FRANCE IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
We now come to a reign which was considered the most glorious in the
annals of French history--that of Henry IV. Yet France showed that the
private character of a monarch can exert but little influence over the
manners of a people previously demoralized by capricious tyranny and by
civil war. It has been truly said, that “Henry, surnamed the Great, did
not illustrate the character of his times, but Ravaillac;” it is also a
singular fact, that the name of Henry seemed to be fatal to the French
monarchy, and five assassins were found to raise their murderous hands
against a sovereign said to be beloved.
In vain did Henry IV. issue the most positive edicts against duelling;
his commands were unheeded, and his humane intentions invariably set at
nought. From his accession to the throne in 1589, until 1607, it was
calculated that no less than four thousand gentlemen were killed in
affairs of honour; and we find that, in a journal of the 8th of August
1606, was to be read the following paragraph:--“Last week we had in
Paris four assassinations and three duels, no notice having been taken
of these events.” The desperate nature of these bloody feuds was such,
that whole families were destroyed. This was instanced in the case
of two persons of the name of Joeilles and Devese, the former having
seduced the wife of the latter. Devese only accepted the challenge to
draw his enemy into an ambush, with the intention of murdering him;
but he fortunately escaped with a wound in the back. Having joined the
army in Savoy some time after, he again sought his adversary, who fired
a pistol at him, and ran away. The King, on hearing of this offence,
dismissed Devese from his regiment, granting a permission to Joeilles
“to attack him in whatever manner he thought proper, to seize upon his
property and houses, and his person wherever he found him.” However,
a reconciliation was attempted to be brought about, and the hand of
a sister of Devese was to be the pledge of peace; but Joeilles, bent
upon revenge, so managed it, that he seduced the young lady, and then
refused to marry her. Her brother soon avenged her wrongs by waylaying
and killing him, when a relation of Joeilles got him shot with a musket
by a person of the name of D’Aubignac, In fine, one girl was the only
survivor of the two families; illustrating, during the far-famed reign
of this sovereign, the _vendeta_ of the Corsicans.
This evil may have been justly attributed to the chivalrous ideas of
the monarch, who acted in defiance of his own wise decrees; since we
find him writing to his friend, Duplessis Mornay, who complained of
having been insulted, “I feel much hurt upon hearing of the insult you
have received, and in which I sympathise both as your sovereign and
your friend. In the first capacity, I shall see justice done, both for
your sake and mine; and if I only bore the second quality, you should
find me most ready to draw my sword, and most cheerfully to expose my
life.” Can it be surprising that such a monarch should have fallen
under an assassin’s blow? In November 1594, the eldest son of the Duc
de Guise, having sought a quarrel with the Comte de St. Pol, ran him
through the body in the streets of Rheims; yet, two years after, the
King appointed that very person to the government of Provence.
Ruffians of the most sanguinary disposition became noted and respected
under this popular Henry IV. One of them named Lagarde Valois, was
celebrated for his brutal deeds; another quarrelsome ruffian, named
Bazanez, was determined to have a trial of skill with him, and for this
purpose sent him a hat, ornamented with feathers, and accompanied
with a message, stating that he would wear it at the peril of his
life. Lagarde immediately put the hat upon his head, and set out in
quest of Bazanez, who was also looking for him in every direction.
Having at last met, after an exchange of mutual civilities the combat
began. Lagarde inflicted a wound on the forehead of his antagonist;
but, the head being harder than his steel, his sword was bent on the
skull: he was more fortunate in his next lounge, which penetrated his
antagonist’s body, when he exclaimed, “This is for the hat!” Another
thrust was equally successful, when he added, “And here is for the
feathers!” This purchase he did not deem sufficient, and he therefore
gave him a third wound, exclaiming, “And this is for the loop!” During
this polite conversation, seeing the blood of his opponent streaming
from his several wounds, he complimented him on the elegant fit of
his hat, when Bazanez infuriated, rushed upon him, breaking through
his guard, and, throwing him down, stabbed him in the throat with
his dagger, and repeated his desperate blows fourteen times in his
neck, chest, and stomach; while at each stab, as the wretched man
roared out for mercy, the other replied at every reiterated thrust,
“No! no! no!” However, during this conflict, the prostrate Lagarde
was not altogether idle; he bit off a portion of his adversary’s
chin, fractured his skull with the pommel of his sword, and “only
lost his courage with his life.” During this scene, the seconds were
amusing themselves also in fencing, until one of them was laid dead
on the field of honour. This Lagarde, it appears, was as concise in
his epistolary style as in his colloquial eloquence during a fight:
the following is a copy of one of his letters to a man whom he was
determined to despatch. “I have reduced your home to ashes; I have
dishonoured your wife, and hanged your children; and I now have the
honour to be your mortal enemy,--LAGARDE.”
It has already been stated, that during the reign of Henry IV. four
thousand gentlemen lost their lives in single combat; and, by the
statement of Daudiguier, this monarch granted fourteen thousand pardons
for duelling. It was in vain that the wise Sully exerted his influence
to check this execrable practice; the following extract from his
Memoirs affords a striking illustration of the times:--
It was in consequence of the constant remonstrance of this minister
that Henry issued various prohibitory edicts, which criminated
duellists as guilty of _lèse-majesté_, and punished the offence with
death. The edict of Blois, in 1602, not only condemned both the
challenger and the challenged, with their seconds, to death, and
confiscation of their goods; but further ordered that all offended
parties should submit their complaints to the governor of their
province, to be laid before the constable and marshals of France. This
was the origin of the jurisdiction of the “point of honour,” which may,
however, be partly referred to an edict of Charles IX. of 1566, but
which was only embodied as a code under Louis XIV.
Bellieme, then chancellor of France, maintained that duels would not
cease until the King ceased to intermeddle with them; but, if left to
him, he would soon put a stop to the practice by refusing a pardon to
all offenders; observing, that the most forward to fight would draw
back, if, whatever were to be the issue of the duel, they saw that
death was inevitable. Such was the course adopted by the Prince de
Melfi, who commanded the army in Piedmont, and who obliged both the
challengers and the offenders to fight upon a narrow bridge without
rails or parapet, and guarded at both extremities, so that there was no
escaping from drowning, or being run through the body.
It appears that all these edicts, notwithstanding the severity of their
formulary, were unheeded, and seldom or never carried into execution;
indeed, there were as many saving clauses and loop-holes in these
decrees as in any of our modern acts of parliament, through which
it has been truly observed, one could drive a coach and four: for
instance, while duels were denounced as impious and infamous, it was
provided that the offended parties should have the power of applying
to the sovereign through the marshals of France for permission to
fight; another clause specified that “a person who demanded a battle
without sufficient reason, should be dismissed with shame:” but there
is not a single instance of the application of this law upon record;
and D’Audiguier observes, “that as the King never granted permission to
fight to any applicant, and had frequently refused it, it was evident
that there was no use in making an application, therefore the parties
came to blows without any reference to authority, and were, with very
few exceptions, pardoned by the royal clemency.” Sully observes on this
subject, “that the facility with which the King forgave duels tended to
multiply them, and hence these fatal examples pervaded the court, the
town, and the kingdom.”
Montaigne says on this subject, that he verily believes, “if three
Frenchmen were put into the Libyan desert, they would not be a month
there without quarrelling and fighting;” and Hardouin de Perefix,
Bishop of Rhodes, observes, in his Life of Henry IV, “that the madness
of duels did seize the spirits of the nobility and gentry so much,
that they lost more blood by each other’s hands in time of peace, than
had been shed by their enemies in battle.” Chevalier, in his work
called “Les Ombres des Defunts,” asserts that, in the province of
Limousin alone, in the space of six or seven months, there were killed
one hundred and twenty gentlemen.
But such is the empire of prejudice, and the contagion of fashion, that
Sully frankly avows that he was nigh quarrelling with his royal master
for having had the imprudence to consent to be present at a duel,
when Henry IV. briefly told him that he deserved to lose his head for
having dared to assume a regal power in the precincts of his court;
and most probably the minister would have been disgraced, but for the
interference of the ladies of the court.
In fact, these edicts, like many other criminal laws, defeated their
own intention by their severity, which would have rendered their
application as ferocious as the offences which they were to punish;
they were thus rendered illusive in practice, however praiseworthy
they might have been in theory,--the one neutralizing the operation of
the other. Sully justly observed on this subject, “that the excessive
severity of the means would be the source whence would arise the
principal obstacles to their execution; and frequently the penalties
which produce the greatest impression are such, that one cannot apply
for forgiveness.” Sully, however, failed in his laudable exertions to
check this practice; and we shall find that Richelieu, whose power was
much more formidable, did not meet with much greater success while
endeavouring to crush the proud and unmanageable aristocracy of France.
In the midst of these scenes of blood, it affords some relief to
find that there were individuals who dared the prejudice of public
opinion, and, respecting the laws both of God and man, firmly resisted
the practice. History records the instance of Monsieur de Reuly, a
young officer, who could not be induced to fight a duel under any
circumstances. Having once been grievously offended, he submitted the
case to the decision of his generals, who determined it in his favour;
but his opponent insisted upon a personal meeting, and sent him a
challenge. De Reuly told the servant who brought it, that the person
who had sent him was much in the wrong, and that he had received all
the satisfaction which in justice or reason could be demanded. But the
other still pressing and repeating his challenge, and that too with
some insolent and provoking language, Reuly stated “that he could not
accept the challenge, since God and the King had forbidden it; that he
had no fear of the person who had insulted him, but feared God, and
dreaded offending him; that he would go every day abroad, as he was
wont, wherever his affairs should call him; and that, if any attack was
made upon him, he would make his aggressor repent it.”
His adversary, unable to draw him into a duel, sought him with his
second; and, having met him when only attended by his servant, attacked
him, when both the principal and his second were severely wounded
by him; and, assisted by his servant, he carried them both to his
quarters, where he got their wounds dressed, and refreshed them with
some wine: then, restoring to them their swords, he dismissed them,
assuring them that no boasting of his should ever compromise their
character; nor did he ever after speak of the transaction, even to the
servant who had been present at the affair.