DUELS IN FRANCE DURING THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
As we have seen in the preceding chapter, it was during the reign of
Francis I. that duels became multiplied, both in the French dominions,
and in their armies employed upon foreign service. The influence of the
monarch upon his court, and of that court upon the nation, has ever
been all-powerful in that country, until the people knew that they were
something. We have seen the potato, after being considered by the whole
country as only food fit for swine, introduced into fashionable, and
thence into general consumption, after Louis XIV. had appeared in court
with a nosegay of its flowers at his button-hole.
The gasconading challenge sent by Francis to Charles, although it must
have been fully appreciated by reasoning people, acted with electric
enthusiasm on the nation; and if a king thought it incumbent on his
honour to seek satisfaction for having been accused of asserting a
falsehood, how much more urgent did it become for subjects to draw
their swords upon the slightest contradiction that could give umbrage
to the phantom of chivalric honour? Moreover, it had been currently
reported, and of course confirmed by the courtiers, that this monarch,
having considered himself offended by the Count of Saxony, then on a
visit at his court, had taken him aside in a hunting excursion, without
any witness being present to compromise his future safety, and proposed
a single combat, which the Count very wisely declined.
Francis, although he not only tolerated, but approved of duelling, was
jealous of the right of giving it his sanction, and was much displeased
if a challenge was sent without his knowledge. Thus De Cipsière was
obliged to absent himself from the Louvre for a considerable time, for
having presumed to send his compliments to D’Audoin by Vicomte Gourdon,
and to inform him that he was going to hear mass at the church of St.
Paul, where if M. D’Audoin would attend at the same time, they would
afterwards take a walk into the country by the Porte St. Antoine.
Several duels during this reign may almost be considered as judicial
combats, since they took place in the presence of the sovereign, who
thus constituted himself an arbiter.
The reign of Francis might have been one of gallantry and of pleasure;
and there are not wanting even ladies who, in the present day, look
upon its profligacies and their ferocious results as noble deeds,[12]
the effects of chivalric devotion. I must confess that, in looking over
its annals, I can find nothing remarkable, except an outrageous breach
of all morality and decorum, and a wanton waste of human blood.
The miserable successor of this prince, Henry II, whose reign was
ushered in by the disgraceful duel between Jarnac and La Chasteneraye,
which I have already related, encouraged duelling by his want of
energy; the princes of the blood followed the general example: and we
find the Prince Charles, brother to the Duke de Bourbon Montpensier,
fighting with D’Andelot, brother of the Admiral Coligny, at a hunting
party.
It was during this reign that a singular duel took place between a
youth of the name of Châteauneuf, and his guardian Lachesnaye, an old
man of eighty. The champions met at the Isle Louviers, the subject
of the dispute being a lawsuit concerning the minor’s property.
Châteauneuf asked the old gentleman, if there was any truth in the
reports circulated, that he had made use of disrespectful language
concerning him; which the other positively denied on the word of a
gentleman. This assertion satisfied the youth; but the old man would
not let the matter rest. “You may be satisfied,” he replied, “but that
is more than I am: and, since you have given me the trouble of coming
here, we must fight. What would all those folks say, who have done
us the honour of collecting to see us on both sides of the river, if
they found that we came here to talk instead of acting? Our honour is
concerned; let us therefore begin.” Both were armed with swords and
daggers; when Lachesnaye exclaimed, “_Ah! paillard! tu es cuirassé!_”
which we might translate into modern phraseology, “You varmint! you
have a cuirass on. “_Ah! je t’aurai bien autrement!_”--“You shall catch
it in another manner!” and forthwith made his cut and thrust at the
face and throat; an attack which by no means disconcerted the young
combatant, who very quietly ran the old gentleman through the body.
The youth of those gallant times were not very punctilious when they
were less successful than Châteauneuf, as appears in the following
adventure:--
The King, being out at a stag-hunt in the wood of Vincennes,
accompanied by the nephew of Marshal St. André, this youth sought
a quarrel with an elderly gentleman of the name of Matas, and they
repaired to a lonely part of the wood, where Matas gave him a salutary
lesson in fencing, by disarming him, whipping his sword out of his
hand as soon as he was on guard; adding, “For the future, young man,
learn to hold your sword, and do not seek to encounter a man like me!
Take up your sword; depart, and I forgive you.” So saying, he was
mounting his horse, when his adversary having raised his sword from the
ground, thought the best use he could make of it was to rid himself
of so troublesome a witness of his shame; he therefore stabbed him in
the back, and left the corpse on the ground. The chronicler adds, “No
notice of this transaction took place, for the young man was nephew
of Marshal St. André; whereas the other was only a relation of Madame
de Valentinois (the famed Diana de Poitiers), who, after the death of
Henry II, had lost all her influence at court.” Nay, poor Matas was
even blamed for having rebuked a fiery and honourable youth! “It is
wrong,” says the chronicler, “for old boasting fencers to abuse their
good fortune, and taunt a youth who is only in the bud,--_car Dieu s’en
attriste!_”--It grieves God!
Nothing could exceed the _sang froid_ that these desperate men
exhibited on such occasions. Brantôme relates the case of a duel
between a Norman gentleman and a little chevalier named De Refuge. They
had taken a boat to go over to the Isle du Palais, to fight without
witnesses; when, perceiving that several other boats were in pursuit
of them, they jumped on shore, one of them exclaiming, “Pray, let us
make haste, for they are coming to separate us!” and, so saying, they
attacked each other. After four lounges, they were both dead. The same
writer mentions a Seigneur de Gensac, who was eager to encounter two
champions at once; and, when the absurdity of the attempt was alleged,
merely replied, “Why, history is full of such deeds! and, _mon Dieu!_ I
am determined to have my name recorded.”
The following adventure of an illustrious murderer, called by Brantôme
the Paragon of France, may give an idea of those glorious times:--
Duprat, Baron de Vitaux, was son of the Chancellor Duprat, and from
early life had displayed symptoms of undaunted “courage.” He commenced
his career in arms by killing the young Baron de Soupez, with whom he
had quarrelled at dinner, when Soupez threw a candlestick at him and
broke his head: he waylaid him on the road to Toulouse; and, having
despatched him, effected his escape in female attire. His next exploit
was murdering a gentleman of the name of Gounelieu, to avenge the
death of one of his brothers, a lad of fifteen, whom Gounelieu had
killed; on this expedition he was accompanied by a young nobleman named
Boucicaut; their victim was travelling post near St. Denis, when they
met with him: after this achievement, he fled to Italy, Gounelieu being
a favourite of the King. Vitaux, however, could not remain long in
exile and inactivity, but returned to France for the express purpose of
revenging the death of another brother, killed by a near relation of
his own, the Baron de Mittaud.
This Baron was a _Seigneur_ from Auvergne, and had been summoned to
court by Charles IX. to act as an interpreter to the ambassadors from
Poland, who came to offer the crown of that kingdom to the King’s
brother, the Duc d’Anjou. Mittaud, little suspecting that Vitaux
was in Paris, was not upon his guard; while Vitaux, who had allowed
his beard to grow to a considerable length, and was disguised as a
lawyer, was watching every opportunity to surprise him,--having taken
an obscure lodging on the Quai des Augustins, in company with his old
companion Boucicaut, and a brother of his, both of them _brave and
valiant men_, and called the _Lions_ of the Baron de Vitaux. These
worthies, having met the Baron de Mittaud, immediately despatched
him; but it so happened, that, in defending himself, he had wounded
one of the Boucicauts, who, not being able to keep pace with the two
other assassins in their flight, was obliged to stop at a barber’s
shop to get his wound dressed: he had been tracked by the traces of
the blood he had lost in his flight, and was taken up by the Archers
of the Provost twelve leagues from Paris; and, being confined in Fort
l’Evêque, expected to have been executed, since both the King and his
brother decided that he should forfeit his life.
It so happened, that the Polish ambassadors lodged in the house of
the prisoner’s brother, who was Provost of Paris, and who earnestly
supplicated them to apply to the King and his brother for the culprit’s
pardon. The Polish envoys, backed by President de Thou, made a long
harangue in Latin; which, whether the monarch understood them or not,
succeeded in ultimately attaining their demand, and Boucicaut shortly
after appeared at court as gay and as unconcerned as ever.
This event only encouraged our _hero_, who shortly after returned to
Paris, and killed with “incredible audacity,” says the chronicler,
Louis de Guart, the King’s favourite, who had presumed to oppose the
grant of his pardon. Vitaux, with seven or eight companions, entered
Guart’s house, and killed him in his bed; using for the purpose
“a sword very short and very keen, which, upon such occasions, is
considered preferable to a long one.” “This act,” adds the historian,
“was considered one of great resolution and assurance.” One might have
expected that such a ruffian would have died on the gallows; but he
sought the protection of the Duc d’Alençon, being under the patronage
of Queen Marguerite, of whom he was a special favourite.
At last, the Baron de Mittaud, brother of the one he had assassinated
eight years previously, called him out: both parties were duly
examined, although it was maintained that Mittaud wore a thin cuirass,
painted flesh-colour, under his garments. Howbeit, the point of
Vitaux’s sword was bent either upon this protection, or one of his
ribs; finding that all his lounges and thrusts were of no avail, he
had recourse to hacking and hewing, when in four well-applied cuts his
adversary despatched him, without having had the “courtesy of offering
him his life.” “Thus,” further says the historian, “died this brave
Baron, the _Paragon_ of France, where he was as much esteemed as in
Spain, Germany, Poland, and England; and every foreigner who came to
court was most anxious to behold him: he was small in stature, but
lofty in courage: his enemies pretended that he did not kill people
‘properly’ (_il ne tuait pas bien ses gens_), but had recourse to
various stratagems; wherein,” says Brantôme, “it is the opinion of
great captains, even Italians, who were always the best avengers in
the world,--that stratagem might be encountered by stratagem, without
any breach of honour.” Brantôme adds, “I have spoken enough of him;
although I should immortalize him were it in my power, as much for his
merits, as for the sincere friendship that existed between us!”
The duel that most grieved the heart of Henry III. was that which
occurred between his favourite _mignons_, Caylus and D’Entragues,
who had fallen out about some fair ladies of the court. Riberac and
Schomberg, a young German, were seconds to D’Entragues; Maugerin and
Livaret were the seconds of Caylus. The parties met near the ramparts
of the Porte St. Antoine, no one being present but three or four “poor
persons, wretched witnesses of the valour of these worthy men.”
The moment the principals had commenced, Riberac addressed Maugerin,
saying, “Methinks that we had better endeavour to reconcile these
gentlemen, rather than allow them to kill each other.” To which
unworthy proposal the other replied, “Sir, I did not come here to
string beads; I came here to fight!” “And with whom?” innocently asked
Riberac; “since you are not concerned in this quarrel,--with whom?”
“With you, to be sure,” was the laconic reply of Maugerin. “If that be
the case,” added Riberac, “let us pray;” and, so saying, he drew his
sword and dagger, and placing the hilts cross-ways, fell upon his knees
to put up proper orisons: but Maugerin thought his doxology too prolix;
and, swearing most irreligiously, told him “that he had prayed long
enough.” Upon which they furiously attacked each other, until both fell
dead.
Schomberg, the other second, beholding this episode, addressed Livaret
very politely, saying, “These gentlemen are fighting; what shall we
do?” To which the other replied, “We cannot do better than fight,
to maintain our honour.” Schomberg, who was a German, forthwith cut
open the cheek of his adversary; a compliment which Livaret politely
returned by a thrust in the breast, which stretched him a corpse,
to keep company with the body of Maugerin. Riberac was borne from
the field, and died of his wounds the next day. D’Entragues, though
severely wounded, effected his escape; while Caylus was carried to his
death-bed, where he bitterly complained that his adversary had a dagger
in addition to his sword. In consequence of being obliged to parry the
thrusts of the former with his hand, he had been stabbed in several
places. He further stated, that he had said to D’Entragues, “You have
a dagger, and I have none!” To which the other replied, “So much the
worse for you; you ought not to have been such a fool as to have left
it at home.” Brantôme observes, that he does not exactly know whether,
from a sense of _gentillesse chivalaresque_, he ought not to have laid
aside his dagger. Livaret, two years after, was killed in a duel; when
his servant, on seeing him fall, picked up his sword, and killed his
adversary, the son of the Marquis de Pienne. The King was so afflicted
at the death of Caylus, that he gave orders to have him buried by the
side of another of his _mignons_, Sainct Megrin, who was assassinated
by the Duke de Guise at the Louvre gate.
The custom of the seconds fighting with each other appears to have been
introduced by the royal _mignons_, who, no doubt, vied with each other
for the monarch’s favour. In these murderous contests, one of the most
celebrated bravoes was Bussy d’Amboise, one of the principal actors
in the massacre of St. Barthelemi, during which he assassinated his
own near relation, Antoine de Clermont, with whom he was at law. This
was undoubtedly a more _expedient_ motive than the one that induced
him to call out a gentleman of the name of St. Phal, who having an X
embroidered on some part of his apparel, Bussy maintained that it was
a Y. A combat forthwith took place, of six against six. One could
scarcely believe that the brave Crillon should have risked his life
with such a pernicious cut-throat. Yet it is recorded that, having
met him one day in the Rue St. Honoré, Bussy asked him the hour; when
Crillon, drawing his sword, replied, “It is the hour of thy death!”
Fortunately the combatants were separated. The intrigues of Bussy
with Marguerite de Valois are well known; and at the same period he
boasted of the favour of the Countess de Montsoreau, whose husband was
master of the hunt of the Duke d’Alençon; and having written to that
prince, that he had caught a deer of the Count’s in his snares, the
letter was shown to Henry III, who kindly put it into the husband’s
hand. The master of the hunt did not deem it advisable to risk his
life in seeking revenge, but compelled his faithless spouse to give
a _rendez-vous_ to her paramour; when, instead of his mistress’s
embraces, he was received by the daggers of hired bravoes.
The assassination of this monarch himself (Henry III.) afforded
a singular instance of the manners of the time, and the reckless
character of the courtiers. A young man in the royal household, of the
name of Isle Marivaux, determined not to survive his royal master; and
begged to know if any one would do him the favour of fighting with
him, to give him a fair chance of being killed. Fortunately for him,
another courtier, of the name of Marolles, took him at his word; and,
after a few lounges, gratified his best wishes.
Such were what historians called “_the good old times_,” when, as a
late writer asserts, the lasciviousness of Messalina was combined with
the ferocity of Nero and the gluttony of Heliogabalus; and when wit and
ribaldry were the associates of assassination. Thus, when Catherine de
Medicis was informed upon her death-bed of the murder of the Duke and
Cardinal de Guise, she replied, “’Tis well cut out, my son; but now
your work must be stitched!”