DUELS DURING THE REIGN OF LOUIS XVI.
It has been truly said, that the virtues of the unfortunate Louis
XVI. were an anachronism in the dissolute court that surrounded him.
The most short-sighted observer could behold the gathering storm,
and foresee that a national convulsion was drawing nigh. In taking a
retrospective view of the past, no confidence could be placed in the
present, and futurity was involved in a fearful gloom. Despotism had
been concentrated under the sway of Louis XI. and Louis XIV; but,
during the reign of Louis XV, the parliament had recovered the power
usurped by his predecessor, who let no opportunity escape of showing
for that assembly, his sovereign contempt. A struggle for power now
commenced between the parliament, the clergy, and the court; and the
people, exhausted by war and taxation, calmly looked on, until they
were roused by the contending factions to throw the weight of brute
force into the scale of the doubtful preponderance. At this period,
pregnant with future events of vital moment, the parliament persecuted
the clergy, which in turn opposed their vexations; and both parties
set at defiance the authority of the court, which appeared to be sunk
into a state of luxurious apathy, and calmly looked on the approaching
storm, without having recourse to any prudential measures to meet its
impetuosity.
While the country was thus torn by discord, no harmony prevailed in
the palace. The monarch had selected a minister who could not agree
with his consort, and opposed all his measures, until Turgot succeeded
him. Turgot, a virtuous upright man, endeavoured to operate a reform,
but all parties who had thriven on corruption soon drove him from the
helm of public affairs. Necker sought to pursue the reform that his
predecessor had planned, and for a moment seemed to inspire confidence,
until the upper classes, uniting their efforts against him, compelled
the unwelcome speculator to resign his post; and, finally, the active
enterprising Calonne, failed in re-organizing the wreck of the empire.
To use the language of a French writer, “Louis XVI. was not
sufficiently understood by the nation, but was too well understood by
the court.” Thus he was exposed at the same time to popular prejudices
against him and to patrician hostility, and rendered answerable for
the errors of his predecessors. An apparent calm reigned in the
nation, but it was that gloomy sultry tranquillity that precedes a
storm. The mind of every class of the community was too deeply absorbed
in reflection to admit of the influence of private differences. The
practice of duelling, meanwhile, seemed to be confined to the soldiery.
The sword was no longer worn as a mark of distinction in society; and
this weapon of a gentleman, which in former times was always at hand,
and drawn on the spur of the moment, was now laid aside, and only
sought for with premeditation.
This pacific period was of short duration. The pales which had divided
society into castes were gradually overthrown, and rank no longer
became an excuse for refusing satisfaction to an inferior.
One of the first affairs of honour under this monarch was the
celebrated duel that took place between the Comte d’Artois[16] and the
Prince de Condé. At a ball given at the Opera on Shrove Tuesday in
the year 1778, the Comte d’Artois appeared, giving his arm to Madame
de Carrillac,--both masked. The Duchesse de Bourbon (Princess of
Orleans) recognised them, and followed them, addressing the parties
in a sarcastic style, which, although warranted by the usages of a
masquerade, were not the less offensive. The hostile feelings of
the duchess were attributed to two most powerful motives. Madame
de Carrillac had been the mistress of her husband, whom she had
quitted for the Comte d’Artois, to whom the duchess herself was
not indifferent. Madame de Carrillac, thus annoyed by the duchess,
contrived to effect her escape through the crowd; when the duchess with
unbridled fury endeavoured to tear off the mask from the count, who,
forgetting at the moment his usual gallantry and the privileges of the
fair sex, crushed the mask of the duchess on her face, and rushed out
of the ball-room.
This adventure was hushed up for a few days, when the duchess stated to
her numerous guests at her supper-table that the conduct of the Comte
d’Artois had been that of a ruffian, and that she had felt disposed at
the time to call in the guard to apprehend him. All the women at court
whom the count had slighted, rose up in arms against him, the brutality
of his conduct became the subject of conversation in every circle, and
the general opinion was, that he could not avail himself of his rank to
refuse the satisfaction that such a public insult to a woman demanded.
It was of course concluded that it became indispensable on the part of
the Duke de Bourbon to call out the offender.
Howbeit, the King ordered the Duke and Duchess de Bourbon to attend him
in his closet, where they met the Count d’Artois; when he commanded
that no notice should be taken by any of the parties of what had
occurred. The duke wished to enter into some explanation, but was
instantly silenced by the monarch.
This decision did not satisfy the duchess and the ladies of the court.
The Baron de Besenval was sent for by the Queen, who asked him what
her brother was to do under existing circumstances: the baron replied
that he saw no other alternative than a duel; to which Marie Antoinette
replied, “I am of the same opinion, and the King agrees with me; but do
you think that my brother will adopt this course?” Besenval replied,
“that the count was ignorant of all that was said on the subject; but
that he should consider it his duty to make him acquainted with the
public opinion, as he would rather see him dead than dishonoured;”
adding, “that, as it was an affair of great moment, he would previously
consult with De Crussel, captain of the prince’s guards.” “Do so,”
replied the Queen, “and settle this affair between you.”
Besenval having met De Crussel at the Comte Jules de Polignac’s, it was
decided that a meeting should take place; it being at the same time
proposed, that, so soon as swords were drawn and crossed, De Crussel
should produce an order from the King to separate the combatants. With
this suggestion Besenval would not comply, justly observing, “Pray,
gentlemen, are you going to make the prince play in a farce? I never
will consent to such an arrangement;” to which De Crussel replied,
“that it was quite sufficient for the prince to go to the ground, and
that the sovereign had then the right to prevent bloodshed.” This
opinion was also that of Polignac and Vaudreuil, who were present.
Besenval lost no time in seeking for the Comte d’Artois, to acquaint
him with all that had taken place, when a meeting was decided. The
following day the count went to the Bois de Boulogne, attended by
De Crussel, who had placed the prince’s best sword in the carriage.
Arrived at the wood, they perceived the Duke de Bourbon surrounded with
several gentlemen: upon seeing him the count alighted, and stepping
towards him said, “I understand, sir, that the public say that we are
seeking each other?” to which the duke replied, taking off his hat,
“I am here, sir, to receive your commands:” to which polite reply the
count answered, “I am here, sir, to fulfil yours.”
After this courteous preamble both parties drew their swords; when the
duke observed, “You are not aware, sir, that the sun shines full upon
you.” “You are right,” answered the count; “we had better proceed to
that wall, where we shall find more shade than under these leafless
trees.”
The parties then placed their drawn swords under their arms, and
proceeded, conversing with each other, to the appointed spot, followed
by their two seconds, all other persons keeping at a distance. M. de
Vibraye, second of the duke, observing that they had both kept on
their spurs, which might prove inconvenient, the seconds immediately
proceeded to unbuckle them; and, while so doing, De Vibraye had an eye
nearly put out by the point of the duke’s sword. The spurs being off,
the duke asked the prince’s permission to take off his coat; to which
proposal the Comte d’Artois not only acceded; but threw off his own.
Several lounges had passed between the parties, and D’Artois was
evidently becoming impatient and flushed, when the duke was observed
to stagger; and the seconds, thinking that he had been wounded,
interfered, and begged the parties to suspend all further hostility.
The count replied, “It is not for me to offer any opinion; it is for
M. le Duc de Bourbon to express his wishes, I am here at his orders.”
The duke immediately lowered his sword, and replied, “I feel penetrated
with gratitude at your kindness, and shall never forget the honour that
you have conferred on me.” The Comte d’Artois then opened his arms, and
the duke flew into his embrace.
After this harmless meeting, at the suggestion of the Queen and the
Baron de Besenval, the count repaired to the Palais Bourbon, and made
an ample apology to the insulted duchess. The punishment awarded to
the combatants was an exile of a week; the count at Choisy, and the
duke at Chantilly. Thus ended this celebrated duel, which has been
much misrepresented by different writers, influenced by party spirit.
There is no doubt that, in the whole transaction, the Comte d’Artois
behaved with becoming firmness and gentlemanly feeling: and there is
not the least foundation for the story of a bloodless meeting having
been pre-arranged, although it is not improbable that the Duke de
Bourbon was satisfied in defending himself, without a wish of injuring
his antagonist; which was the more easy, as he remained cool, while the
count was evidently excited.
This transaction affords a vivid picture of the corruption and manners
of the times. A woman of the highest rank insults another woman who had
been her husband’s mistress; not on that account, but for having become
the mistress of another man, to whom she herself was attached: and the
foolish husband is made to peril life and liberty by fighting the real
object of the dispute, who had so far lost sight of all gentlemanly
deportment as to insult a female by actually inflicting a blow!
The Prince de Condé, father of this Duke de Bourbon, had also had a
hostile meeting with the Vicomte d’Agout, a captain in the Guards. This
officer had been paying court to a young widow of the household of the
Princess de Condé, and had promised to marry her: having, however,
discovered that she had bestowed her favours on the prince, he bitterly
reproached her with her duplicity, and retracted his engagement. The
lady complained to her protector, who directed that D’Agout should
resign his situation of captain in his Guards. That officer immediately
tendered his resignation into the prince’s hands, and at the same time
requested to know what part of his conduct had exposed him to disgrace.
To this request the prince replied, “that he would not keep in his
service liars and calumniators:” to this severe observation D’Agout
answered, “Your highness is aware that, when I took the liberty of
putting this question, I was no longer in your highness’s service, and
will be pleased also to recollect that I am a gentleman.” “I understand
you, sir,” replied the prince; “and am ready to maintain what I have
asserted, in whatever manner you may think proper.”
“Then,” replied D’Agout, “I depend upon your highness’s kindness;” and
he lost no time in repairing to Versailles to secure some protection in
the event of a fatal result. Having succeeded, he presented himself at
the carriage-window of the prince, who was changing horses at Sèvres,
and said to him, “My lord, I came to receive your highness’s orders.”
“Then, sir,” answered the prince, “at nine o’clock to-morrow morning
I shall be at the entrance of the Bois de Boulogne, near the Maillot
gate.”
D’Agout, as might be expected, was punctual in his attendance,
accompanied by his brother. The prince soon after made his appearance,
and first placed in the hands of his adversary a declaration of his
having been the aggressor, with letters of recommendation to foreign
powers for protection, in the event of a fatal issue of the meeting,
which might render his quitting the kingdom advisable.
D’Agout, having returned his grateful thanks for this courteous
proceeding, then threw off his coat; on which the prince observed, “No
doubt, sir, by taking off your coat, you expect that I should do the
same.” To which D’Agout replied, “I have no right to demand anything
from your highness, as I trust implicitly in your honour, and was only
anxious to afford your highness a proof of mine.”
The prince immediately took off his coat, and swords were soon crossed.
The offended captain fought with that desperate determination which his
critical position inspired, and the prince was slightly wounded; when
the seconds interfered, and parted the combatants. A short time after
this meeting, D’Agout was promoted by the prince to the rank of major
in the Guards. The King, on this occasion, scarcely knew how to act:
but the people viewed the duel, between a prince of the blood and an
individual of an humble rank, as a sign of the times, and the sacrifice
of olden prejudices to the novel innovations in manners that gradually
appeared to level all distinctions; while the chivalric portion of the
nation compared the Prince de Condé to Francis I.
It was during this reign, and the latter part of the preceding one,
that the singular personage, Le Chevalier d’Eon, made his appearance.
He was born at Tonnerre in 1728; and had been successively a lawyer, a
censor, a political writer, a captain of dragoons, a diplomatist, and
a fencing-master. It was under the cloak of the last profession, when
giving lessons of fencing to the Grand Duke of Russia, that he was
entrusted with a secret and delicate mission; which he fulfilled with
so much success, that he obtained the title of secretary of embassy,
the rank of captain, and the cross of St. Louis. He was subsequently
sent to England as minister plenipotentiary, to ratify the treaty of
1763.
This D’Eon was most expert in all deeds of arms, and had fought several
duels, in which he always came off successfully. When attached to the
French legation in London, he thought proper to give his ambassador,
the Count de Guerchy, a slap in the face; and, on complaint being made
to the cabinet of Versailles of this desperate conduct, it was decided
that he should be seized, and carried over to France. D’Eon, however,
being apprised of this project, sought refuge in the city; where he
was taken up for a breach of the peace, having fought with another
Frenchman of the name of Vergy, in the open street and at noon-day.
The circumstance which gave rise to the report that he was a woman,
was singular; and originated from a thrust he received in the breast
from a foil while fencing: a mammary tumour arose, which required
extirpation, and it was immediately reported that D’Eon was a female in
disguise. This report gained credence from his affected indifference in
removing the erroneous impression, and his repeated refusal to give a
satisfactory reply to questions put to him on this doubtful subject.
Various are the reported motives of his subsequent assumption of female
sex and attire. By some it was attributed to an order from the Duc
d’Aiguillon, minister of foreign affairs, prohibiting his appearance
in France except in a female dress; while D’Eon pretended that he had
assumed this costume to preserve the honour of De Guerchy, whose face
he had slapped. Others asserted that he wore this disguise to enable
the cabinet of Versailles to throw the blame attached to the treaty of
1763 on a woman. Howbeit, he only made his appearance in France after
the deaths both of D’Aiguillon and Guerchy; and on his return to Paris
presented a memorial to Maurepas the then minister, praying that the
order which enjoined him to wear female attire might be revoked, and
the following was the strange tenor of this application:
“I am under the necessity of humbly submitting to your lordship that
the period of my female noviciate is expired, and that it is impossible
that I should become as professed. I have been able, in obedience to
the orders of the late King and his ministers, to remain in petticoats
during peace; but that is quite out of the question in time of war. It
is necessary for the honour of the illustrious house of De Guerchy that
I should be allowed to continue my military services; such, at least,
is the opinion of the whole army and the world. I have always thought
and acted like Achilles; I never wage war with the dead, and I only
kill the living when they attack me.”
The Count de Guerchy, whom he had mortally insulted, was dead; but
his only son was living, and anxious to wipe off in D’Eon’s blood the
unavenged insult offered to his family; when the countess his mother,
justly apprehensive of the issue of a meeting between the young count
and the most experienced swordsman in the country, supplicated the
minister to exert his influence and reject the application of the
dubious D’Eon. The injunction to wear a female garb was renewed; and
the pension of five hundred pounds per annum, granted to him by Louis
XV, was continued on this condition. This strange position exposed our
disguised hero to many curious scenes and insults; and, having one day
involved himself in a serious quarrel at the play-house, he was sent a
close prisoner to the citadel of Dijon.
At the revolution of 1789 D’Eon returned to England, where he gave
lessons in the sword exercise; and on several occasions fenced
in public, and not unfrequently with the Prince of Wales. This
extraordinary person died in London in 1810, at the advanced age of
seventy-nine; when the celebrated medical friar and favourite of
Carlton House, Père Elysée, after a _post-mortem_ examination, put the
mooted question beyond further doubt by the official assertion of the
manhood of the defunct.
The rival of the Chevalier d’Eon, both in swordsmanship and fashionable
popularity, was the Chevalier St. George, a man of colour, son of M. de
Boulogne, a receiver-general of Guadaloupe, and a negress; and who at
an early age was placed in the hands of La Boissière, the celebrated
fencing-master. His skill in arms and his numerous duels rendered
him such a favourite amongst the ladies, that his dark complexion and
woolly head were forgotten. He was soon appointed equerry to Madame
de Montesson, whom the Duke of Orleans had privately married; and
then captain in the guards of his son, the Duke de Chartres. In 1776
he was anxious to become manager of the Opera; but the actresses and
dancers, headed by Mesdemoiselles Arnould, Guimart, and Rosalie,
supplicated the Queen not to degrade the dignity of the Royal Academy
of Music by placing it under the direction of a mulatto. The Queen
yielded to their supplication; and St. George felt so much offended at
this interference, that it was to a vindictive feeling against that
unfortunate princess that his exertions in the revolution against the
royal family were attributed. He was foremost in the popular meetings
of that period, and was sent to the emigrants at Tournai on a secret
mission by the Duke d’Orleans; a service of considerable danger, and
one in which he would have forfeited his life but for the governor of
the town, who enabled him to effect his escape. After this he raised a
regiment of light cavalry, which he commanded under Dumouriez, whom he
afterwards denounced to the Convention. Notwithstanding his jacobinical
exertions, he would have been sacrificed in his turn, but for the 9th
Thermidor, which liberated him from prison. St. George died in a state
of poverty in 1799, at the age of fifty-four. He was justly considered
the first swordsman and the best shot of his time. One of his feats
was throwing up two crown-pieces in the air, and hitting them both
with his pistols. He was an excellent musician, amiable and polished
in his manners, and of a most agreeable conversation; his humanity and
charitable disposition were universally acknowledged; and, although
engaged in many duels, he had generally been the insulted party, and
was never known to avail himself of his reputation to insult any
one less skilled in the science of destruction. He was often known,
however, to give a salutary lesson to quarrelsome and troublesome young
men; and an instance is recorded of his meeting at Dunkirk in the
company of several ladies a young officer of hussars, who, not knowing
him, was boasting of his skill as a swordsman, and asserting that no
fencer in France was a match for him. “Did you ever meet the famous
St. George?” asked one of the ladies. “St. George! many a time; he
could not stand a moment before me!” answered the hussar, twirling his
mustachios. “That is strange,” observed St. George, “and I should much
like to have a trial of skill with you, young man. Possibly the ladies
could procure us foils, and an _assaut d’armes_ might entertain them.”
The young officer assented to the proposal with a smile of contempt:
foils belonging to the brother of the lady of the house were produced,
and without hesitation the hussar was preparing to shame his aged
antagonist, who, politely addressing the ladies, asked them to name
the buttons he should touch on his adversary’s doliman. The delighted
women, glad to see a coxcomb corrected, named the number of the
buttons; which St. George touched one after the other, and then whipped
the foil out of the inexperienced hand of the boaster, who, infuriated
by rage and shame, wanted immediate satisfaction; when St. George
quietly observed, “Young man, your time is not yet come, you may still
live to serve your country; but recollect you have met St. George, for
I am that very person who could not at any time prove a match for you.”
The lesson was a severe one: the young officer, confused and concealing
his offended vanity, withdrew, and never after visited at the house.
The efforts of the sovereign to reform the court, and maintain at least
an appearance of propriety and good order, were more or less successful
in repressing the ostentation of vice that had but lately polluted it:
but the dissatisfied _roués_ of the day sought in the orgies of the
Palais Royal another scene for their dissipation and excesses; where,
to use the expression of a modern writer, “vice became principle, and
corruption a system.”
As the crusades had shed their influence on European society, operating
a surprising change in its manners and ideas; so did the war of
independence in the United States produce a material alteration in the
French court. Several noblemen had honourably served in the armies
of America, and returned home with enthusiastic notions of liberty
and independence. Such was the Duc de Lauzun, a nobleman of elegant
manners, and as celebrated for his duels as his _bonnes fortunes_.
De Tilly, surnamed “_Le beau De Tilly_,” was another celebrated
character of that period, and in his Memoirs we find the following
observations on the practice of duelling:
“France is the birth-place of duelling. I have roved over a great
part of Europe, and travelled in the New World; I have lived with
soldiers and courtiers; and nowhere else have I met with this fatal
_susceptibility_, which is incessantly creating affronts, injuries,
and provocations. Whence arises this disposition, so peculiar to the
French, whose character is too noble to become vindictive, and which
induces them to fight a duel in matters that are chiefly frivolous? It
is education, and that only.
“You have had a discussion with an intimate friend; although it may not
have exceeded the limits of an excusable warmth, women have observed
in it _injurious shades_; and you would rather expose yourself to kill
your friend, or be killed by him, than to the mere suspicion, on the
part of woman, of being deficient in courage.
“At a gambling-table a misunderstanding arises; a by-stander has smiled
ironically; he has whispered to his sister, who has whispered something
to her cousin: get yourself killed by all means, for you may have been
suspected of cheating at play; and nothing can set such a question in a
proper light but the thrust of a sword!
“Your wife is an acknowledged coquette; get yourself run through the
body by her lover, and her honour will be restored. You yourself may
have seduced the wife of an honest man, who dares to suspect you, and
receives you with ill-humour: kill him; for, having deprived him of
happiness and peace, you need not be punctilious in ridding him of
life!”
This opinion of the character of the French and their notions of honour
has been since amply illustrated by Chateaubriand in the following
terms: “The first-born of antiquity, the French, Romans in genius,
are Greeks in their character. Restless and volatile in prosperity,
constant and invincible in adversity. Created for the cultivation of
every art; civilised to excess during the calm days of the state,
coarse and savage in political troubles. Tossed to and fro by their
passions, like a vessel without ballast on the waves, now ascending
to the skies, and then sinking in an abyss. Equally enthusiastic in
good and in evil; kind without expecting gratitude, cruel without
experiencing remorse, and quickly forgetting both their vices and their
virtues. Attached to life in days of peace with pusillanimity, they
are prodigal of their blood in the hour of battle. Vain, sarcastic,
ambitious, they are at the same time mechanical followers of routine
and innovators; despising everything but themselves. Individually the
most agreeable of men, collectively the most unpleasant. Delightful
in their own country, insupportable abroad. At times, more mild and
innocent than the lamb they slaughter; at others, more pitiless and
ferocious than the devouring tiger. Such were the Athenians of old, and
such are now the French.”
Duels now sometimes assumed a humorous character; and men fought for
songs, puns, and conundrums. The poet Champeneti got wounded for
verses that he had not written; and Cagliostro, being called out by
a physician whom he had styled a quack, on the plea that a medical
question should be settled medicinally, proposed that the parties
should swallow two pills, the one poisonous and the other innocuous.
An anecdote is related of a young man from the country, who was
ridiculed for his awkward mode of dancing, and who replied, “If I dance
badly, I know how to fight.” To which it was coolly rejoined, “Then,
for the future, you had better fight, and never dance!”
Such were the reckless feelings of the time, that a certain Marquis de
Tenteniac, from Britanny, actually challenged the pit of a theatre.
Being behind the scenes, he had appeared so forward in one of the
wings, that the public rebuked him; when he immediately stepped forward
to the footlights, and, addressing the audience, said, “Ladies and
gentlemen, with your permission a piece will be performed to-morrow,
called ‘The Insolence of the Pit chastised,’ in as many acts as may
be desired, by the Marquis de Tenteniac!” This impudent address was
received with great applause, and no one individual thought proper to
resent a general insult.
While duels were thus discountenanced amongst civilians, it was also
endeavoured to check them in the army. The ill-fated Marshal Ney, Duke
of Elchingen, judicially assassinated in Paris at the period of the
Restoration, was an example of the severe measures resorted to, to
punish offenders. Ney, who was born at Sarrelouis in 1769, enlisted,
in the year 1787, in the regiment “de Colonel Général,” afterwards the
Fourth Hussars. He was remarkable for his soldier-like appearance, his
dexterity in his exercises, and his skilful horsemanship, in which he
frequently broke in horses that the rough-riders could not manage.
He was also considered the best swordsman in the corps; and on him
frequently devolved the perilous task of fighting the regimental
battles. The fencing-master of the Chasseurs de Vintimille, then in the
same garrison with his regiment,--a desperate duellist, who had wounded
the fencing-master of Ney’s regiment,--having insulted the corps, it
was decided that the bravest and the most dexterous dragoon should be
selected to chastise him. The choice fell upon Ney. The parties met,
sabres were drawn, when Ney felt himself dragged back by the tail: it
was his colonel who had thus seized him, and had him immediately thrown
into the black-hole.
Duelling was at this period punished with death. Ney’s life was
perilled, but, beloved both by officers and men, the corps insisted
upon his liberation; and the times were such, that their application
could not well have been rejected. Ney was liberated, but the first
use he made of his freedom was to seek his antagonist and renew the
interrupted contest. The parties met secretly, and the bragging
fencing-master received a sabre-wound in the sword-arm that crippled
him for life. When Ney subsequently rose in rank and fortune, he sought
his former antagonist, and settled on him a handsome annuity.
A most vindictive duel was fought at this period by a colonel of the
French Guards. This gentleman was boasting of the good fortune of
never having been obliged to fight a duel. Another officer present
expressed his surprise, with some indirect allusions to his want of
courage; observing, “How could you avoid fighting when insulted?” The
colonel replied, “that he never had given offence, and that no one
had ever presumed to insult him. Moreover, that on such an occasion
he would consider the character of the person who had wantonly
insulted him, ere he demanded satisfaction.” Upon this statement,
his interlocutor, in the most insolent manner, struck him in the
face with his glove, adding, “Perhaps, sir, you will not consider
this an insult!” The colonel calmly put on his hat, and walked out
of the room. The following morning, however, he sent a challenge
to his aggressor. When they came to the ground, the colonel wore a
patch of court-plaister, of the size of a crown-piece, on the cheek
which had received the blow. At the very first lounge he wounded his
antagonist in the sword-arm; when, taking off the plaister, he cut
off an edge of it with a pair of scissors, and, replacing it on his
face, took his leave of his adversary, very politely requesting he
would do him the honour of letting him know when he recovered from
his wound. So soon as he heard that he was able to hold a sword, he
called him out and wounded him a second time; cutting off another
portion of the patch. In a like manner he called him out, fought, and
wounded him, until the plaister was reduced to the size of a shilling;
when he again challenged him, and ran him through the body: then,
calmly contemplating the corpse, he observed, “I now may take off my
plaister!” This was a cruel, but a well-merited chastisement inflicted
on an insolent braggart, who little knew, at the time he thus wantonly
insulted this officer, he was addressing one of the most dexterous
swordsmen in the land.
During the early part of the reign of Louis XVI. society continued
under the sway of former prejudices and a false notion of honour, which
made it consist in upholding a character for courage, gallantry, and
successful intrigue. It soon assumed another feature; and patriotism,
and self-devotion in the cause of liberty and independence, became the
source of many quarrels and bitter recriminations.
The last duel of any notoriety at this period was one fought by the
Comte de Tilly, and for which he was apprehended by order of the
_connétablie_ and court of honour, presided over so late as 1788 by the
Duke de Richelieu; which sentenced him to imprisonment in the Abbaye,
whence he was liberated after a confinement of three months. This court
no longer bore the reputation of a fair bench, capable of deciding
the knotty point of honour; but, like all other institutions, had
become inert, and corrupted to such a degree, that De Tilly gives the
following account of its nature:
“This court is a real inquisition, to which the nobility of France
submitted under the specious and proud pretext of being tried by their
peers; an office essentially military, but which had degenerated into
a judicial and civil court, where abuses were most notorious. Most of
these nobles, debilitated by age and infirmities, sought to grasp, at
the end of their career, a distinguished palm, which their feeble hands
would soon be compelled to relinquish. Without any previous study of
law or justice, their innate honour and chivalric loyalty were not
a sufficient beacon to direct their course. Difficult points were
elucidated by pedantic lawyers,--the natural enemies of the nobility,
and strangers, from education and from principle, to the nature of
the duties assigned to them: then came a host of subordinate agents,
who effectually closed the gates of this tribunal until opened by a
golden key. Favours and accusations were bought and sold, as were
the statements that exonerated, or the evidences that condemned: in
short, they were a band of mercenaries, who throve upon gall, extorted
presents, robbery, and rapine.”
Such was the corrupt state of the most noble tribunal in the land,
presided over by the depraved Richelieu,--a slur upon the nobility,
and a disgrace to his king and country.
At the commencement of the Revolution duels were not deemed necessary,
and every orator considered that his life belonged to the country.
Mirabeau, who in his early days had shown frequent proofs of personal
courage, no longer conceived that his honour was at stake when insulted
by infuriate orators; and, although he had fought several desperate
duels, was accused of cowardice by his enemies. When parliamentary
decorum was lost sight of in stormy debates, the offending speaker was
committed to prison. A duel between Charles de Lameth and De Castries,
although the subject of it had not arisen in a public debate, was
looked upon as an uncommon occurrence, and the populace burnt down
the house of De Castries; while numerous deputations waited upon his
adversary, to express their disapprobation of duelling in the most
energetic language. At this period single combats were considered a
detestable relic of aristocracy and courtly corruption. This act of
violence on the part of the mob was called “a sublime movement of the
people;” and Mirabeau, in one of his most eloquent speeches, thus
alluded to the event:
“You must establish in the empire an implicit obedience to
legitimate authorities, and repress amongst us a handful of insolent
conspirators. Ah! gentlemen, it is for their own security that I
invoke your severity. Are you not aware, that in this destruction, for
you cannot call it the dilapidation of a proscribed house, the people
bowed religiously before the image of their sovereign,--before the
portrait of the chief magistrate of the nation, the executor of the
laws, whom they venerated, although under the influence of a _generous
fury_?[17] Are you not aware, that this people, in the midst of their
excitement, showed their respect for age and for misfortune, by their
delicate attention to Madame de Castries? Are you not aware, that the
people, in quitting these premises, which they had destroyed, it may
be said with order and calmness, insisted that the pockets of every
individual should be searched, that no base action might tarnish a just
revenge? Such is true honour, which the prejudices of gladiators, and
their atrocious rites, can never display.”
It was after this event, that the ill-fated Bailly presented, as mayor
of Paris, the following resolution of the municipal body:
“The municipal body, alarmed at the frequency of duels, and the
disturbances which they create in the capital, have resolved, that a
deputation of twelve of their members shall be sent to the National
Assembly, to request that a law may be framed, as speedily as
possible, against the practice of duelling, which would recall the
citizens to a sense of their moral obligations, and warn them against
the suggestions of sentiments incompatible with the character of a free
and benevolent people.”
Another deputation solicited a decree which would render duelling a
crime of lèse-nationality, and supplicated the assembly to wield the
sword of justice in punishing the perverse individual who had shed the
blood of one of the representatives of the people, and whose crime the
capital had justly avenged. This address was received with tumultuous
applause, both by the audience and the members of the assembly, when
the member for Angoulême, a M. Roy, exclaimed, “That none but ruffians
could applaud such a proposal;” for which imprudence he was sentenced
to three days’ imprisonment. On this occasion Barnave made a most
eloquent speech against duelling, although three months after, he
fought and wounded Cazalés, another deputy.
Not only were duels avoided in these fearful times, but any person who
insulted one of the representatives of the people, or who acted with
violence towards him, was denounced as a conspirator and an assassin.
This was instanced in the case of Grangeneuve, who had quarrelled with
Jonneau, whom he called a F---- _Viédasse_,[18] to which the other
replied, “You have insulted me! are you a man of honour?” “I am,”
replied Grangeneuve. “Then meet me to-morrow at the Bois de Boulogne,
with pistols.” “I will meet you to-morrow in the National Assembly,”
replied his antagonist. “The world, then, will pronounce you a
coward.”--“And you a _Jean F----_;” on which Jonneau slapped his face;
Grangeneuve retorted with a stone, which he picked up, and a caning,
with kicks and cuffs, ensued.
Notwithstanding the unwarrantable conduct of Grangeneuve, Guadet, a
deputy from the Gironde, insisted upon an impeachment against Jonneau
as an assassin; and another orator, Larivière, who seconded the motion,
expressed himself in a bombastic style, illustrating the dementation of
the epoch: “Jonneau,” he said, “had been guilty of a cowardly action,
by provoking a man physically weak for a trifling insult, and was still
more cowardly in striking him: he ought to have imitated Turenne, who
being provoked to fight a duel, replied, “To-morrow there will be a
battle, all our blood belongs to our country, and we shall see which
of us shall the best defend her.” He therefore moved that Jonneau
should be committed, although, after he had been separated from his
antagonist, he had been unmercifully beaten by a ruffian of the name of
Saint Huruge, and Barbaroux, another deputy from the Gironde.
All the eloquence of these desperate madmen, however, could not prevent
occasional meetings, and the National Assembly at last abrogated all
former laws prohibiting single combat, and passed an amnesty in favour
of those transgressors who had been prosecuted agreeably to their
enactments.
Camille Desmoulins was another orator of this fearful epoch, who
launched forth against duelling in the following memorable language:
“One may brave death in the cause of liberty for one’s country,
and I feel that I could stretch my neck out of my litter, and hold
forth my throat to the sword of Antony; I feel that I could possess
sufficient fortitude to ascend the scaffold with a mingled sentiment
of pleasure. Such is the courage which I have received, not from
nature, which shudders at the aspect of death, but from philosophy;
to be assassinated by the bravo who provokes me, is to be stung by a
tarantula, and I should have to spend my days in the Bois de Boulogne,
were I to give satisfaction to all those whom my frankness offends. I
may be accused of cowardice, but I apprehend that the times are not
far distant when we shall have ample opportunities of dying in a more
glorious and useful manner.”
The occasion of this speech was a dispute which he had with Haudet
and Désessarts of the French theatre, and the miserable man had only
anticipated his impending fate, doomed soon after to fall under the
rival power of Robespierre.
Such were the morbid views of honour entertained during the atrocious
phases of the French Revolution: the most noble and generous sentiments
were professed by the most implacable monsters of the epoch; and while
the murder of innocent men on the scaffold was called by Danton the
_justice of the people_, a duel was denominated “_the argument of an
assassin_,”--when Marat was called the _Divine_, and Robespierre the
_Incorruptible_!--The Revolution might fairly be denominated a moral
pestilence caused by former corruption; the national atmosphere had
been tainted by the putrescency of the Court, and the fever that it
produced was marked by a homicidic delirium which from its diffusion in
every class of society might have been considered contagious.
The history of those momentous times presents us a series of causes
and effects so closely linked in their fatal catenation, that the
bloody annals of that era should constitute the chief study of every
diplomatist. It is to be deeply lamented that these records do not
become the text-book of diplomatic tuition. When the nobility dropped
their swords and the people picked them up, the meanest comprehension
could have foreseen the sanguinary results. The apathy in which the
possessors of power and wealth slumbered could only be compared to
the perfidious calm of gangrene that precedes dissolution. A blind
confidence in the prestige of authority hurled the nobility into a
vortex which swept them down the torrent of popular reaction. The
hatred in which duels were held, simply arose from their not being
the practice of fashionable men, and was a strong illustration of
the morbid temper of the nation, and the successful efforts of the
philosophic school. The history of the progress of liberal ideas
gradually casting off the restraints of rank and fortune might be
studied in the dedication of writers. Where could we find an author
in the present day, who, like Dryden, would compare the pustules of
small-pox on the corpse of a deceased young nobleman, the son of his
protector, to bright constellations in the firmament? As men grow wise,
the prejudices of barbarism will gradually disappear; and certainly,
with very few exceptions, we cannot trace much sapience in those
persons who have been engaged in personal conflicts of late years.