down, endeavoured to make amends by his agility for
his deficiency of strength. In this crouching posture he aimed two
blows at the left thigh of La Chataigneraie, who had left it
uncovered, that the motion of his leg might not be impeded. Each
blow was successful, and, amid the astonishment of all the
spectators, and to the great regret of the King, La Chataigneraie
rolled over upon the sand. He seized his dagger, and made a last
effort to strike De Jarnac; but he was unable to support himself,
and fell powerless into the arms of the assistants. The officers
now interfered, and De Jarnac being declared the victor, fell down
upon his knees, uncovered his head, and, clasping his hands
together, exclaimed:—"O Domine, non sum dignus!" La Chataigneraie
was so mortified by the result of the encounter, that he
resolutely refused to have his wounds dressed. He tore off the
bandages which the surgeons applied, and expired two days
afterwards. Ever since that time, any sly and unforeseen attack
has been called by the French a coup de Jarnac. Henry was so
grieved at the loss of his favourite, that he made the solemn oath
already alluded to, that he would never again, so long as he
lived, permit a due. Some writers have asserted, and among others,
Mezeraie, that he issued a royal edict forbidding them. This has
been doubted by others, and, as there appears no registry of the
edict in any of the courts, it seems most probable that it was
never issued. This opinion is strengthened by the fact, that two
years afterwards, the council ordered another duel to be fought,
with similar forms, but with less magnificence, on account of the
inferior rank of the combatants. It is not anywhere stated, that
Henry interfered to prevent it, notwithstanding his solemn oath;
but that, on the contrary, he encouraged it, and appointed the
Marshal de la Marque to see that it was conducted according to the
rules of chivalry. The disputants were Fendille and D'Aguerre, two
gentlemen of the household, who, quarrelling in the King's
chamber, had proceeded from words to blows. The council, being
informed of the matter, decreed that it could only be decided in
the lists. Marshal de la Marque, with the King's permission,
appointed the city of Sedan as the place of combat. Fendille, who
was a bad swordsman, was anxious to avoid an encounter with
D'Aguerre, who was one of the most expert men of the age; but the
council authoritatively commanded that he should fight, or be
degraded from all his honours. D'Aguerre appeared in the field
attended by Francois de Vendome, Count de Chartres, while Fendille
was accompanied by the Duke de Nevers. Fendille appears to have
been not only an inexpert swordsman, but a thorough coward; one
who, like Cowley, might have heaped curses on the man,

"(Death's factor sure), who brought
Dire swords into this peaceful world."

On the very first encounter he was thrown from his horse, and,
confessing on the ground all that his victor required of him,
slunk away ignominiously from the arena.

One is tempted to look upon the death of Henry II as a judgment
upon him for his perjury in the matter of duelling. In a grand
tournament instituted on the occasion of the marriage of his
daughter, he broke several lances in encounters with some of the
bravest knights of the time. Ambitious of still further renown, he
would not rest satisfied until he had also engaged the young Count
de Montgomeri. He received a wound in the eye from the lance of
this antagonist, and died from its effects shortly afterwards, in
the forty-first year of his age.

In the succeeding reigns of Francis II, Charles IX, and Henry III,
the practice of duelling increased to an alarming extent. Duels
were not rare in the other countries of Europe at the same period;
but in France they were so frequent, that historians, in speaking
of that age, designate it as "l'epoque de la fureur des duels."
The Parliament of Paris endeavoured, as far as in its power lay,
to discourage the practice. By a decree dated the 26th of June
1559, it declared all persons who should be present at duels, or
aiding and abetting in them, to be rebels to the King,
transgressors of the law, and disturbers of the public peace.

When Henry III was assassinated at St. Cloud, in 1589, a young
gentleman, named L'isle Marivaut, who had been much beloved by
him, took his death so much to heart, that he resolved not to
survive him. Not thinking suicide an honourable death, and
wishing, as he said, to die gloriously in revenging his King and
master, he publicly expressed his readiness to fight anybody to
the death who should assert that Henry's assassination was not a
great misfortune to the community. Another youth, of a fiery
temper and tried courage, named Marolles, took him at his word,
and the day and place of the combat were forthwith appointed. When
the hour had come, and all were ready, Marolles turned to his
second, and asked whether his opponent had a casque or helmet
only, or whether he wore a sallade, or headpiece. Being answered a
helmet only, he said gaily, "So much the better; for, sir, my
second, you shall repute me the wickedest man in all the world, if
I do not thrust my lance right through the the middle of his head
and kill him." Truth to say, he did so at the very first onset,
and the unhappy L'isle Marivaut expired without a groan. Brantome,
who relates this story, adds, that the victor might have done as
he pleased with the body, cut off the head, dragged it out of the
camp, or exposed it upon an ass, but that, being a wise and very
courteous gentleman, he left it to the relatives of the deceased
to be honourably buried, contenting himself with the glory of his
triumph, by which he gained no little renown and honour among the
ladies of Paris.

On the accession of Henry IV that monarch pretended to set his
face against duelling; but such was the influence of early
education and the prejudices of society upon him, that he never
could find it in his heart to punish a man for this offence. He
thought it tended to foster a warlike spirit among his people.
When the chivalrous Créqui demanded his permission to fight Don
Philippe de Savoire, he is reported to have said, "Go, and if I
were not a King, I would be your second." It is no wonder that
when such were known to be the King's disposition, his edicts
attracted but small attention. A calculation was made by M. de
Lomenie, in the year 1607, that since the accession of Henry, in
1589, no less than four thousand French gentlemen had lost their
lives in these conflicts, which, for the eighteen years, would
have been at the rate of four or five in a week, or eighteen per
month! Sully, who reports this fact in his Memoirs, does not throw
the slightest doubt upon its exactness, and adds, that it was
chiefly owing to the facility and ill-advised good-nature of his
royal master that the bad example had so empoisoned the court, the
city, and the whole country. This wise minister devoted much of
his time and attention to the subject; for the rage, he says, was
such as to cause him a thousand pangs, and the King also. There
was hardly a man moving in what was called good society, who had
not been engaged in a duel either as principal or second; and if
there were such a man, his chief desire was to free himself from
the imputation of non-duelling, by picking a quarrel with
somebody. Sully constantly wrote letters to the King, in which he
prayed him to renew the edicts against this barbarous custom, to
aggravate the punishment against offenders, and never, in any
instance, to grant a pardon, even to a person who had wounded
another in a duel, much less to any one who had taken away life.
He also advised, that some sort of tribunal, or court of honour,
should be established, to take cognizance of injurious and
slanderous language, and of all such matters as usually led to
duels; and that the justice to be administered by this court
should be sufficiently prompt and severe to appease the
complainant, and make the offender repent of his aggression.

Henry, being so warmly pressed by his friend and minister, called
together an extraordinary council in the gallery of the palace of
Fontainebleau, to take the matter into consideration. When all the
members were assembled, his Majesty requested that some person
conversant with the subject would make a report to him on the
origin, progress, and different forms of the duel. Sully
complacently remarks, that none of the counsllors gave the King
any great reason to felicitate them on their erudition. In fact,
they all remained silent. Sully held his peace with the rest; but
he looked so knowing, that the King turned towards him, and
said:˜" Great master! by your face I conjecture that you know more
of this matter than you would have us believe. I pray you, and
indeed I command, that you tell us what you think and what you
know." The coy minister refused, as he says, out of mere
politeness to his more ignorant colleagues; but, being again
pressed by the King, he entered into a history of duelling both in
ancient and modern times. He has not preserved this history in his
Memoirs; and, as none of the ministers or counsellors present
thought proper to do so, the world is deprived of a discourse
which was, no doubt, a learned and remarkable one. The result was,
that a royal edict was issued, which Sully lost no time in
transmitting to the most distant provinces, with a distinct
notification to all parties concerned that the King was in
earnest, and would exert the full rigour of the law in punishment
of the offenders. Sully himself does not inform us what were the
provisions of the new law; but Father Matthias has been more
explicit, and from him we learn, that the Marshals of France were
created judges of a court of chivalry, for the hearing of all
causes wherein the honour of a noble or gentleman was concerned,
and that such as resorted to duelling should be punished by death
and confiscation of property, and that the seconds and assistants
should lose their rank, dignity, or offices, and be banished from
the court of their sovereign.123*

But so strong a hold had the education and prejudice of his age
upon the mind of the King, that though his reason condemned, his
sympathies approved the duel. Notwithstanding this threatened
severity, the number of duels did not diminish, and the wise Sully
had still to lament the prevalence of an evil which menaced
society with utter disorganization. In the succeeding reign the
practice prevailed, if possible, to a still greater extent, until
the Cardinal de Richelieu, better able to grapple with it than
Sully had been, made some severe examples in the very highest
classes. Lord Herbert, the English ambassador at the court of
Louis XIII repeats, in his letters, an observation that had been
previously made in the reign of Henry IV, that it was rare to find
a Frenchman moving in good society who had not killed his man in a
duel. The Abbé Millot says of this period, that the duel madness
made the most terrible ravages. Men had actually a frenzy for
combatting. Caprice and vanity, as well as the excitement of
passion, imposed the necessity of fighting. Friends were obliged
to enter into the quarrels of their friends, or be themselves
called out for their refusal, and revenge became hereditary in
many families. It was reckoned that in twenty years eight thousand
letters of pardon had been issued to persons who had killed others
in single combat.124*

Other writers confirm this statement. Amelot de Houssaye, in his
Memoirs, says, upon this subject, that duels were so common in the
first years of the reign of Louis XIII, that the ordinary
conversation of persons when they met in the morning was, Do you
know who fought yesterday? and after dinner, Do you know who
fought this morning? The most infamous duellist at that period was
De Bouteville. It was not at all necessary to quarrel with this
assassin to be forced to fight a duel with him. When he heard that
any one was very brave, he would go to him, and say, People tell
me that you are brave; you and I must fight together! Every
morning the most notorious bravos and duellists used to assemble
at his house, to take a breakfast of bread and wine, and practise
fencing. M. de Valencay, who was afterwards elevated to the rank
of a cardinal, ranked very high in the estimation of De Bouteville
and his gang. Hardly a day passed but what he was engaged in some
duel or other, either as principal or second; and he once
challenged De Bouteville himself, his best friend, because De
Bouteville had fought a duel without inviting him to become his
second. This quarrel was only appeased on the promise of De
Bouteville that, in his next encounter, he would not fail to avail
himself of his services. For that purpose he went out the same
day, and picked a quarrel with the Marquis des Portes. M. de
Valencay, according to agreement, had the pleasure of serving as
his second, and of running through the body M. de Cavois, the
second of the Marquis des Portes, a man who had never done him any
injury, and whom he afterwards acknowledged he had never seen
before.

Cardinal Richelieu devoted much attention to this lamentable state
of public morals, and seems to have concurred with his great
predecessor, Sully, that nothing but the most rigorous severity
could put a stop to the evil. The subject indeed was painfully
forced upon him by his enemies. The Marquis de Themines, to whom
Richelieu, then Bishop of Lucon, had given offence by some
representations he had made to Mary of Medicis, determined, since
he could not challenge an ecclesiastic, to challenge his brother.
An opportunity was soon found. Themines, accosting the Marquis de
Richelieu, complained, in an insulting tone, that the Bishop of
Lucon had broken his faith. The Marquis resented both the manner
and matter of his speech, and readily accepted a challenge. They
met in the Rue d'Angouleme, and the unfortunate Richelieu was
stabbed to the heart, and instantly expired. From that moment the
Bishop became the steady foe of the practice of duelling. Reason
and the impulse of brotherly love alike combined to make him
detest it, and when his power in France was firmly established, he
set vigorously about repressing it. In his Testament Politique, he
has collected his thoughts upon the subject, in the chapter
entitled "Des moyens d'arrêter les Duels." In spite of the edicts
that he published, the members of the nobility persisted in
fighting upon the most trivial and absurd pretences. At last
Richelieu made a terrible example. The infamous De Bouteville
challenged and fought the Marquis de Beuoron; and, although the
duel itself was not fatal to either, its consequences were fatal
to both. High as they were, Richelieu resolved that the law should
reach them, and they were both tried, found guilty, and beheaded.
Thus did society get rid of one of the most bloodthirsty
scoundrels that ever polluted it.

In 1642 two noblemen fought a duel, in which they were both
killed. The officers of justice had notice of the breach of the
law, and arrived at the scene of combat before the friends of the
parties had time to remove the bodies. In conformity with the
Cardinal's severe code upon the subject, the bodies were
ignominiously stripped, and hanged upon a gallows, with their
heads downwards, for several hours, within sight of all the
people.125* This severity sobered the frenzy of the nation for a
time; but it was soon forgotten. Men's minds were too deeply
imbued with a false notion of honour to be brought to a right way
of thinking: by such examples, however striking, Richelieu was
unable to persuade them to walk in the right path, though he could
punish them for choosing the wrong one. He had, with all his
acuteness, miscalculated the spirit of duelling. It was not death
that a duellist feared: it was shame, and the contempt of his
fellows. As Addison remarked more than eighty years afterwards,
"Death was not sufficient to deter men who made it their glory to
despise it; but if every one who fought a duel were to stand in
the pillory, it would quickly diminish the number of those
imaginary men of honour, and put an end to so absurd a practice."
Richelieu never thought of this.

Sully says, that in his time the Germans were also much addicted
to duelling. There were three places where it was legal to fight;
Witzburg, in Franconia, and Uspach and Halle, in Swabia. Thither,
of course, vast numbers repaired, and murdered each other under
sanction of the law. At an earlier period, in Germany, it was held
highly disgraceful to refuse to fight. Any one who surrendered to
his adversary for a simple wound that did not disable him, was
reputed infamous, and could neither cut his beard, bear arms,
mount on horseback, or hold any Office in the state. He who fell
in a duel was buried with great pomp and splendour.

In the year 1652, just after Louis XIV had attained his majority,
a desperate duel was fought between the Dukes de Beaufort and De
Nemours, each attended by four gentlemen. Although
brothers-in-law, they had long been enemies, and their constant
dissensions had introduced much disorganization among the troops
which they severally commanded. Each had long sought an
opportunity for combat, which at last arose on a misunderstanding
relative to the places they were to occupy at the council board.
They fought with pistols, and, at the first discharge, the Duke de
Nemours was shot through the body, and almost instantly expired.
Upon this the Marquis de Villars, who seconded Nemours, challenged
Héricourt, the second of the Duke de Beaufort, a man whom he had
never before seen; and the challenge being accepted, they fought
even more desperately than their principals. This combat, being
with swords, lasted longer than the first, and was more exciting
to the six remaining gentlemen who stayed to witness it. The
result was fatal to Héricourt, who fell pierced to the heart by
the sword of De Villars. Anything more savage than this can hardly
be imagined. Voltaire says such duels were frequent, and the
compiler of the Dictionnaire d'Anecdotes informs us, that the
number of seconds was not fixed. As many as ten, or twelve, or
twenty, were not unfrequent, and they often fought together after
their principals were disabled. The highest mark of friendship one
man could manifest towards another, was to choose him for his
second; and many gentlemen were so desirous of serving in this
capacity, that they endeavoured to raise every slight
misunderstanding into a quarrel, that they might have the pleasure
of being engaged in it. The Count de Bussy Rabutin relates an
instance of this in his Memoirs. He says, that as he was one
evening coming out of the theatre, a gentleman, named Bruc, whom
he had not before known, stopped him very politely, and, drawing
him aside, asked him if it was true that the Count de Thianges had
called him (Bruc) a drunkard? Bussy replied, that he really did
not know, for he saw the Count very seldom. "Oh! he is your
uncle!" replied Bruc; "and, as I cannot have satisfaction from
him, because he lives so far off in the country, I apply to you."
"I see what you are at," replied Bussy, "and, since you wish to
put me in my uncle's place, I answer, that whoever asserted that
he called you a drunkard, told a lie !" "My brother said so,"
replied Bruc, "and he is a child." "Horsewhip him, then, for his
falsehood," returned De Bussy. "I will not have my brother called
a liar," returned Bruc, determined to quarrel with him; "so draw,
and defend yourself!" They both drew their swords in the public
street, but were separated by the spectators. They agreed,
however, to fight on a future occasion, and with all regular forms
of the duello. A few days afterwards, a gentleman, whom De Bussy
had never before seen, and whom he did not know, even by name,
called upon him, and asked if he might have the privilege of
serving as his second. He added, that he neither knew him nor
Bruc, except by reputation, but, having made up his mind to be
second to one of them, he had decided upon accompanying De Bussy
as the braver man of the two. De Bussy thanked him very sincerely
for his politeness, but begged to be excused, as he had already
engaged four seconds to accompany him, and he was afraid that if
he took any more, the affair would become a battle instead of a
duel.

When such quarrels as these were looked upon as mere matters of
course, the state of society must have been indeed awful. Louis
XIV very early saw the evil, and as early determined to remedy it.
It was not, however, till the year 1679, when he instituted the
"Chambre Ardente," for the trial of the slow poisoners and
pretenders to sorcery, that he published any edict against
duelling. In that year his famous edict was promulgated, in which
he reiterated and confirmed the severe enactments of his
predecessors, Henry IV and Louis XIII, and expressed his
determination never to pardon any offender. By this celebrated
ordinance a supreme court of honour was established, composed of
the Marshals of France. They were bound, on taking the office, to
give to every one who brought a well-founded complaint before
them, such reparation as would satisfy the justice of the case.
Should any gentleman against whom complaint was made refuse to
obey the mandate of the court of honour, he might be punished by
fine and imprisonment; and when that was not possible, by reason
of his absenting himself from the kingdom, his estates might be
confiscated till his return.

Every man who sent a challenge, be the cause of offence what it
might, was deprived of all redress from the court of
honour—suspended three years from the exercise of any office in
the state—was further imprisoned for two years, and sentenced to
pay a fine of half his yearly income.

He who accepted a challenge, was subject to the same punishment.
Any servant, or other person, who knowingly became the bearer of a
challenge, was, if found guilty, sentenced to stand in the pillory
and be publicly whipped for the first offence, and for the second,
sent for three years to the galleys.

Any person who actually fought, was to be held guilty of murder,
even though death did not ensue, and was to be punished
accordingly. Persons in the higher ranks of life were to be
beheaded, and those of the middle class hanged upon a gallows, and
their bodies refused Christian burial.

At the same time that Louis published this severe edict, he
exacted a promise from his principal nobility that they would
never engage in a duel on any pretence whatever. He never swerved
from his resolution to pursue all duellists with the utmost
rigour, and many were executed in various parts of the country. A
slight abatement of the evil was the consequence, and in the
course of a few years one duel was not fought where twelve had
been fought previously. A medal was struck to commemorate the
circumstance, by the express command of the King. So much had he
this object at heart, that, in his will, he particularly
recommended to his successor the care of his edict against
duelling, and warned him against any ill-judged lenity to those
who disobeyed it.

A singular law formerly existed in Malta with regard to duelling.
By this law it was permitted, but only upon condition that the
parties should fight in one particular street. If they presumed to
settle their quarrel elsewhere, they were held guilty of murder,
and punished accordingly. What was also very singular, they were
bound, under heavy penalties, to put up their swords when
requested to do so by a priest, a knight, or a woman. It does not
appear, however, that the ladies or the knights exercised this
mild and beneficent privilege to any great extent; the former were
too often themselves the cause of duels, and the latter
sympathised too much in the wounded honour of the combatants to
attempt to separate them. The priests alone were the great
peacemakers. Brydone says, that a cross was always painted on the
wall opposite to the spot where a knight had been killed, and that
in the "street of duels" he counted about twenty of them.126*

In England the private duel was also practised to a scandalous
extent, towards the end of the sixteenth and beginning of the
seventeenth centuries. The judicial combat now began to be more
rare, but several instances of it are mentioned in history. One
was instituted in the reign of Elizabeth, and another so late as
the time of Charles I. Sir Henry Spelman gives an account of that
which took place in Elizabeth's reign, which is curious, perhaps
the more so when we consider that it was perfectly legal, and that
similar combats remained so till the year 1819. A proceeding
having been instituted in the Court of Common Pleas for the
recovery of certain manorial rights in the county of Kent, the
defendant offered to prove by single combat his right to retain
possession. The plaintiff accepted the challenge, and the Court
having no power to stay the proceedings, agreed to the champions
who were to fight in lieu of the principals. The Queen commanded
the parties to compromise; but it being represented to Her Majesty
that they were justified by law in the course they were pursuing,
she allowed them to proceed. On the day appointed, the Justices of
the Common Pleas, and all the council engaged in the cause,
appeared as umpires of the combat, at a place in Tothill-fields,
where the lists had been prepared. The champions were ready for
the encounter, and the plaintiff and defendant were publicly
called to come forward and acknowledge them. The defendant
answered to his name, and recognised his champion with the due
formalities, but the plaintiff did not appear. Without his
presence and authority the combat could not take place; and his
absence being considered an abandonment of his claim, he was
declared to be nonsuited, and barred for ever from renewing his
suit before any other tribunal whatever.

The Queen appears to have disapproved personally of this mode of
settling a disputed claim, but her judges and legal advisers made
no attempt to alter the barbarous law. The practice of private
duelling excited more indignation, from its being of every-day
occurrence. In the time of James I the English were so infected
with the French madness, that Bacon, when he was Attorney-general,
lent the aid of his powerful eloquence to effect a reformation of
the evil. Informations were exhibited in the Star Chamber against
two persons, named Priest and Wright, for being engaged, as
principal and second, in a duel, on which occasion he delivered a
charge that was so highly approved of by the Lords of the Council,
that they ordered it to be printed and circulated over the
country, as a thing "very meet and worthy to be remembered and
made known unto the world." He began by considering the nature and
greatness of the mischief of duelling. "It troubleth peace˜it
disfurnisheth war˜it bringeth calamity upon private men, peril
upon the state, and contempt upon the law. Touching the causes of
it," he observed, "that the first motive of it, no doubt, is a
false and erroneous imagination of honour and credit; but then,
the seed of this mischief being such, it is nourished by vain
discourses and green and unripe conceits. Hereunto may be added,
that men have almost lost the true notion and understanding of
fortitude and valour. For fortitude distinguisheth of the grounds
of quarrel whether they be just; and not only so, but whether they
be worthy, and setteth a better price upon men's lives than to
bestow them idly. Nay, it is weakness and disesteem of a man's
self to put a man's life upon such liedger performances. A man's
life is not to be trifled with: it is to be offered up and
sacrificed to honourable services, public merits, good causes, and
noble adventures. It is in expense of blood as it is in expense of
money. It is no liberality to make a profusion of money upon every
vain occasion, neither is it fortitude to make effusion of blood,
except the cause of it be worth."127*

The most remarkable event connected with duelling in this reign
was that between Lord Sanquir, a Scotch nobleman, and one Turner,
a fencing-master. In a trial of skill between them, his lordship's
eye was accidentally thrust out by the point of Turner's sword.
Turner expressed great regret at the circumstance, and Lord
Sanquir bore his loss with as much philosophy as he was master of,
and forgave his antagonist. Three years afterwards, Lord Sanquir
was at Paris, where he was a constant visitor at the court of
Henry IV. One day, in the course of conversation, the affable
monarch inquired how he had lost his eye. Sanquir, who prided
himself on being the most expert swordsman of the age, blushed as
he replied that it was inflicted by the sword of a fencing-master.
Henry, forgetting his assumed character of an antiduellist,
carelessly, and as a mere matter of course, inquired whether the
man lived? Nothing more was said, but the query sank deep into the
proud heart of the Scotch baron, who returned shortly afterwards
to England, burning for revenge. His first intent was to challenge
the fencing-master to single combat, but, on further
consideration, he deemed it inconsistent with his dignity to meet
him as an equal in fair and open fight. He therefore hired two
bravos, who set upon the fencing-master, and murdered him in his
own house at Whitefriars. The assassins were taken and executed,
and a reward of one thousand pounds offered for the apprehension
of their employer. Lord Sanquir concealed himself for several
days, and then surrendered to take his trial, in the hope (happily
false) that Justice would belie her name, and be lenient to a
murderer because he was a nobleman, who, on a false point of
honour, had thought fit to take revenge into his own hands. The
most powerful intercessions were employed in his favour, but
James, to his credit, was deaf to them all. Bacon, in his
character of Attorney-general, prosecuted the prisoner to
conviction; and he died the felon's death, on the 29th of June,
1612, on a gibbet erected in front of the gate of Westminster
Hall.

With regard to the public duel, or trial by battle, demanded under
the sanction of the law, to terminate a quarrel which the ordinary
course of justice could with difficulty decide, Bacon was equally
opposed to it, and thought that in no case should it be granted.
He suggested that there should be declared a constant and settled
resolution in the state to abolish it altogether; that care should
be taken that the evil be no more cockered, nor the humour of it
fed, but that all persons found guilty should be rigorously
punished by the Star Chamber, and these of eminent quality
banished from the court.

In the succeeding reign, when Donald Mackay, the first Lord Reay,
accused David Ramsay of treason, in being concerned with the
Marquis of Hamilton in a design upon the crown of Scotland, he was
challenged by the latter to make good his assertion by single
combat.128* It had been at first the intention of the government
to try the case by the common law, but Ramsay thought he would
stand a better chance of escape by recurring to the old and almost
exploded custom, but which was still the right of every man in
appeals of treason. Lord Reay readily accepted the challenge, and
both were confined in the Tower until they found security that
they would appear on a certain day, appointed by the court, to
determine the question. The management of the affair was delegated
to the Marischal Court of Westminster, and the Earl of Lindsay was
created Lord Constable of England for the purpose. Shortly before
the day appointed, Ramsay confessed in substance all that Lord
Reay had laid to his charge, upon which Charles I put a stop to
the proceedings.

But in England, about this period, sterner disputes arose among
men than those mere individual matters which generate duels. The
men of the Commonwealth encouraged no practice of the kind, and
the subdued aristocracy carried their habits and prejudices
elsewhere, and fought their duels at foreign courts. Cromwell's
Parliament, however,—although the evil at that time was not so
crying,—published an order, in 1654, for the prevention of duels,
and the punishment of all con cerned in them. Charles II, on his
restoration, also issued a proclamation upon the subject. In his
reign an infamous duel was fought—infamous, not only from its own
circumstances, but from the lenity that was shown to the principal
offenders.

The worthless Duke of Buckingham, having debauched the Countess of
Shrewsbury, was challenged by her husband to mortal combat, in
January 1668. Charles II endeavoured to prevent the duel, not from
any regard to public morality, but from fear for the life of his
favourite. He gave commands to the Duke of Albemarle to confine
Buckingham to his house, or take some other measures to prevent
him flora fighting. Albemarle neglected the order, thinking that
the King himself might prevent the combat by some surer means. The
meeting took place at Barn Elms, the injured Shrewsbury being
attended by Sir John Talbot, his relative, and Lord Bernard
Howard, son of the Earl of Arundel. Buckingham was accompanied by
two of his dependants, Captain Holmes and Sir John Jenkins.
According to the barbarous custom of the age, not only the
principals, but the seconds, engaged each other. Jenkins was
pierced to the heart, and left dead upon the field, and Sir John
Talbot severely wounded in both arms. Buckingham himself escaping
with slight wounds, ran his unfortunate antagonist through the
body, and then left the field with the wretched woman, the cause
of all the mischief, who, in the dress of a page, awaited the
issue of the conflict in a neighbouring wood, holding her
paramour's horse to avoid suspicion. Great influence was exerted
to save the guilty parties from punishment, and the master, as
base as the favourite, made little difficulty in granting a free
pardon to all concerned. In a royal proclamation issued shortly
afterwards, Charles II formally pardoned the murderers, but
declared his intention never to extend, in future, any mercy to
such offenders. It would be hard after this to say who was the
most infamous, the King, the favourite, or the courtezan.

In the reign of Queen Anne, repeated complaints were made of the
prevalence of duelling. Addison, Swift, Steele, and other writers,
employed their powerful pens in reprobation of it. Steele
especially, in the Tatler and Guardian, exposed its impiety and
absurdity, and endeavoured, both by argument and by ridicule, to
bring his countrymen to a right way of thinking. 129* His comedy
of The Conscious Lovers contains an admirable exposure of the
abuse of the word honour, which led men into an error so
lamentable. Swift, writing upon the subject, remarked that he
could see no harm in rogues and fools shooting each other. Addison
and Steele took higher ground, and the latter, in the Guardian,
summed up nearly all that could be said upon the subject in the
following impressive words:˜"A Christian and a gentleman are made
inconsistent appellations of the same person. You are not to
expect eternal life if you do not forgive injuries, and your
mortal life is rendered uncomfortable if you are not ready to
commit a murder in resentment of an affront; for good sense, as
well as religion, is so utterly banished the world that men glory
in their very passions, and pursue trifles with the utmost
vengeance, so little do they know that to forgive is the most
arduous pitch human nature can arrive at. A coward has often
fought˜a coward has often conquered, but a coward never forgave."
Steele also published a pamphlet, in which he gave a detailed
account of the edict of Louis XIV, and the measures taken by that
monarch to cure his subjects of their murderous folly.

On the 8th of May, 1711, Sir Cholmely Deering, M.P. for the county
of Kent, was slain in a duel by Mr. Richard Thornhill, also a
member of the House of Commons. Three days afterwards, Sir Peter
King brought the subject under the notice of the Legislature, and
after dwelling at considerable length on the alarming increase of
the practice, obtained leave to bring in a bill for the prevention
and punishment of duelling. It was read a first time that day, and
ordered for a second reading in the ensuing week.

About the same time the attention of the Upper House of Parliament
was also drawn to the subject in the most painful manner. Two of
its most noted members would have fought, had it not been that
Queen Anne received notice of their intention, and exacted a
pledge that they would desist; while a few months afterwards, two
other of its members lost their lives in one of the most
remarkable duels upon record. The first affair, which happily
terminated without a meeting, was between the Duke of Marlborough
and the Earl Pawlet. The latter, and fatal encounter, was between
the Duke of Hamilton and Lord Mohun.

The first arose out of a debate in the Lords upon the conduct of
the Duke of Ormond, in refusing to hazard a general engagement
with the enemy, in which Earl Pawlet remarked that nobody could
doubt the courage of the Duke of Ormond. "He was not like a
certain general, who led troops to the slaughter, to cause great
numbers of officers to be knocked on the head in a battle, or
against stone walls, in order to fill his pockets by disposing of
their commissions." Every one felt that the remark was aimed at
the Duke of Marlborough, but he remained silent, though evidently
suffering in mind. Soon after the House broke up, the Earl Pawlet
received a visit from Lord Mohun, who told him that the Duke of
Marlborough was anxious to come to an explanation with him
relative to some expressions he had made use of in that day's
debate, and therefore prayed him to "go and take a little air in
the country." Earl Pawlet did not affect to misunderstand the
hint, but asked him in plain terms whether he brought a challenge
from the Duke. Lord Mohun said his message needed no explanation,
and that he (Lord Mohun) would accompany the Duke of Marlborough.
He then took his leave, and Earl Pawlet returned home and told his
lady that he was going out to fight a duel with the Duke of
Marlborough. His lady, alarmed for her lord's safety, gave notice
of his intention to the Earl of Dartmouth, who immediately, in the
Queen's name, sent to the Duke of Marlborough, and commanded him
not to stir abroad. He also caused Earl Pawlet's house to be
guarded by two sentinels; and having taken these precautions,
informed the Queen of the whole affair. Her Majesty sent at once
for the Duke, expressed her abhorrence of the custom of duelling,
and required his word of honour that he would proceed no further.
The Duke pledged his word accordingly, and the affair terminated.

The lamentable duel between the Duke of Hamilton and Lord Mohun
took place in November 1712, and sprang from the following
circumstances. A lawsuit had been pending for eleven years between
these two noblemen, and they looked upon each other in consequence
with a certain degree of coldness. They met together on the 13th
of November in the chambers of Mr. Orlebar, a Master in Chancery,
when, in the course of conversation, the Duke of Hamilton
reflected upon the conduct of one of the witnesses in the cause,
saying that he was a person who had neither truth nor justice in
him. Lord Mohun, somewhat nettled at this remark, applied to a
witness favourable to his side, made answer hastily, that Mr.
Whiteworth, the person alluded to, had quite as much truth and
justice in him as the Duke of Hamilton. The Duke made no reply,
and no one present imagined that he took offence at what was said;
and when he went out, of the room, he made a low and courteous
salute to the Lord Mohun. In the evening, General Macartney called
twice upon the Duke with a challenge from Lord Mohun, and failing
in seeing him, sought him a third time at a tavern, where he found
him, and delivered his message. The Duke accepted the challenge,
and the day after the morrow, which was Sunday, the 15th of
November, at seven in the morning, was appointed for the meeting.

At that hour they assembled in Hyde Park, the Duke being attended
by his relative, Colonel Hamilton, and the Lord Mohun by General
Macartney. They jumped over a ditch into a place called the
Nursery, and prepared for the combat. The Duke of Hamilton,
turning to General Macartney, said, Sir, you are the cause of
this, let the event be what it will. Lord Mohun did not wish that
the seconds should engage, but the Duke insisted that Macartney
should have a share in the dance. All being ready, the two
principals took up their positions, and fought with swords so
desperately that, after a short time, they both fell down,
mortally wounded. The Lord Mohun expired upon the spot, and the
Duke of Hamilton in the arms of his servants as they were carrying
him to his coach.

This unhappy termination caused the greatest excitement, not only
in the metropolis, but all over the country. The Tories, grieved
at the loss of the Duke of Hamilton, charged the fatal combat on
the Whig party, whose leader, the Duke of Marlborough, had so
recently set the example of political duels. They. called Lord
Mohun the bully of the Whig faction, (he had already killed three
men in duels, and been twice tried for murder), and asserted
openly, that the quarrel was concocted between him and General
Macartney to rob the country of the services of the Duke of
Hamilton by murdering him. It was also asserted, that the wound of
which the Duke died was not inflicted by Lord Mohun, but by
Macartney; and every means was used to propagate this belief.
Colonel Hamilton, against whom and Macartney the coroner's jury
had returned a verdict of wilful murder, surrendered a few days
afterwards, and was examined before a privy council sitting at the
house of Lord Dartmouth. He then deposed, that seeing Lord Mohun
fall, and the Duke upon him, he ran to the Duke's assistance, and
that he might with the more ease help him, he flung down both
their swords, and, as he was raising the Duke up, he saw
Macartney, make a push at him. Upon this deposition a royal
proclamation was immediately issued, offering a reward of 500
pounds for the apprehension of Macartney, to which the Duchess of
Hamilton afterwards added a reward of 300 pounds.

Upon the further examination of Colonel Hamilton, it was found
that reliance could not be placed on all his statements, and that
he contradicted himself in several important particulars. He was
arraigned at the Old Bailey for the murder of Lord Mohun, the
whole political circles of London being in a fever of excitement
for the result. All the Tory party prayed for his acquittal, and a
Tory mob surrounded the doors and all the avenues leading to the
court of justice for many hours before the trial began. The
examination of witnesses lasted seven hours. The criminal still
persisted in accusing General Macartney of the murder of the Duke
of Hamilton, but, in other respects, say the newspapers of the
day, prevaricated foully. He was found guilty of manslaughter.
This favourable verdict was received with universal applause, "not
only from the court and all the gentlemen present, but the common
people showed a mighty satisfaction, which they testified by loud
and repeated huzzas." 130*

As the popular delirium subsided, and men began to reason coolly
upon the subject, they disbelieved the assertions of Colonel
Hamilton, that Macartney had stabbed the Duke, although it was
universally admitted that he had been much too busy and presuming.
Hamilton was shunned by all his former companions, and his life
rendered so irksome to him, that he sold out of the Guards, and
retired to private life, in which he died heart-broken four years
afterwards.

General Macartney surrendered about the same time, and was tried
for murder in the Court of King's Bench. He was, however, found
guilty of manslaughter only.

At the opening of the session of Parliament of 1713, the Queen
made pointed allusion in her speech to the frequency of duelling,
and recommended to the Legislature to devise some speedy and
effectual remedy for it. A bill to that effect was brought
forward, but thrown out on the second reading, to the very great
regret of all the sensible portion of the community.

A famous duel was fought in 1765 between Lord Byron and Mr.
Chaworth. The dispute arose at a club-dinner, and was relative to
which of the two had the largest quantity of game on his estates.
Infuriated by wine and passion, they retired instantly into an
adjoining room, and fought with swords across a table, by the
feeble glimmer of a tallow-candle. Mr. Chaworth, who was the more
expert swordsman of the two, received a mortal wound, and shortly
afterwards expired. Lord Byron was brought to trial for the murder
before the House of Lords; and it appearing clearly, that the duel
was not premeditated, but fought at once, and in the heat of
passion, he was found guilty of manslaughter only, and ordered to
be discharged upon payment of his fees. This was a very bad
example for the country, and duelling of course fell into no
disrepute after such a verdict.

In France, more severity was exercised. In the year 1769, the
Parliament of Grenoble took cognizance of the delinquency of the
Sieur Duchelas, one of its members, who challenged and killed in a
duel a captain of the Flemish legion. The servant of Duchelas
officiated as second, and was arraigned with his master for the
murder of the captain. They were both found guilty. Duchelas was
broken alive on the wheel, and the servant condemned to the
galleys for life.

A barbarous and fiercely-contested duel was fought in November
1778, between two foreign adventurers, at Bath, named Count Rice
and the Vicomte du Barri. Some dispute arose relative to a
gambling transaction, in the course of which Du Barri contradicted
an assertion of the other, by saying, "That is not true!" Count
Rice immediately asked him if he knew the very disagreeable
meaning of the words he had employed. Du Barri said he was
perfectly well aware of their meaning, and that Rice might
interpret them just as he pleased. A challenge was immediately
given and accepted. Seconds were sent for, who, arriving with but
little delay, the whole party, though it was not long after
midnight, proceeded to a place called Claverton Down, where they
remained with a surgeon until daylight. They then prepared for the
encounter, each being armed with two pistols and a sword. The
ground having been marked out by the seconds, Du Barri fired
first, and wounded his opponent in the thigh. Count Rice then
levelled his pistol, and shot Du Barri mortally in the breast. So
angry were the combatants, that they refused to desist; both
stepped back a few paces, and then rushing forward, discharged
their second pistols at each other. Neither shot took effect, and
both throwing away their pistols, prepared to finish the
sanguinary struggle by the sword. They took their places, and were
advancing towards each other, when the Vicomte du Barri suddenly
staggered, grew pale, and, falling to the ground, exclaimed, "Je
vous demande ma vie. His opponent had but just time to answer,
that he granted it, when the unfortunate Du Barri turned upon the
grass, and expired with a heavy groan. The survivor of this savage
conflict was then removed to his lodgings, where he lay for some
weeks in a dangerous state. The coroner's jury, in the mean while,
sat upon the body of Du Barri, and disgraced themselves by
returning a verdict of manslaughter only. Count Rice, upon his
recovery, was indicted for the murder notwithstanding this
verdict. On his trial he entered into a long defence of his
conduct, pleading the fairness of the duel, and its unpremeditated
nature; and, at the same time, expressing his deep regret for the
unfortunate death of Du Barri, with whom for many years he had
been bound in ties of the strictest friendship. These
considerations appear to have weighed with the jury, and this
fierce duellist was again found guilty of manslaughter only, and
escaped with a merely nominal punishment.

A duel, less remarkable from its circumstances, but more so from
the rank of the parties, took place in 1789. The combatants on
this occasion were the Duke of York and Colonel Lenox, the nephew
and heir of the Duke of Richmond. The cause of offence was given
by the Duke of York, who had said, in presence of several officers
of the Guards, that words had been used to Colonel Lenox at
Daubigny's to which no gentleman ought to have submitted. Colonel
Lenox went up to the Duke on parade, and asked him publicly
whether he had made such an assertion. The Duke of York, without
answering his question, coldly ordered him to his post. When
parade was over, he took an opportunity of saying publicly in the
orderly room before Colonel Lenox, that he desired no protection
from his rank as a prince and his station as commanding officer;
adding that, when he was off duty, he wore a plain brown coat like
a private gentleman, and was ready as such to give satisfaction.
Colonel Lenox desired nothing better than satisfaction; that is to
say, to run the chance of shooting the Duke through the body, or
being himself shot. He accordingly challenged his Royal Highness,
and they met on Wimbledon Common. Colonel Lenox fired first, and
the ball whizzed past the head of his opponent, so near to it as
to graze his projecting curl. The Duke refused to return the fire,
and the seconds interfering, the affair terminated.

Colonel Lenox was very shortly afterwards engaged in another duel
arising out of this. A Mr. Swift wrote a pamphlet in reference to
the dispute between him and the Duke of York, at some expressions
in which he took so much offence, as to imagine that nothing but a
shot at the writer could atone for them. They met on the Uxbridge
Road, but no damage was done to either party.

The Irish were for a long time renowned for their love of
duelling. The slightest offence which it is possible to imagine
that one man could offer to another, was sufficient to provoke a
challenge. Sir Jonah Barrington relates, in his Memoirs, that,
previous to the Union, during the time of a disputed election in
Dublin, it was no unusual thing for three-and-twenty duels to be
fought in a day. Even in times of less excitement, they were so
common as to be deemed unworthy of note by the regular chroniclers
of events, except in cases where one or both of the combatants
were killed.

In those days, in Ireland, it was not only the man of the
military, but of every profession, who had to work his way to
eminence with the sword or the pistol. Each political party had
its regular corps of bullies, or fire-eaters, as they were called,
who qualified themselves for being the pests of society by
spending all their spare time in firing at targets. They boasted
that they could hit an opponent in any part of his body they
pleased, and made up their minds before the encounter began
whether they should kill him, disable, or disfigure him for
life—lay him on a bed of suffering for a twelve-month, or merely
graze a limb.

The evil had reached an alarming height, when, in the year 1808,
an opportunity was afforded to King George III of showing in a
striking manner his detestation of the practice, and of setting an
example to the Irish that such murders were not to be committed
with impunity. A dispute arose, in the month of June 1807, between
Major Campbell and Captain Boyd, officers of the 21st regiment,
stationed in Ireland, about the proper manner of giving the word
of command on parade. Hot words ensued on this slight occasion,
and the result was a challenge from Campbell to Boyd. They retired
into the mess-room shortly afterwards, and each stationed himself
at a corner, the distance obliquely being but seven paces. Here,
without friends or seconds being present, they fired at each
other, and Captain Boyd fell mortally wounded between the fourth
and fifth ribs. A surgeon who came in shortly, found him sitting
in a chair, vomiting and suffering great agony. He was led into
another room, Major Campbell following, in great distress and
perturbation of mind. Boyd survived but eighteen hours; and just
before his death, said, in reply to a question from his opponent,
that the duel was not fair, and added, "You hurried me,
Campbell—you're a bad man."—"Good God!" replied Campbell, "will
you mention before these gentlemen, was not everything fair? Did
you not say that you were ready?" Boyd answered faintly, "Oh, no!
you know I wanted you to wait and have friends." On being again
asked whether all was fair, the dying man faintly murmured "Yes:"
but in a minute after, he said, "You're a bad man!" Campbell was
now in great agitation, and wringing his hands convulsively, he
exclaimed, "Oh, Boyd! you are the happiest man of the two! Do you
forgive me?" Boyd replied, "I forgive you—I feel for you, as I
know you do for me." He shortly afterwards expired, and Major
Campbell made his escape from Ireland, and lived for some months
with his family under an assumed name, in the neighbourhood of
Chelsea. He was, however, apprehended, and brought to trial at
Armagh, in August 1808. He said while in prison, that, if found
guilty of murder, he should suffer as an example to duellists in
Ireland; but he endeavoured to buoy himself up, with the hope that
the jury would only convict him of manslaughter. It was proved in
evidence upon the trial, that the duel was not fought immediately
after the offence was given, but that Major Campbell went home and
drank tea with his family, before he sought Boyd for the fatal
encounter. The jury returned a verdict of wilful murder against
him, but recommended him to mercy on the ground that the duel had
been a fair one. He was condemned to die on the Monday following,
but was afterwards respited for a few days longer. In the mean
time the greatest exertions were made in his behalf. His
unfortunate wife went upon her knees before the Prince of Wales,
to move him to use his influence with the King, in favour of her
unhappy husband. Everything a fond wife and a courageous woman
could do, she tried, to gain the royal clemency; but George III
was inflexible, in consequence of the representations of the Irish
Viceroy that an example was necessary. The law was therefore
allowed to take its course, and the victim of a false spirit of
honour died the death of a felon.

The most inveterate duellists of the present day are the students
in the Universities of Germany. They fight on the most frivolous
pretences, and settle with swords and pistols the schoolboy
disputes which in other countries are arranged by the more
harmless medium of the fisticuffs. It was at one time the custom
among these savage youths to prefer the sword combat, for the
facility it gave them of cutting off the noses of their opponents.
To disfigure them in this manner was an object of ambition, and
the German duellists reckoned the number of these disgusting
trophies which they had borne away, with as much satisfaction as a
successful general the provinces he had reduced or the cities he
had taken.

But it would be wearisome to enter into the minute detail of all
the duels of modern times. If an examination were made into the
general causes which produced them, it would be found that in
every case they had been either of the most trivial or the most
unworthy nature. Parliamentary duels were at one time very common,
and amongst the names of those who have soiled a great reputation
by conforming to the practice, may be mentioned those of Warren
Hastings, Sir Philip Francis, Wilkes, Pitt, Fox, Grattan, Curran,
Tierney, and Canning. So difficult is it even for the superior
mind to free itself from the trammels with which foolish opinion
has enswathed it—not one of these celebrated persons who did not
in his secret soul condemn the folly to which he lent himself. The
bonds of reason, though iron-strong, are easily burst through; but
those of folly, though lithe and frail as the rushes by a stream,
defy the stoutest heart to snap them asunder. Colonel Thomas, an
officer of the Guards, who was killed in a duel, added the
following clause to his will the night before he died:—"In the
first place, I commit my soul to Almighty God, in hope of his
mercy and pardon for the irreligious step I now (in compliance
with the unwarrantable customs of this wicked world) put myself
under the necessity of taking." How many have been in the same
state of mind as this wise, foolish man! He knew his error, and
abhorred it, but could not resist it, for fear of the opinion of
the prejudiced and unthinking. No other could have blamed him for
refusing to fight a duel.

The list of duels that have sprung from the most degrading causes
might be stretched out to an almost indefinite extent. Sterne's
father fought a duel about a goose; and the great Raleigh about a
tavern-bill.131* Scores of duels (many of them fatal) have been
fought from disputes at cards, or a place at a theatre, while
hundreds of challenges, given and accepted over-night, in a fit of
drunkenness, have been fought out the next morning to the death of
one or both of the antagonists.

Two of the most notorious duels of modern times had their origin
in causes no more worthy than the quarrel of a dog and the favour
of a prostitute: that between Macnamara and Montgomery arising
from the former; and that between Best and Lord Camelford, from
the latter. The dog of Montgomery attacked a dog belonging to
Macnamara, and each master interfering in behalf of his own
animal, high words ensued. The result was the giving and accepting
a challenge to mortal combat. The parties met on the following
day, when Montgomery was shot dead, and his antagonist severely
wounded. This affair created a great sensation at the time, and
Heaviside, the surgeon who attended at the fatal field to render
his assistance, if necessary, was arrested as an accessory to the
murder, and committed to Newgate.

In the duel between Best and Lord Camelford, two pistols were used
which were considered to be the best in England. One of them was
thought slightly superior to the other, and it was agreed that the
belligerents should toss up a piece of money to decide the choice
of weapons. Best gained it, and, at the first discharge, Lord
Camelford fell, mortally wounded. But little sympathy was
expressed for his fate; he was a confirmed duellist, had been
engaged in many meetings of the kind, and the blood of more than
one fellow-creature lay at his door. As he had sowed, so did he
reap; and the violent man met an appropriate death.

It now only remains to notice the means that have been taken to
stay the prevalence of this madness of false honour in the various
countries of the civilized world. The efforts of the governments
of France and England have already been mentioned, and their want
of success is but too well known. The same efforts have been
attended with the same results elsewhere. In despotic countries,
where the will of the monarch has been strongly expressed and
vigorously supported, a diminution of the evil has for a while
resulted, but only to be increased again, when death relaxed the
iron grasp, and a successor appeared of less decided opinions upon
the subject. This was the case in Prussia under the great
Frederick, of whose aversion to duelling a popular anecdote is
recorded. It is stated of him that he permitted duelling in his
army, but only upon the condition that the combatants should fight
in presence of a whole battalion of infantry, drawn up on purpose,
to see fair play. The latter received strict orders, when one of
the belligerents fell, to shoot the other immediately. It is
added, that the known determination of the King effectually put a
stop to the practice.

The Emperor Joseph II of Austria was as firm as Frederick,
although the measures he adopted were not so singular. The
following letter explains his views on the subject:

To GENERAL * * * * *

"MY GENERAL,

"You will immediately arrest the Count of K. and Captain W. The
Count is young, passionate, and influenced by wrong notions of
birth and a false spirit of honour. Captain W. is an old soldier,
who will adjust every dispute with the sword and pistol, and who
has received the challenge of the young Count with unbecoming
warmth.

"I will suffer no duelling in my army. I despise the principles of
those who attempt to justify the practice, and who would run each
other through the body in cold blood.

"When I have officers who bravely expose themselves to every
danger in facing the enemy—who at all times exhibit courage,
valour, and resolution in attack and defence, I esteem them
highly. The coolness with which they meet death on such occasions
is serviceable to their country, and at the same time redounds to
their own honour; but should there be men amongst them who are
ready to sacrifice everything to their vengeance and hatred, I
despise them. I consider such a man as no better than a Roman
gladiator.

"Order a court-martial to try the two officers. Investigate the
subject of their dispute with that impartiality which I demand
from every judge; and he that is guilty, let him be a sacrifice to
his fate and the laws.

"Such a barbarous custom, which suits the age of the Tamerlanes
and Bajazets, and which has often had such melancholy effects on
single families, I will have suppressed and punished, even if it
should deprive me of one half of my officers. There are still men
who know how to unite the character of a hero with that of a good
subject; and he only can be so who respects the laws.

      "August 1771.JOSEPH."132*

In the United States of America the code varies considerably. In
one or two of the still wild and simple States of the Far West,
where no duel has yet been fought, there is no specific law upon
the subject beyond that in the Decalogue, which says, "Thou shalt
do no murder." But duelling everywhere follows the steps of modern
civilization, and by the time the backwoodsman is transformed into
the citizen, he has imbibed the false notions of honour which are
prevalent in Europe, and around him, and is ready, like his
progenitors, to settle his differences with the pistol. In the
majority of the States the punishment for challenging, fighting,
or acting as second, is solitary imprisonment and hard labour for
any period less than a year, and disqualification for serving any
public office for twenty years. In Vermont the punishment is total
disqualification for office, deprivation of the rights of
citizenship, and a fine; in fatal cases, the same punishment as
that of murderers. In Rhode Island, the combatant, though death
does not ensue, is liable to be carted to the gallows, with a rope
about his neck, and to sit in this trim for an hour, exposed to
the peltings of the mob. He may be further imprisoned for a year,
at the option of the magistrate. In Connecticut the punishment is
total disqualification for office or employ, and a fine, varying
from one hundred to a thousand dollars. The laws of Illinois
require certain officers of the state to make oath, previous to
their instalment, that they have never been, nor ever will be,
concerned in a duel.133*

Amongst the edicts against duelling promulgated at various times
in Europe, may be mentioned that of Augustus King of Poland, in
1712, which decreed the punishment of death against principals and
seconds, and minor punishments against the bearers of a challenge.
An edict was also published at Munich, in 1773, according to which
both principals and seconds, even in duels where no one was either
killed or wounded, should be hanged, and their bodies buried at
the foot of the gallows.

The King of Naples issued an ordinance against duelling in 1838,
in which the punishment of death is decreed against all concerned
in a fatal duel. The bodies of those killed, and of those who may
be executed in consequence, are to be buried in unconsecrated
ground, and without any religious ceremony; nor is any monument to
be erected on the spot. The punishment for duels in which either,
or both, are wounded, and for those in which no damage whatever is
done, varies according to the case, and consists of fine,
imprisonment, loss of rank and honours, and incapacity for filling
any public situation. Bearers of challenges may also be punished
with fine and imprisonment.

It might be imagined that enactments so severe all over the
civilized world would finally eradicate a custom, the prevalence
of which every wise and good man must deplore. But the frowns of
the law never yet have taught, and never will teach, men to desist
from this practice, as long as it is felt that the lawgiver
sympathises with it in his heart. The stern judge upon the bench
may say to the unfortunate wight who has been called a liar by
some unmannerly opponent, "If you challenge him, you meditate
murder, and are guilty of murder !" but the same judge, divested
of his robes of state, and mixing in the world with other men,
would say, "If you do not challenge him, if you do not run the
risk of making yourself a murderer, you will be looked upon as a
mean-spirited wretch, unfit to associate with your fellows, and
deserving nothing but their scorn and their contempt!" It is
society, and not the duellist, who is to blame. Female influence,
too, which is so powerful in leading men either to good or to
evil, takes, in this case, the evil part. Mere animal bravery has,
unfortunately, such charms in the female eye, that a successful
duellist is but too often regarded as a sort of hero; and the man
who refuses to fight, though of truer courage, is thought a
poltroon, who may be trampled on. Mr. Graves, a member of the
American Legislature, who, early in 1838, killed a Mr. Cilley in a
duel, truly and eloquently said, on the floor of the House of
Representatives, when lamenting the unfortunate issue of that
encounter, that society was more to blame than he was. "Public
opinion," said the repentant orator, "is practically the paramount
law of the land. Every other law, both human and divine, ceases to
be observed; yea, withers and perishes in contact with it. It was
this paramount law of this nation, and of this House, that forced
me, under the penalty of dishonour, to subject myself to the code,
which impelled me unwillingly into this tragical affair. Upon the
heads of this nation, and at the doors of this House, rests the
blood with which my unfortunate hands have been stained!"

As long as society is in this mood; as long as it thinks that the
man who refuses to resent an insult, deserved that insult, and
should be scouted accordingly, so long, it is to be feared, will
duelling exist, however severe the laws may be. Men must have
redress for injuries inflicted, and when those injuries are of
such a nature that no tribunal will take cognizance of them, the
injured will take the law into their own hands, and right
themselves in the opinion of their fellows, at the hazard of their
lives. Much as the sage may affect to despise the opinion of the
world, there are few who would not rather expose their lives a
hundred times than be condemned to live on, in society, but not of
it—a by-word of reproach to all who know their history, and a mark
for scorn to point his finger at.

The only practicable means for diminishing the force of a custom
which is the disgrace of civilization, seems to be the
establishment of a court of honour, which should take cognizance
of all those delicate and almost intangible offences which yet
wound so deeply. The court established by Louis XIV might be taken
as a model. No man now fights a duel when a fit apology has been
offered, and it should be the duty of this court to weigh
dispassionately the complaint of every man injured in his honour,
either by word or deed, and to force the offender to make a public
apology. If he refused the apology, he would be the breaker of a
second law; an offender against a high court, as well as against
the man he had injured, and might be punished with fine and
imprisonment, the latter to last until he saw the error of his
conduct, and made the concession which the court demanded.

If, after the establishment of this tribunal, men should be found
of a nature so bloodthirsty as not to be satisfied with its
peaceful decisions, and should resort to the old and barbarous
mode of an appeal to the pistol, some means might be found of
dealing with them. To hang them as murderers would be of no avail;
for to such men death would have few terrors. Shame alone would
bring them to reason. Transportation, the tread-wheel, or a public
whipping, would perhaps be sufficient.