inquiry for Rotrude. Gisla in a few words told him that her sister
would speedily be with them, that there was certain danger, even death,
threatening the two cavaliers, and probable peril menacing--as Gisla
remarked, with a blush--those who loved them. The King, she added, had
spoken angrily of coming to purify the palace, as she had heard from
Count Volrade, who appears to have been a Polonius, as regards his
office, with all the gossip, but none of the good sense, of the old
chamberlain in Denmark.
“Death to us!” exclaimed Robert. “Accursed be the prince who
transgresses the Gospel admonition, not to forget his own or his
father’s friends.” “We were the favored servants of Charlemagne,” said
Raoul. “We were of his closest intimacy,” exclaimed Robert. “Never,”
interrupted Raoul, “did he ascend his turret to watch the stars,
without summoning us, his nocturnal pages, as he called us, to his
side.” “He dare not commit such a crime; for the body of Charlemagne is
scarcely sealed down in its tomb; and Louis has not a month’s hold of
the sceptre.”
“He holds it firmly enough, however, to punish villany,” exclaimed
Louis himself, as he appeared in the doorway leading to a flight of
stone stairs by which Gisla had indicated the speedy appearance of
Rotrude.
And here I would beseech my readers to believe that if the word
“tableau!” ought to be written at this situation, and if it appears
to them to be too melo-dramatic to be natural, _I_ am not in fault.
I refer them to all the histories and romances in which this episode
in knightly story is told, and in all they will find that Louis makes
his appearance exactly as I have described, and precisely like Signor
Tamburini in the great scene of Lucrezia Borgia.
Louis having given expression to his startling bit of recitative,
dragged forward Rotrude, whom he had held behind him, by the wrist. The
background was occupied by four guards, wearing hoods; and I can not
think of them without being reminded of those same four old guards,
with M. Desmousseaux at their head, who always represented the Greek or
Roman armies upon the stage of the Théâtre Français, when Talma was the
Nero or the Sylla, the Orestes or the Capitolinus of the night.
With some allusion to Rotrude as a sacred dove, and to himself as a
bird-catcher, Louis handed his sister to a stone bench, and then grew
good-natured in his remarks. This sudden benevolence gave a chill to
the entire company. They turned as pale as any Russian nobleman to whom
Nicholas was extraordinarily civil.
“We know the winding passages of the palace of Thermes,” said Louis,
laughingly, “as well as our sisters; and I have not gone through them
to-night for the purpose of terrifying the sister whom I encountered
there, or the other sister whom I see here. I am a kind-hearted
brother, and am marvellously well-disposed. I need only appeal to these
four gentlemen of my guard, who will presently take off their hoods,
and serve as witnesses this night in a little ceremony having reference
to my dear Rotrude.”
“A ceremony! this night!” exclaimed the two princesses.
“Ay, by the nails of the cross! Two ceremonies. You shall both be
married forthwith. I will inaugurate my reign by a double wedding, here
in the old palace of Thermes. You, Gisla, shall espouse Robert, Count
de Quercy, and you, Rotrude, shall wed with Raoul, Baron de Lys. You
might have aimed higher, but they are gallant gentlemen, friends of my
deceased sire; and, by my sooth, the nuptials shall not lack state and
ceremony! Here are our wedding-gifts to the bridegrooms.”
He pointed to two showy suits of armor, the pieces of which were
carried by the four guards. The knights were in a dream of delight.
They vowed eternal gratitude to the most noble of emperors and
unparalleled of brothers.
“We have no great faith in human gratitude,” said Louis, “and shall
not expect from you more than is due. And you, my sisters,” added he,
“retire for awhile; put on what you will; but do not tarry here at the
toilette of men-at-arms, like peasant-girls looking at the equipping of
two pikemen.”
The two princesses withdrew; and there would have been a smile upon
their lips, only that they suspected their brother. Hoping the best,
however, they kissed the tips of their rosy fingers to the knights, and
tripped away, like two pets of the ballet. They were true daughters of
their sire, who reckoned love-passages as even superior to stricken
fields. He was not an exemplary father, nor a faithful husband. His
_entourage_ was not of the most respectable; and in some of his
journeys he was attended by the young wife of one of his own cavaliers,
clad in cavalier costume. It was a villanously reprobate action, not
the less so that Hermengarde was living. The mention of it will disgust
every monarch in Europe who reads my volume; and I am sure that it will
produce no such strong sensation of reproof anywhere as in the bosom of
an admirable personage “over the water.”
The two princesses, then, had not so much trouble from the prickles of
principle as the romances told of them. But, considering the example
set them by their imperial father, they were really very tolerable
princesses, under the circumstances.
“Don your suits, gentlemen!” exclaimed the king.
The four guards advanced with the separate pieces of armor, at which
the two knights gazed curiously for a moment or two, as two foxes might
at a trap in which lay a much-desired felicity. They were greatly
delighted, yet half afraid. The monarch grew impatient, and the knights
addressed themselves at once to their adornment. They put aside their
own armor, and with the assistance of the four mute gentlemen-at-arms
they fitted on the _brassards_ or arm-pieces, which became them as
though the first Milainer who ever dressed knight had taken their
measure. With some little trouble they were accoutred, less as became
bridegrooms than barons going to battle; and this done, they took their
seats, at a sign from the king, who bade the four gentlemen come to an
end with what remained of the toilette.
The knights submitted, not without some misgiving, to the services of
the four mysterious _valets_! and, in a short time, the preparations
were complete, even to the helmet with the closed visor. This done,
the knights took their places, or were led rather to two high-backed
oaken chairs. As soon as they were seated there, the four too-officious
attendants applied their hands to the closed head-pieces; and in a very
brief space the heads of the cavaliers sunk gently upon their breasts,
as if they were in deep slumber or as deep meditation.
Two o’clock rang out from the belfry of St. Jacques, as the two
brides entered. The king pointed with a smile to the bridegrooms,
and left the apartment with his attendants. The ladies thought that
the lovers exhibited little ardor or anxiety to meet them; for they
remained motionless on their oaken chairs. The daughters of Charlemagne
advanced, half-timidly, half-playfully; and, at length, finding the
knights not disposed to address them, gently called to each by his
name. Raoul and Robert continued motionless and mute. They were in
fact dead. They had been strangled or suffocated in a peculiar sort
of armor, which had been sent to Charlemagne from Ravenna, in return
for a jewelled vase presented by that emperor to the ancient city. “In
1560,” says Monsieur Roger de Beauvoir, himself quoting an Italian
manuscript, there were several researches made in this part of the
palace of Thermes, one result of which was the discovery of a ‘casque
à soufflet,’ all the openings in which could be closed in an instant
by a simple pressure of the finger on a spring. At the same instant
the lower part of the neck-piece tightened round the throat, and the
_patient_ was disposed of. “In this helmet,” adds the author, “was
found the head of a man, well preserved, with beard and teeth admirable
for their beauty.” I think, however, that in this matter M. de Beauvoir
proves a little too much.
Father Daniel, in his history notices the vengeance of Louis le
Debonnaire against two young nobles who were, reputedly, the lovers
of Gisla and Rotrude. The details of the act of vengeance have been
derived from an Italian source; and it is said that an Italian monk,
named Pagnola, had some prominent part in this dreary drama, impelled
thereto by a blow dealt to him at the hands of Raoul, by way of
punishment for some contemptuous phrases which the monk had presumed to
apply to the great Charlemagne.
Love and sword-blades seem to have been as closely connected as
“Trousseaux et Layettes,” which are always named together in the
shop-fronts of a Parisian “Lingere.” There was once an ample field for
the accommodation of both the sentiments of love and bravery in the old
Chaussée d’Antin, when it was merely a _chaussée_ or highway, and not
the magnificent street it now is. It was, down even to comparatively
modern times, the resort of lovers of every degree, from dukes and
duchesses to common dragoons and dairymaids. They were not always,
however, under this strict classification.
But whatever classification or want of it there may have been, there
was a part of the road which was constantly the scene of bloody
encounters. This was at the narrow bridge of Arcans. Here if two
cavaliers met, each with a lady at his side, it was a matter of
honor not to give way. On the contrary, the latter was to be forced
at the point of the sword. While the champions were contending, the
ladies would scarcely affect to faint; they would stand aside, remain
unconcerned on their jennets or mules, till the two simpletons had
pinked one another; or lounge in their cumbrous coaches till the lovers
limped back to them.
It was on this bridge, of which no vestige now remains, not even in
a museum, that the Count de Fiesque one evening escorting Madame
de Lionne, encountered M. de Tallard, who was chaperoning Louison
d’Arquien. Each couple was in a carriage, and neither would make way
for the other to pass. Thereupon the two cavaliers leaped from their
coaches, drew their swords, planted their feet firmly on the ground,
and began slashing at each other like two madmen, to the great delight
of a large crowd who enjoyed nothing so much as the sight of two noble
gentlemen cutting one another’s throats.
The ladies, meanwhile, flourished their handkerchiefs from their
respective carriage-windows, for the encouragement of their champions.
Now and then each laughed aloud when her particular friend had made
a more than ordinary successful thrust; and each was generous enough
to applaud any especial dexterity, even when her own lover thereby
bloodily suffered. The two foolish fellows only poked at each other
with the more intensity. And when they had sufficiently slit their
pourpoints and slashed their sleeves, the ladies, weary of waiting any
longer for a more exciting denouement, rushed between the combatants,
like the Sabine ladies between the contending hosts; each gentleman
gallantly kissed the lady who did not belong to him; and the whole four
gayly supped together, as though they had been the best friends in the
world.
This incident fairly brings us to the questions of duelling and death,
as illustrated by chivalry.
DUELLING, DEATH AND BURIAL.
“Le duel, ma mie, ne vaut pas un duo, de Lully.”
CRISPIN MOURANT.
As an effect of chivalry, duelling deserves some passing notice. Its
modern practice was but an imitation of chivalric encounters, wherein
the issue of battle was left to the judgment of God.
Bassompierre dates the origin of duelling (in France) from the period
of Henri II. Previous to that king’s reign, the quarrels of gentlemen
were determined by the decree of the constable and marshals of France.
These only allowed knightly encounters in the lists, when they could
not of themselves decide upon the relative justice and merits of the
dispute.
“I esteem him no gentleman,” said Henri one day, “who has the lie given
him, and who does not chastise the giver.” It was a remark lightly
dropped, but it did not fall unheeded. The king in fact encouraged
those who resorted, of their own will, to a bloody arbitrament of
their dissensions; and duelling became so “fashionable,” that even
the penalty of death levelled against those who practised it, was
hardly effectual enough to check duellists. At the close of the reign
of Henri IV. and the commencement of that of Louis XIII. the practice
was in least activity; but after the latter period, as the law was not
rigorously applied, the foolish usage was again revived; and sanguinary
simpletons washed out their folly in blood.
But duelling has a more remote origin than that ascribed to it
by Bassompierre. Sabine, in his “Dictionary of Duelling,” a
recently-published American work, dates its rise from the challenge
of the Philistine accepted by David! However this may be, it is a
strange anomaly that an advocate for the savage and sinful habit of
duelling has appeared in that France which claims to be the leader
of civilization. Jules Janin has, among his numberless _feuilletons_
published three reasons authorizing men to appeal to single combat. The
above M. Janin divides the world into three parts--a world of cravens;
a world in which opinion is everything; and a world of hypocrites and
calumniators. He considers the man who has not the heart to risk his
life in a duel, as one lost in the world of cravens, because the legion
of cowards by whom he is surrounded will assume courage at his expense.
Further, according to our gay neighbor’s reasoning, the man is lost in
this world, in which opinion is everything, who will not seek to obtain
a good opinion at the sword’s point.
Again, says M. Janin, the man is lost in this world of hypocrites and
calumniators who will not demand reparation, sword in hand, for the
calumnies and malicious reports to which he has been exposed. It would
be insulting to the common sense of my readers to affect to point out
to them the rottenness of reasons like these. They could only convince
such men as Buckingham and Alfieri, and others in circumstances like
theirs; Buckingham after killing Lord Shrewsbury at Barnes, and
pressing the head of Lady Shrewsbury on his bloody shirt; and Alfieri,
who, after a vile seduction, and very nearly a terrible murder in
defence of it, went home and slept more peacefully than he had ever
slept before: “dopo tanto e si stranie peripizie d’un sol giorno, non
ho dormito mai d’un sonno piu tenace e piu dolce.” Alfieri would have
agreed with M. Janin, that in duelling lay the safeguard of all that
remains to us of civilization. But how comes it then that civilization
is thus a wreck, since duelling has been so long exercising a
protective influence over it?
However few, though dazzling, were the virtues possessed by the
chivalrous heroes of ancient history, it must be conceded to them, that
they possessed that of valor, or a disregard of life, in an eminent
degree. The instances of cowardice are so rare that they prove the
general rule of courage; yet these men, with no guides but a spurious
divinity and a false philosophy, never dreamed of having recourse to
the duel, as a means of avenging a private wrong. Marius, indeed,
was once challenged, but it was by a semi-barbarous Teutonic chief,
whom the haughty Roman recommended, if he were weary of his life to
go and hang himself. Themistocles, too, whose wisdom and courage the
most successful of our modern gladiators may admire and envy, when
Eurybiades threatened to give him a blow, exclaimed, “Strike, but
hear me!” Themistocles, it must be remembered, was a man of undaunted
courage, while his jealous provoker was notorious for little else but
his extreme cowardice.
But, in truth, there have been brave men in all countries, who have
discouraged this barbarous practice. A Turkish pacha reminded a man
who had challenged a fellow Spahi, that they had no right to slay one
another while there were foes to subdue. The Dauphin of Viennois told
the Count of Savoy, who had challenged him, that he would send the
count one of his fiercest bulls, and that if the count were so minded,
his lordship of Savoy might test his prowess against an antagonist
difficult to overcome. The great Frederick would not tolerate the
practice of duelling in his army; and he thoroughly despised the
arguments used for its justification. A greater man than Frederick,
Turenne, would never allow himself to be what was called “concerned in
an affair of honor.” Once, when the hero of Sintzheim and the Rhine
had half drawn his sword to punish a disgusting insult, to which he
had been subjected by a rash young officer, he thrust it back into the
sheath, with the words: “Young man, could I wipe your blood from my
conscience with as much ease as I can this filthy proof of your folly
from my face, I would take your life upon the spot.”
Even the chivalrous knights who thought duelling a worthy occupation
for men of valor, reduced opportunities for its practice to a very
small extent. Uniting with the church, they instituted the _Savior’s
Truce_, by which duels were prohibited from Wednesday to the following
Monday, because, it was said, those days had been consecrated by our
Savior’s Passion. This, in fact, left only Tuesday as a clear day for
settling quarrels by force of arms.
There probably never existed a mortal who was opposed by more powerful
or more malignant adversaries than St. Augustin was. His great enemies
the Donatists never, it is true, challenged him to any more dangerous
affray than a war of literary controversy. But it was in answer to one
of their missiles hurled against him, in the form of an assertion, that
the majority of authors was on their side, he aptly told them that
it was the sign of a cause destitute of truth when only the erring
authority of many men could be relied on.
The Norman knights or chiefs introduced the single combat among us.
It is said they were principally men who had disgraced themselves in
the face of the enemy, and who sought to wipe out the disgrace in the
blood of single individuals. It is worthy of remark too, that when
king and sovereign princes had forbidden duelling, under the heaviest
penalties, the popes absolved the monarchs from their vows when the
observance of them would have put in peril the lives of offending
nobles who had turned to Rome in their perplexity, and who had gained
there a reputation for piety, as Hector did, who was esteemed so highly
religious, for no other reason than that he had covered with rich gifts
the altar of the father of Olympus.
Supported by the appearance that impunity was to be purchased at
Rome, and encouraged by the example of fighting-cardinals themselves,
duelling and assassination stalked hand in hand abroad. In France
alone, in the brief space of eighteen years, four thousand gentlemen
were killed in _rencontres_, upon quarrels of the most trivial nature.
In the same space of time, not less than fourteen thousand pardons for
duelling were granted. In one province alone, of France, in Limousin,
one hundred and twenty gentlemen were slain in six months--a greater
number than had honorably fallen in the same period, which was one of
war, in defence of the sovereign, their country, and their homes. The
term _rencontre_ was used in France to elude the law. If gentlemen
“met” by accident and fought, lawyers pleaded that this was not a
_duel_, which required preliminaries between the two parties. How
frequent the _rencontres_ were, in spite of the penalty of death, is
thus illustrated by Victor Hugo, in his _Marion Delorme_:--
“Toujours nombre de duels, le trois c’était d’Angennes
Contre d’Arquien, pour avoir porté du point de Gènes.
Lavarde avec Pons s’est rencontré le dix,
Pour avoir pris à Pons la femme de Sourdis.
Sourdis avec Dailly pour une du théâtre
De Mondorf. Le neuf, Nogent avec Lachâtre,
Pour avoir mal écrit trois vers de Colletet.
Gorde avec Margaillan, pour l’heure qu’il était.
D’Himière avec Gondi, pour le pas à l’église.
Et puis tous les Brissac avec tous les Soubise,
A propos d’un pari d’un cheval contre un chien.
Enfin, Caussade avec Latournelle, pour rien.
Pour le plaisir, Caussade a tué Latournelle.
Jeremy Taylor denounced this practice with great earnestness, and with
due balancing of the claims of honor and of Christianity. “Yea; but
flesh and blood can not endure a blow or a disgrace. Grant that too;
but take this into the account: flesh and blood shall not inherit the
kingdom of God.”
What man could endure for honor’s sake, however, is shown in the
Memoirs of the Sieur de Pontis, who, in the seventeenth century, was
asked to be second to a friend, when duels were punishable by death to
all parties concerned in them. The friend of De Pontis pressed it on
him, as a custom always practised among friends; and his captain and
lieutenant-colonel did not merely permit, but ordered him to do what
his friend desired.
Boldly as many knights met death, there were not a few who did their
best, and that very wisely, to avoid “the inevitable.”
Valorously as some chevaliers encountered deadly peril, the German
knights, especially took means to avoid the grisly adversary when they
could. For this purpose, they put on the _Noth-hemd_ or shirt of need.
It was supposed to cover the wearer with invulnerability. The making
of the garment was a difficult and solemn matter. Several maidens of
known integrity assembled together on the eve of the Nativity, and wove
and sewed together this linen garment, in the name of the devil! On
the bosom of the shirt were worked two heads; one was long-bearded and
covered with the knightly helmet, the other was savage of aspect, and
crowned like the king of demons. A cross was worked on either side. How
this could save a warrior from a mortal stroke, it would be difficult
to say. If it was worn over the armor, perhaps the helmeted effigy was
supposed to protect the warrior, and the demoniacal one to affright
his adversary. But then, this shirt similarly made and adorned, was
woven by ladies when about to become mothers of knights or of common
men. What use it could be in such case, I leave to the “_commères_” to
settle. My own vocation of “gossip” will not help me to the solution.
But if chivalry had its shirts of need in Germany, to save from death,
in England and France it had its “mercy-knives” to swiftly inflict it.
Why they were so called I do not know, for after all they were only
employed in order to kill knights in full armor, by plunging the knife
through the bars of the visor into the eye. After the battle of Pavia,
many of the French were killed with pickaxes by the peasantry, hacking
and hewing through the joints of the armor.
How anxious were the sires of those times to train their children how
best to destroy life! This was more especially the case among what were
called the “half-christened Irish” of Connaught. In this province,
the people left the right arms of their male infants unchristened.
They excepted that part coming under the divine influences of baptism,
in order that the children, when grown to the stature of fighting
men, might deal more merciless and deadly blows. There was some such
superstitious observance as this, I think, in ancient Germany. It can
not be said, in reference to the suppressing of this observance, as was
remarked by Stow after the city authorities had put down the martial
amusement of the London apprentices--contending against one another of
an evening with cudgels and bucklers, while a host of admiring maids as
well as men stood by to applaud or censure--that the open pastime being
suppressed, worse practice within doors probably followed.
Stout fellows were some of the knights of the romantic period, if we
may believe half that is recorded of them. There is one, Branor le
Brun, who is famous for having been a living Quintain. The game so
called consists of riding at a heavy sack suspended on a balanced beam,
and getting out of its way, if possible, before the revolving beam
brought it round violently against the back of the assailant’s head.
When Palamedes challenged old Branor, the aged knight rather scornfully
put him aside as an unworthy yet valiant knight. Branor, however,
offered to sit in his saddle motionless, while Palamedes rode at him,
and got unhorsed by Branor’s mere inert resistance. I forget how many
knights Branor le Brun knocked over their horses’ cruppers, after this
quiet fashion.