PARIS DUELS.
The Legal Institution of the Duel--The _Congé de la Bataille_--in the
Sixteenth Century--Jarnac--Famous Duels.
Parisian duels are no longer to the death. As a rule, one of the
combatants receives a scratch, and the farce is at an end. The story
is well known of a Paris journalist's wife, who, alarmed by the sudden
disappearance of her husband, continued for a long time to fret and
worry about him, until a friend of his told her that he had gone into
the country to fight a duel, whereupon she exclaimed: "Thank Heaven!
Then he is safe."
[Illustration: IN THE PARC MONCEAU.]
From antiquity, however, until very recent times duels in Paris and in
France generally have been only too sanguinary. The French first learned
duelling from a ferocious nation. The ancient Franks, in invading Gaul,
established there what was known as the "judicial combat." Previously,
in their own country, it had been a custom amongst the Franks for an
individual who had suffered any private wrong, serious or trivial, to
wreak a personal vengeance on the offender, inflicting death, or no
matter what bodily injury, in the most barbarous fashion. At length the
law intervened and instituted formal combat between the parties at
strife--a custom which, in due course, was introduced by the Franks into
conquered Gaul. In the regulations of Philippe le Bel, 1306, it is set
forth:--
"That the lists shall be forty feet in width and eighty feet in length.
"That the duel shall only be permitted when there is presumptive
evidence against the accused, but without clear proof.
"That on the day appointed the two combatants shall leave their houses
on horseback, with visor raised; their sabre, sword, axe, and other
_reasonable_ arms for attack and defence being carried before them; when
they shall advance slowly, making from step to step the sign of the
cross, or bearing an image of the saint to whom they are chiefly devoted
and in whom they have most confidence.
"That having reached the enclosure, the appellant, with his hand on his
crucifix, shall swear on his baptismal faith, on his life, his soul,
and his honour, that he believes himself to have got a just subject of
contention, and moreover that he has not upon him, nor upon his horse,
nor among his arms, any herbs, charms, words, stones, conjurations,
pacts, or incantations that he proposes to employ; and that the
respondent shall take the same oaths.
"That the body of the vanquished man, if he is killed, shall be
delivered to the marshal, until the king has declared if he wishes to
pardon him or to do justice upon him; that is to say, hang him up to a
gibbet by one of his feet.
"That if the vanquished man still lives, his aiguillettes shall be cut
off; that he shall be disarmed and stripped; that all his harness shall
be cast here and there about the field; and that he shall remain lying
on the ground until the king, in like manner, has declared if he wishes
to pardon him or to do justice upon him.
"That, moreover, all his property shall be confiscated for the benefit
of the king, after the victor has been duly paid his costs and damages."
In regard to capital crimes, the issue of a combat authorised by law and
consecrated by religious ceremonies was looked upon as a formal judgment
by which God made known the truth or falsehood of the accusation. The
defeated combatant was dragged on a hurdle in his shirt to the gallows,
where, dead or alive, he was hanged. The church itself adopted and
sanctioned the superstitious idea that the vanquished in the judicial
duel must necessarily be guilty. The one who had been killed in such a
duel or combat was, says Brantôme, "in no case received by the church
for Christian burial; and the ecclesiastics alleged as a reason for this
that his defeat was a judgment from Heaven, and that he had succumbed by
the will of God because his quarrel was unjust."
The judicial duel was fully recognised by the Church of Paris. Louis VI.
declared that the serfs and ecclesiastics of the Church of Paris might
"testify," that is to say maintain their word by a duel. In the reign of
Louis the Young the monks of the Abbey of Saint-Geneviève, whose domains
covered all the high ground which now overlooks the Panthéon, offered
to prove by duel that the inhabitants of the little village in the
neighbourhood were the serfs of their abbey. In the same reign (1144)
the monks of Saint-Germain-des-Prés having demanded a duel in order to
prove that Étienne de Maci had wrongly imprisoned one of their serfs,
the two champions fought for a long time with equal advantage; but at
last, "by the help of God," says a chronicler, "the champion of the
abbey took out the eye of his adversary, and obliged him to confess that
he was conquered."
Among the most remarkable judicial duels may be mentioned one that
took place between two Norman knights behind the church of St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields in presence of Charles VI. and the whole court.
Jacques Legris had been accused by the wife of Jean Carrouge of having
entered his castle, masked, in the middle of the night, under pretence
of being her husband, who was on his way from the Holy Land and whose
return she was daily expecting. He protested his innocence, and on the
demand of Carrouge the Parliament ordered the matter to be decided by
duel. The judgment of God was unfavourable to Legris, and on being
vanquished he was hung up at the gallows attached to the lists. Some
time afterwards a malefactor, on the point of being executed for other
crimes, confessed to having committed the infamous action for which
Legris had suffered. This cruel mistake led to the abolition of the
judicial duel. All demands on the subject addressed to the Parliament
were from this time rejected--the judicial duel was at an end.
Appeals for a decision by single combat could still be made to the king,
who sometimes granted what was known as the _Congé de la Bataille_.
But simple crimes were no longer the cause of duels; and the personal
conflicts that now take place turn upon the modern "point of honour."
Assemblies, however, were still held for the purpose of enacting that
duels should not be fought without the recognition of the superior
authorities and without fair play. Two French officers having quarrelled
on a campaign, one of whom had suffered from the other a personal
affront, the case was brought before a tribunal of honour, with the
highest personages of the court, the Chancellor, the Pope's legate, two
cardinals, and a certain number of prelates as judges; when, without
any appeal to the sword, it was decided that one of the antagonists
should go down on his knees before the other and declare that "madly
and rashly, irreverentially, badly advised and badly counselled, he had
given a box on the ear or blow with the fist to the other, in the tent
and presence of the Duke de Longueville."
The court of honour might or might not be the preliminary to the _Congé
de la Bataille_. When the latter was granted the fact was announced by
the king's herald. The duel might on certain grounds be declined, and an
example of this is cited, in which Count William of Furstenberg refused
to meet a certain Sieur de Vassé on account of his inferior birth.
Victor Hugo has well reproduced this spirit of aristocratic punctilio,
which did not spring from personal haughtiness alone, in his drama of
_Marion Delorme_. Didier, the hero, of obscure birth, challenges a
distinguished nobleman, who asks for his adversary's name. "Didier," is
the reply. "Didier de quoi?" inquires the nobleman. "Didier de rien!"
answers the bearer of the homely name, who declares that he never knew
his father; whereupon the aristocrat, giving him the benefit of the
doubt, observes that he may possibly be of the highest lineage, and at
once consents to cut throats with him. This idea of disqualification on
account of inferior birth disappeared with the Revolution. But it was
maintained, with only the rarest exceptions, until the great outbreak
of 1789. Voltaire challenged a duke who had caused him to be waylaid
and beaten by hired ruffians, but with no result, except to get himself
sent to the Bastille. The incident of the water-carrier, in one of Paul
de Kock's novels, challenging and fighting a gentleman by whom he has
been aggrieved, would, before the Revolution, have been not merely an
improbable, but an impossible one.
While tolerating duels up to the time of Louis XIII., the French
kings sometimes intervened in person to put a stop to them. Charles
VIII. separated two gentlemen who had "come furiously to blows," and
Francis I. brought to an end a combat that was taking place between two
gentlemen of Berry, named Veniers and Harzai.
In the sixteenth century the duel was accompanied by great ceremony.
Take, for example, the one fought between La Chateigneraie and
Guychabot, better known under the name of Jarnac. Guychabot, a
distinguished member of the court of Francis I., and afterwards of
Henry II., had taken an important part in the war of Italy. But he is
chiefly remembered by his duel with La Chateigneraie, arising from
the rival influences at court of the Duchess of Étampes and Diana of
Poitiers. An offensive statement about him having been made, or rather
repeated, by the Dauphin, he replied by charging its author, whoever he
might be, with mendacity. La Chateigneraie, as Jarnac may or may not
have known, was the originator of the calumny, for which, indeed, he
accepted full responsibility. Francis I., now in his old age, would not
permit the adversaries to fight; and it was not until Henry II. came
to the throne that the duel took place, on the plain of Saint-Germain,
with all the pomp and ceremony of the ancient judicial duels, and in
presence of the whole court. Jarnac, weaker and less skilful than
his enemy, who was one of the first duellists of the age, had taken
lessons of an Italian bravo; and he dealt La Chateigneraie a violent
and unexpected thrust in the leg (afterwards to be known as _le coup de
Jarnac_). La Chateigneraie perished in the duel, and Henry II. swore on
his corpse never to permit another. He endeavoured to keep his word;
but his authorisation was dispensed with, and duelling became one of
the fashions of the day. In 1560 the States-General of the Kingdom,
assembled at Orleans, begged Charles IX. to punish without remission
all duellists; and the Tiers État having formulated the same request,
a royal order was published, which served as basis to the edicts on
this subject published by Henry IV. and Louis XIV. In these documents
duelling was placed in the category of capital offences; which had no
effect but to increase the number of duels. Among the remarkable duels
of this period must be mentioned one which was fought in the island of
the City, between two gentlemen, who, finding themselves pursued by the
police in an approaching boat, fought with such a determination to get
the affair quickly to an end, that four sabre strokes sufficed to lay
both dead.
To this epoch, too, belongs the duel of the Seigneur de Jensac, who
insisted on fighting two adversaries at the same time. The duel was
about to begin, when a friend of Jensac's rushed on the scene, and
protested against so unequal a combat. "Did you never before hear of a
man fighting two antagonists?" asked the seigneur. "Yes, but you must be
mad to place yourself in such a position deliberately and beforehand."
"Not at all," replied de Jensac; "I wish to be spoken of in the papers."
[Illustration: DIANA OF POITIERS.
(_From the Portrait by Belliard._)]
In contrast with this reckless but fundamentally good-natured gentleman,
who was ready to perish for a paragraph, may be placed the virtually
licensed assassin, Baron de Vitaux, called by Brantòme the "brave
baron," who began his murderous career by killing at Toulouse, with a
surprise stroke, the young Baron de Soupez. He afterwards, and always
with the same stroke, killed a gentleman named Gonnelion; next, the
Baron de Millau; and finally the chief favourite of Henry II., Louis
Béranger de Guast. The son of Millau, who had resolved to avenge his
father, killed, in a duel, this assassin who never appeared in public
unless accompanied by the two brothers Boucicault, known as "Baron de
Vitaux's lions." Nor must we forget Bussy d'Amboise, who fought on
the most trivial pretexts. A gentleman named Saint-Phal having said
something about the letter "x" on a piece of embroidery, Bussy, in order
to bring about a quarrel and a duel, declared that the letter was a "y."
On this important point a first combat was fought, with six combatants
on each side. Bussy having been wounded, Saint-Phal retired, but only to
be summoned soon afterwards to a new combat. The Captain of the King's
Guard, sent to interdict the fight, made no impression upon Bussy, who
tried to pick a quarrel with him, and declared that he would appeal to
the King and ask permission to meet his foe in the lists.
From 1598 to 1608 duels caused more victims than the civil wars. It
has been calculated that during this period nearly eight thousand
gentlemen perished in single combat. Henry IV. himself followed the
fashion; but unable from his regal position to fight in person, he
fought by procuration. In presence of the Duke de Guise he had shown
some jealousy in regard to Bassompierre, who had been much struck by
Mlle. d'Antraigues. The duke offered to avenge the aggrieved monarch,
and his proposition being accepted, a duel took place. Bassompierre
received a lance wound from which he with difficulty recovered. But
soon afterwards Henry IV. was himself obliged to issue an order against
duelling, which was little more than a reproduction of the one put forth
by his predecessor. He charged the constable, the marshals of France,
and the governors of provinces to see that his commands were obeyed. The
offenders were innumerable, but the king at the last moment mitigated
in almost every case the severity of his edict. Thus, in the course of
nineteen years seven thousand "letters of grace" were issued.
Thanks to the clemency of Henry IV., the number of duels fought in
France increased to such a point that in the reign of Louis XIII. the
tragic custom seemed to have reached its height.
Two gentlemen, the Vicomte d'Allemagne and the Sieur de la Roque,
fought, on some mere question of precedence, a duel in which, holding
each other by the left hand, they exchanged poniard stabs with the
right. Another pair of combatants, inspired with deadly and ferocious
hatred, shut themselves up together in an empty barrel, and cut each
other's throats with knives. In process of time, however, a series of
edicts were issued against judicial duelling. The practice received its
severest blow in 1626 from Richelieu, who inspired an edict regulating
the penalties according to the gravity of the offences. Praslin, who
was the first to infringe this edict, was exiled and despoiled of his
possessions. But the most remarkable infraction was that which cost
the Count de Bouteville his head. He was a notorious bully, and had
been known in this character since 1621. He had already crossed swords
with the Count de Pont-Gibaut, the Marquis de Portes, and the Count de
Thorigny, to mention no other names; and in 1627 he took upon himself,
in defiance of the law, to fight the Baron de la Frette and the Marquis
de Beuvron. This last duel was fatal to him. He had been foolhardy
enough to draw swords with the marquis on the Place Royale and in broad
daylight. The marquis fled to England, but Bouteville found his way to
the scaffold. Before his execution, Richelieu had said to Louis XIII.:
"It is a question of cutting the throat, either of these duels or
of your Majesty's edicts." The exemplary punishment inflicted upon
Bouteville did not, however, by any means exterminate duelling. Even
ecclesiastics at this period went through a course of training at the
fencing academies. Men of letters frequently laid down the pen for
the sword. To know how to administer cold steel became the height of
ambition with fashionable Parisians. The most desperate duellist of the
time was Cyrano de Bergerac, who would challenge on the spot anyone who
looked at him, or anyone who did not look at him.
The contagion of the duel spread even to the gentler sex. Two ladies
of the court fought at Paris with pistols. The King, when he heard
of it, smiled and said that his prohibition had only been aimed at
men. The troubles of the Fronde still further increased the number of
sword-drawing swaggerers in Paris. One duel which occurred during the
civil feuds that disturbed the earlier years of Louis XIV.'s reign,
caused an extraordinary sensation. It had its origin in a letter
supposed to have dropped from the pocket of the Count de Coligny, one
of the tenants of Mme. de Longueville. The missive was compromising to
the lady-writer, whoever she might be; and, in connection therewith,
the Duchess de Montbazon spread certain scandalous rumours, for which
Mme. de Longueville demanded, and obtained, an apology. But with this
reparation the offended lady was not content. She urged Coligny to
challenge one of the favourites of Montbazon, the Duke of Guise, to
fight him. The duel took place on the Place Royale at three o'clock on
the 12th of December, 1643. Guise, as he grasped the hilt of his sword,
said to Coligny:--"We are going to decide the ancient quarrels of our
two houses, and we shall soon see the difference there is between the
blood of Guise and the blood of Coligny." Thereupon the adversaries
fell to their work. Coligny, in making a gigantic thrust, slipped and
fell on his knee. Guise hastened to put his foot on his shoulder, and
said: "I do not wish to kill you--I simply treat you as you deserve for
having dared to challenge a member of my house without cause." Then
he struck the count with the flat of his sword. Coligny threw himself
backwards and disengaged his weapon, whereupon the fight recommenced.
Guise, however, terminated it by means of a tremendous blow which he
dealt his adversary on the arm. At the same moment fell both of the
seconds--d'Estrades and Bridieux--who had run each other through. This
was the last of the famous duels fought on the Place Royale. Mme. de
Longueville had witnessed it, concealed behind a window of the Hôtel de
Rohan.
Nine years later took place the celebrated and sanguinary duel between
the Duke de Nemours and the Duke de Beaufort. They quarrelled at
Orleans, where Nemours had cried out, in presence of Beaufort, "The
prince is being deceived, and I know by whom!" "Name him," said
Beaufort. "You, yourself!" answered Nemours. Beaufort's reply was a
box on the ear, instantly returned by Nemours; and they would at once
have crossed swords had not Mlle. de Montpensier been present. On
the day fixed for the duel, in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, the two
brothers-in-law seemed to have become reconciled. But some question
of precedence revived the bad feeling between them. "M. de Beaufort,"
relates the Duchess de Montpensier, "did all he could to avoid the
meeting. He set forth, among other reasons, that he had a number of
gentlemen with him ready to take part in the duel, while his antagonist
had only a few. Monsieur de Nemours returned to his house, where he
found awaiting him just as many gentlemen as were required. He went back
to M. de Beaufort, and they fought in the horse market, at the back of
the Hôtel de Vendôme. M. de Nemours had with him Villiers, the Chevalier
de La Chaise, Campan, and Luzerche. M. de Beaufort had the Count de
Bury, de Ris, Brillet, and Héricourt. The Count de Bury was severely
wounded. De Ris and Héricourt died in the course of the day. None of the
others were wounded, except very slightly. M. de Nemours had brought
with him swords and pistols. The latter had been loaded at his house.
M. de Beaufort said to his adversary: 'Brother, what a shame! Let us
forget and be friends.' M. de Nemours cried out to him: 'No, scoundrel!
you must kill me or I will kill you.' He fired his pistol, which missed,
and rushed upon M. de Beaufort, sword in hand, so that the latter was
obliged to defend himself. He fired, and shot Nemours dead with three
balls that were in the pistol."
Under Louis XIV. no less than twelve edicts were issued against
duelling. One of the last, published in 1704, promised lawful
satisfaction for outraged honour. To give the lie, to strike with the
hand or with a stick, were offences punishable with imprisonment. Anyone
who had received a box on the ears was entitled to return it. But the
royal commands remained without effect. Among the great duellists of
Louis XIV.'s reign must be mentioned the Duke de Richelieu, who did
as much to promote duelling as the famous cardinal of the same name
had done in the previous reign to prevent it. He not only fought duels
himself, but was the cause of duels on the part of others; and of
ladies above all. In his various encounters he severely wounded the
Duke de Bourbon, ran Prince de Lixen through the body, and killed Baron
Pontereider. The two ladies who fought at his instigation were Mme. de
Nesle and Mme. de Polignac. "Take the first shot," said the last-named
antagonist. Mme. de Nesle fired and missed. "Anger makes the hand
tremble," observed Mme. de Polignac, with a malicious smile. Taking aim
in her turn, she cut off the tip of her adversary's ear; whereupon poor
Mme. de Nesle fell to the ground as if mortally wounded.
Two years before the outbreak of the Revolution a sub-lieutenant of the
Fourth Hussars was chosen by his comrades to avenge an insult offered to
the regiment by a fencing-master. The adversaries had just crossed
swords when the officer found himself pulled violently back by someone
who had got hold of his pigtail. It was the colonel of his regiment, who
had come to stop the duel and to place his subaltern under arrest. This
young officer was Michel Ney, afterwards Napoleon's famous marshal. On
being liberated from prison, Ney sought out the fencing-master,
challenged him, and gave him a wound which injured him for life.
Hearing, some years later, that the poor man had fallen into the
greatest distress, Ney, at that time a general, settled a pension upon
him. After the Republic duels were fought as much as ever; but the
pistol had now replaced the sword. Talma, the celebrated actor, fought a
pistol duel with an actor named Naudet, in which neither was injured;
and about the same time shots were exchanged between two members of
the National Assembly, Barnave and Cazalès. Barnave missed Cazalès, and
Cazales having twice missed Barnave, apologised for his want of skill
and for keeping his adversary waiting so long. "I am only here for your
satisfaction," said Barnave. "I should be very sorry to kill you,"
answered Cazales while the pistols were being reloaded, "but you caused
us a great deal of trouble. All I desire is to keep you away from the
Assembly for a little time." "I am more generous," replied Barnave. "I
desire scarcely to touch you, for you are the only orator on your side,
whilst on mine my loss would in no way be felt." Barnave's second shot
struck Cazalès on the forehead, but the ball had expended its force on
the point of his cocked hat.
Charles Lameth, Mirabeau, and Camille Desmoulins likewise fought duels.
Camille Desmoulins had the courage, however, to refuse to settle by arms
quarrels of a political kind. "I should have," he said on one occasion,
"to pass my life in the Bois de Boulogne if I were obliged to give
satisfaction to all who took offence at the frankness of my speech. Let
them call me a coward if they like. I fancy the time is not far off when
opportunities for dying more gloriously and more usefully will present
themselves."
Napoleon did his utmost to stop duelling, but with scarcely more success
than his predecessors on the throne. Under the Restoration duels were
constantly being fought between the officers of the King's army and
Napoleonic officers on half-pay. Benjamin Constant, the famous writer
and politician, fought a duel in which, as he was too weak to stand,
both antagonists were accommodated with armchairs. This comfortable
arrangement was not attended by fatal results. M. Thiers fought a
remarkable duel with the father of the young lady to whom he was engaged
to be married. Being without means, he wished to postpone the marriage
from year to year, till at last the indignant parent insisted on
satisfaction. M. Thiers, with the historian Mignet as one of his
seconds, received the old gentleman's bullet between his legs without
returning the shot. Writers at this period seem to have frequently found
themselves compelled to throw down the pen and snatch up the sword or
the pistol. General Gourgaud challenged the author of "The History of
the Russian Campaign," and slightly wounded him in the duel which
ensued. A young cavalry officer, Beaupoil de Sainte-Aulaire by name,
having published a political pamphlet under the title of "Funeral
Oration of the Duke de Feltre," was immediately called out by the duke's
son. Hardly scratched in the encounter, he was challenged a second time
by a cousin of the deceased, who killed him with a sword-thrust in the
breast.
The Chamber of Deputies in 1819, and the Chamber of Peers in the year
following, debated the question of definitive legislation on the
subject of duelling; but their deliberations came to nothing. Shortly
afterwards literature contributed another victim to the insatiable
Moloch of "honour," in the person of a highly talented poet named
Dovalle. He had attacked, in some journal, a theatrical director; and
the offensive article cost him his life. At the time when the Duchess
de Berry was under arrest the editor of the Legitimist journal, the
_Revenant_, called at the office of the _Tribune_ to demand satisfaction
for an article directed against the duchess. The immediate result was
a second article in the _Tribune_ defying the advocates of the fair
prisoner; and so strong a spirit of partisanship was now excited on
either side that students from the schools rushed in crowds to enroll
their names at the offices of the antagonistic journals. Two small
armies having thus been raised, a letter, signed by Godefroi Cavaignac,
Armand, Marrast, and Garderin, was addressed to the _Revenant_ in
these terms: "We send you a first list of twelve persons. We demand,
not twelve simultaneous duels, but twelve successive duels--time and
place as may be conveniently arranged. No excuses, no pretexts, no
cowardly evasion; this would avail you nothing, and of this you would
have to bear the consequences. Henceforth, between your party and
ours, there is a drawn sword. There will be no truce, except when one
yields to the other." The Legitimist party did not choose to accept
the challenge in so generalised a form. It entrusted its cause to the
hands of M. Roux-Laborie, who fought a duel with Armand Carrel, the
appointed champion of the opposite side. Carrel received an almost
fatal wound in the stomach; nor was this the last combat which the
arrest of the Duchess de Berry occasioned. Tragedy and comedy were often
intermingled in the duelling of the period. There was one well-known
swaggerer, an ex-body-guard named Choquart, who was so enormously vain
of the reputation he had gained for drawing his sword that, when once a
pedestrian had, accidentally, with his
elbow pulled it partly out of the sheath as the
two men were passing each other in the street, Choquart pulled it out
altogether and exclaimed:--"The wine is drawn, and now you must drink
it!" "Many thanks," was the cool reply; "but I never take anything
between meals."
[Illustration: MARSHAL NEY.]
A list of the duels of this epoch would be too formidable; though
mention can scarcely be omitted of the one fought between Armand Carrel
and Émile de Girardin, in which the fatal wound received by Carrel
was a serious blow to the Democratic cause of which he was so great a
champion. It is certain that no one afterwards regretted his death so
keenly as the man whose bullet had pierced him; and when, on the second
of May, 1848, a concourse of workmen, national guards, and students from
the Polytechnic School reassembled at Carrel's grave in the cemetery of
Saint-Mandé to pay homage to his memory, it was Girardin himself who
made the most pathetic speech over the sleeping democrat. In this speech
he expressed a hope that the provisional government would crown the
splendid work which Carrel had done by abolishing the duel--that appeal
to arms to which he so keenly regretted ever having had recourse. Since
then there have been repeated agitations in favour of this abolition,
but without result. Duels in France, though seldom serious nowadays, are
still fought frequently and with comparative impunity.
[Illustration: THE RACE-COURSE, LONGCHAMPS.]
The leading trait in the French national character is doubtless gaiety.
We have seen how, after the first sentiment of horror excited by the
guillotine had subsided, ladies in Paris wore miniature guillotines
as ear-rings; and we might have mentioned the case of a famous French
epicure who used a small guillotine for cutting up his dinner. In like
manner duels have been made the subject of endless pleasantries in
France, and a good-sized volume could be made up of duelling anecdotes.
A few specimens, however, must suffice us here.
M. de Langerie and M. de Montendre, both exceedingly ugly, were drawn
up against each other in single combat. Suddenly de Langerie exclaimed:
"I cannot fight you. You really must excuse me. I have an invincible
reason." "And what is it, pray?" inquired the foe. "Why, this: if I
fight, I shall, to all appearances, kill you, and remain the ugliest
man in the kingdom." De Montendre yielded. A ballad-writer, known by
numerous successes, had a quarrel. An intimate friend interposed his
authority, ascertained the exact nature of the difference, and promised
to settle it. A few moments afterwards he returned. "The affair," he
said "is arranged. I had only to speak and we were instantly agreed."
"That is good," replied the writer of ballads, visibly relieved. "Yes,"
said the amiable intercessor, grasping his friend by the hand; "it is
arranged. You fight to-morrow morning at five."
A fastidious duellist, who was ready to fight about any trifle, "to find
a quarrel in a straw," as Hamlet expresses it, had taken umbrage at
something said by an entirely inoffensive man. He sent his seconds to
wait upon this person and to say that he would fight him at a distance
of twenty-five paces. "I agree," replied the recipient of the challenge;
"but since you have regulated the distance, the choice of arms must rest
with me--I name the sword."
Romieu, renowned for his spirit of pleasantry, received one day, from
a barren scribbler who had been educated at the École de Droit, the
manuscript of a play accompanied by the following letter: "Sir,--I
herewith submit a piece to which I beg you to give your very careful
attention. I accept beforehand any alterations which you may think fit
to make in it, with this exception--that I am most punctilious about the
philosophical reflections remaining untouched." A few days afterwards
the author received back his manuscript with this reply: "Sir,--I have
read your work with the greatest attention. I leave to you the choice of
arms." Fortunately it was ink alone, and not blood, which was spilt in
the affair.
At the time when Sainte-Beuve was contributing to the _Globe_ he
quarrelled with a member of the staff of that journal. A duel was
arranged; when the combatants arrived on the ground it was raining in
torrents; Sainte-Beuve had come provided with an umbrella and with flint
pistols of the sixteenth century. At the moment when the adversaries
were to pull their triggers Sainte-Beuve was still carefully shielding
himself from the elements with his umbrella. The seconds protested,
but Sainte-Beuve refused to get wet. "I don't mind being killed," he
exclaimed; "but I decline to catch cold." The duel then proceeded,
Sainte-Beuve levelling his pistol with one hand and holding up his
umbrella with the other. Four shots were exchanged, but without injury
on either side.
Cyrano de Bergerac, of whom mention has already been made, was the
most ferocious duellist of his time. His nose, of inordinate length,
had received such a number of dents that it was quite a curiosity. He
was very touchy on this subject, and would allow no one to look at him
pointedly. More than ten men expiated with their lives some satirical
glance at him, or some ill-sounding word uttered in his presence.
A certain bravo challenged an apothecary, by whom he conceived himself
insulted. The duel was arranged, and the adversaries duly met, each
accompanied by two seconds. One of the seconds of the aggrieved man held
out a pair of swords, and the other a brace of pistols.
"Sir," cried the bravo, "choose weapons. Pistol and sword are the same
thing to me." "That is all very well," replied the apothecary, "but I do
not see why you should impose your arms upon me; I think I have as much
right, and more, to impose mine on you." "Good. What are your arms?"
was the reply. The apothecary took a little box from his pocket, opened
it, and presented it to his adversary. "There are two pills," he said:
"one is poisoned and the other harmless. Choose!" The affair ended in
laughter.
The Marquis de Rivarolles, who had just lost one of his legs in battle,
uttered certain words offensive to Madillan, Schomberg's aide-de-camp.
He was challenged. The marquis appointed his surgeon to act as second.
The surgeon promptly waited upon Madillan, but introduced himself
without mentioning either his profession or the reply he was authorised
to give. He simply displayed his case of surgical instruments. Madillan,
mystified, inquired whether the visitor was the representative of de
Rivarolles. "I am," he said. "M. de Rivarolles is quite ready to fight
you, according to your desire; but, convinced that a man as brave and
generous as yourself would not like to fight at a disproportionate
advantage, he has ordered me to take one of your legs off beforehand,
so that the chances between you will be equal." Madillan was enraged at
this extraordinary proposition; but the duel was, in the end, prevented
by Marshal de Schomberg, who succeeded in reconciling the adversaries.
Voltaire had recourse to a custom which he had himself energetically
condemned. Dining one day at the Duke de Sully's, he happened, in the
course of a discussion, to raise his voice a little. "Who is that young
man contradicting me so loudly?" asked the Chevalier de Rohan-Chabot.
"He is a man," replied Voltaire, "who does not boast a great name, but
who honours the name he bears." The chevalier did not reply, but a few
days afterwards he caused Voltaire to be waylaid and beaten by half a
dozen ruffians. After having vainly tried to persuade the Duke de Sully
to espouse his cause, Voltaire determined to trust solely to his own
personal courage. He took fencing-lessons, and as soon as he was able
to handle a sword, waited upon the chevalier in his box at the Théâtre
Français. "Sir," he said, "unless some business affair has caused you to
forget the insult which I suffered at your hands, I hope you will afford
me satisfaction." This was one of those arrows, barbed with irony, which
Voltaire knew so well how to throw. "Some business affair" was a phrase
which the chevalier could not decently bear. He accepted the challenge,
but without intending to fight. Instead of crossing swords with the
young poet he caused him to be thrown into the Bastille for having
presumed to call out so great a personage.
That most amiable of men, La Fontaine, once persuaded himself, or rather
allowed himself to be persuaded, that he ought to be jealous of his
wife. The circumstances were these. He was on terms of close friendship
with an old captain of dragoons, retired from service, named Poignant;
a gentleman distinguished by candour and good nature. So much time
as Poignant did not spend at the tavern he passed at the house of La
Fontaine, and often in the society of his wife when the poet happened
not to be at home. One day someone asked La Fontaine how it was that he
permitted Poignant to visit him every day. "Why should he not? he is
my best friend," was the reply. "That is scarcely what the public say.
They maintain that he only goes to see Mme. La Fontaine." "The public
are wrong. But what ought I to do in the matter?" "You must demand
satisfaction, sword in hand, of the man who has dishonoured you." "Very
well," said the fabulist, "satisfaction I will demand." On the morrow,
at four in the morning, he called upon Poignant, whom he found in bed.
"Get up," he said, "and let us go out together." His friend asked why he
wanted him, and what urgent affair had brought La Fontaine out of bed
at such an hour. "I will tell you," was the answer, "after we have gone
hence." Poignant, quite mystified, arose, dressed, and then inquired
to what place the poet was taking him. "You will soon see," replied
La Fontaine, who, when they had both quitted the house and reached a
sufficiently retired spot, said with solemnity, "My friend, we must
fight." Poignant, more puzzled than ever, asked in what way he had
offended. "Besides," he added, "I am a soldier, and you scarcely know
how to hold a sword." "No matter," replied La Fontaine; "the public
wishes me to fight you." Poignant, after protesting for a long time in
vain, at length drew his sword from complaisance, and easily disarmed La
Fontaine. Then he inquired the meaning of the whole affair. "The public
declare," said La Fontaine, "that you come every day to my house to see,
not me, but my wife." "My dear friend," returned Poignant, "I should
never have suspected you of such a misgiving, and I promise henceforth
never to set foot across your threshold." "On the contrary," said La
Fontaine, shaking the captain by the hand, "I have done what the public
wanted, and I now wish you to continue your visits to my house with more
regularity than ever."
Let us conclude with an anecdote concerning another duel which the
"public" would have liked to see fought, but which never came to pass,
because the aggrieved party had a great weakness for keeping lead
and steel out of his body. A certain marquis had been thrashed with
a walking-stick, but showed no disposition to take vengeance on his
castigator. "Why doesn't he appeal to arms?" people inquired--to which
the witty Sophie Arnould replied: "Because he has too much good sense to
take any notice of what goes on behind his back."