DUELS IN GERMANY AND THE NORTH OF EUROPE.
During the middle ages Germany was desolated by feuds and hostile
meetings, which had succeeded the barbarous excesses committed by the
savage hordes poured forth from the northern woods and fastnesses that
sheltered the descendants of the ancient Scythians and Sarmatians. The
Scandinavian traditions of the wonderful deeds of their champions may
prove interesting to the lovers of fiction, but they are of little
importance to the historian; for, although the sages of Iceland
abolished duelling after the fatal meeting that took place between the
poets Gunnlang and Rafn for the beautiful Helga, in which both lovers
fell, the annals of the north are fraught with the poetic details of
numerous single combats and wondrous exploits.
By an ancient law of Sweden, if a man told another that he was inferior
to any other man, or had not the heart of a man, and the other replied,
“I am as good a man as yourself,” a meeting was to follow. If the
aggressor came to the ground, but did not find the offended, the latter
was to be considered dishonoured, and held unfit to give testimony in
any cause, and deprived moreover of the power to make a will. But if,
on the other hand, the insulted party came forward, and the offending
party did not make his appearance, the former was to call him aloud
by name three times, and, if he did not appear, make a mark upon the
ground, when the offender would be held as infamous and false. When
both parties met, and the offended was killed, his antagonist had to
pay a half compensation for his death; but, if the aggressor succumbed,
his fate was to be attributed to temerity and an unguarded expression,
therefore his death called for no compensation. In Norway, any
gentleman who refused satisfaction to another was said to have _lost
his law_, and could not be admitted as evidence upon oath. According
to the Danish laws, it was held that force is a better arbiter in
contestations than words; and in the judicial combats, which frequently
arose on the slightest provocation, no champion was allowed to fight
in the cause of another, however feeble or unskilled in arms he might
be: women were not even allowed a proxy to defend them, but obliged to
defend their honour personally. In such cases, to afford the woman a
better chance, the man who had offended her was obliged to get into a
pit up to his waist, by which means his Amazonian opponent could wheel
round him and strike him on the head with a sling or a leather thong to
which was suspended a heavy stone; the male combatant was armed with a
club, and if he missed her three times, or struck the ground instead of
her, he was declared to be vanquished.
The Scandinavian combatants frequently selected small islands for their
meetings, to prevent either of the parties from fleeing; these islands
were called _Holms_, and the duels _Holms-gang_. Sometimes a hide
seven ells long was spread upon the ground; at others, the lists were
enclosed by circular stakes, or marked off with stones, to circumscribe
their limits: whoever stepped beyond this barrier, or was beaten out
of the circle, was considered conquered. The _kamping matches_ of our
Norfolk and Suffolk peasantry are traces of these exercises, which were
called _kempfs_.
In Sweden, gentlemen fighting a duel were sentenced to death, and the
memory of the deceased declared infamous. On other occasions, when the
meeting had not proved fatal, the parties were condemned to two years’
imprisonment on bread and water, and obliged to pay a heavy fine.
Under the reign of Gustavus II, a contemporary of Louis XIII. of
France, the fashion of duelling was at its height; and this monarch
had prohibited single combat by the most severe edicts, but to no
purpose. It is related of this prince, that, having heard that two
officers of his army contemplated a meeting, he preceded them on the
ground. On the arrival of the parties, they were not a little surprised
to find the King: they were about to withdraw, when Gustavus pointed
to a gallows, at the foot of which stood the hangman, and added, “Now,
gentlemen, you may proceed.”
It is also related of Gustavus Adolphus, that having had a dispute at
one of his reviews with Colonel Seaton, an officer in his service, he
gave him a blow. As soon as the troops were dismissed, the officer
waited upon the King and demanded his discharge, which the sovereign
signed; and the colonel withdrew without a word being said on the
subject of the quarrel.
Gustavus, however, on coolly considering the matter, reproached himself
for his want of temper; and hearing that Seaton intended to set out
for Denmark the next day, followed him, attended by an officer and two
or three grooms. When his Majesty reached the Danish frontier, he left
all his attendants, except one, and overtaking Seaton on a large plain,
said to him, “Dismount, sir. That you have been injured, I acknowledge,
and I am now come to give you the satisfaction of a gentleman; for,
being now out of my own dominions, Gustavus and you are equal. We have
both, I see, swords and pistols; alight immediately, and receive the
satisfaction which your wounded honour demands.”
Seaton, recovering from his surprise, dismounted, as the King had
already done, and falling on his knees, said “Sire, you have more than
given me satisfaction, in condescending to make yourself my equal. God
forbid, that my sword should do any mischief to so brave and gracious
a prince. Permit me to return to Stockholm, and allow me the honour to
live and die in your service.” The King raised him from the ground,
embraced him, and they returned together to his capital.
The early annals of Germany afford many curious instances of trials by
ordeal; but, perhaps, one of the most romantic was in the case of Maria
of Aragon, consort of Otho III, and the Messalina of her time. It is
related of her, that she generally went abroad with a youth disguised
in female attire, who was afterwards buried alive. Having become
desperately enamoured of a count of Modena, who rejected her addresses,
she accused him with having attempted to seduce her. The count was
allowed to prove his innocence by the trial of battle; but, having been
vanquished, was sentenced to lose his head. Prior to his execution he
acquainted his wife with the particulars of his unfortunate case, and
enjoined her to avenge his death. She, faithful to his last request,
took the bloody head, and, placing it under the cloak of one of her
followers, proceeded to the court; then, presenting the gory head to
the sovereign, she demanded justice. Otho, struck with horror at the
appalling sight, asked her what she wanted, and of whom she had to
complain. “Of you, Cæsar,” was her reply; “you behold the result of a
most iniquitous deed, and I am ready to submit myself to the ordeal of
fire, to prove the innocence of my unfortunate husband.” The Emperor
consented, and a brazier with a red-hot iron bar was brought forward.
The tradition states that the countess seized the iron without dismay
or injury; when, addressing the Emperor, she demanded _his_ head, since
he had been found guilty of the death of an innocent man. The prince,
however, as might be expected, demurred at this proposal, but ordered
his guilty wife to be burned alive; a sentence that was carried into
execution at Modena, in 998. The Empress of Henry II, the beautiful
Cunegonde, was equally fortunate in handling red-hot bars of iron when
accused of having been criminally connected with the devil, who was
seen coming out of her bed-chamber every morning. Baronius, in his
Ecclesiastic Annals, asserts that she handled the burning metal like
a nosegay. Gunehilde, wife of Henry III, and daughter of our Canute,
was also very lucky in the choice of a champion when basely accused of
infidelity. Her accuser was a gigantic man of the name of Rodinger;
but she selected for her defender a little boy, whom she had brought
from England, and who miraculously cut the hamstrings of his colossal
antagonist.
Amongst the curious records of these barbarous and fabulous times, an
edict of Frederick II. forbade his nobles from fighting, plundering
travellers, and circulating base coin, which had been considered a
privilege of feodality; and in his Sicilian and Neapolitan constitution
he exempted his subjects from the necessity of accepting a challenge.
In more modern times, various enactments, called _duell mandates_, have
forbidden duels. In 1779, one was issued in Bavaria, which punished
a challenge with the loss of office, if the parties held a public
situation; if otherwise, with a confiscation of property, and an
imprisonment of three years: but, when a duel had actually taken place,
the parties were condemned to death.
In the Austrian states, by an edict of 1803, a duel is punished by
an imprisonment of from one year to five: if one of the parties is
wounded, the confinement is from five to ten years; and, when death
ensues, from ten to twenty; and the remains of the deceased are not
allowed sepulture in consecrated ground. The seconds are also subject
to an incarceration of from one to five years. A penal code somewhat
similar exists in Prussia.
An anecdote is related of Joseph II, who, having been informed that one
of his officers had slapped the face of another, sent for both parties.
The following day, on parade, the Emperor appeared on the balcony of
his palace with the offended person, whom he cordially embraced; at
the same time, a scaffold was erected, on which the public executioner
slapped the face of the offender, who was afterwards conveyed to a
fortress.
The following letter from this monarch, exhibits the sentiments he
entertained on the practice of duelling.
“GENERAL,
“I desire you to arrest Count K---- and Captain W---- immediately. The
count is of an imperious character, proud of his birth, and full of
false ideas of honour. Captain W----, who is an old soldier, thinks of
settling everything by the sword or the pistol. He has done wrong in
accepting a challenge from the count. I will not suffer the practice
of duelling in my army; and I despise the arguments of those who seek
to justify it. I have a high esteem for officers who expose themselves
courageously to the enemy, and who, on all occasions, show themselves
intrepid, valiant, and determined in attack as well as in defence. The
indifference with which they face death is honourable to themselves
and useful to their country; but there are men ready to sacrifice
everything to a spirit of revenge and hatred. I despise them. Such men,
in my opinion, are worse than the Roman gladiators. Let a council of
war be summoned to try these two officers, with all the impartiality
which I demand from every judge; and let the most culpable of the two
be made an example by the rigour of the law. I am resolved that this
barbarous custom, which is worthy of the age of Tamerlane and Bajazet,
and which is so often fatal to the peace of families, shall be punished
and suppressed, though it should cost me half my officers. There will
be still left men who can unite bravery with the duties of faithful
subjects. I wish for none who do not respect the laws of the country.
“JOSEPH.”
“Vienna, August 1771.”
* * * * *
It is related of Charles XII. of Sweden, that, riding out one day, he
left his attendants at some distance; and, coming to a gate, opened it,
but neglected to shut it again, according to the laws of the country.
The owner of the land, who was an ensign in the army, came up, and, not
knowing the King, inquired why he did not shut the gate after him,
according to the royal decree; and, as he passed, made use of some
uncivil expressions. “Why do you not go and shut the gate yourself?”
said the King. This so enraged the gentleman, that he seized the bridle
and stopped the horse. On this, Charles put his hand on his sword,
but the other snatched it from him. The King then drew out a pistol,
and threatened to make him repent his conduct unless he immediately
returned the sword. “You would not be so valiant,” said the officer,
“if I also was provided with a pistol.” “Then go and fetch one,” said
the King. The gentleman immediately went for a pistol, while Charles
waited his return; but, as he was coming back, he saw the King’s
attendants at a little distance, which giving him some suspicion, he
made his retreat.
The ensign acquainted his commanding officer with the circumstance,
requesting his interference. A review soon after took place; and, the
King observing that this officer was not present, asked the colonel
where he was, when he was told that he was upon guard. “Let him be
sent for,” said the King. The ensign was brought forward. Charles
immediately galloped up to him; then, looking him steadfastly in the
face, named him a first lieutenant, and ordered that a grant of money
should be given to him.
The enactments against duelling in the German armies place officers in
as difficult a situation as in our service. If they allow themselves
to be insulted without resenting the injury, they are expelled from
their regiment; yet are they punished if they demand satisfaction from
the offender: and Dr. Gans of Berlin very justly observes, “Duelling
amongst officers is very rare, for their position is most embarrassing.
If an officer, whose honour has been impeached, does not fight, he is
expelled; and, if he fights, he is shut up in a fortress.” Montesquieu,
in his _Lettres Persannes_, has the following judicious remark: “If you
follow the laws of honour,” writes Usbeck, “you die on a scaffold; and,
if you follow the dictates of justice, you are banished from society.
Thus you have no alternative but that of forfeiting life or being
unworthy of living.”
If duels are rare among German officers, they are most common amongst
their students or _Burschen_, whose ridiculous meetings have often been
described by travellers. The parties who it is thought necessary should
fight usually meet at an inn near their university; they are covered
with a thick leather armour that protects them, and their face is the
principal vulnerable part. The arm they use is the long German sword,
and the shell of its hilt is an additional protection to the combatants.
The students at Jena use a sword called _Schlagen_, the blade of
which is three feet and a half long, and triangular like a bayonet;
the handle is protected by a tin plate, ten inches in diameter, which
has been jocosely called _the soup-plate of honour_: this handle,
soup-plate, and blade, can all be unscrewed and concealed, the hilt and
guard under a cloak, and the blade sheathed in a walking-stick.
By the rules of some universities, called their _Comment_, the nature
of the offence requires a certain number of cuts; twenty-four for the
appellation of _dummer Junge_, or stupid youth, and as many for the
epithet _infamous_. The pistol is scarcely ever selected as a weapon.
When perchance a student has killed another, he is advised to quit
the university, receiving from the senate what is called a _consilium
abeundi_. This expulsion is called a _relegatio_, and is published in
Latin. In these cases the offender enters another college. At Gottingen
the students were long overawed by a ruffian of the name of Luderf, of
great personal strength, and who not unfrequently lopped off arms and
hands with his Teutonic glaive.
In 1833, the corpse of a Lieutenant-colonel de Keunaw was found in a
forest near Dreisen, pierced with a sword-wound and weltering in blood.
It appeared, upon inquiry, that a councillor of the name of Von Zahn
had asked in marriage the daughter of a Baron Haller, who at the same
time was courted by a Baron Linsmar, a friend of Von Zahn, who, to rid
himself of his rival, had recourse to the most diabolical stratagem.
He was on terms of intimacy with De Keunaw, who was considered a most
dexterous swordsman, whereas Linsmar was totally unacquainted with
the use of the weapon. Von Zahn, therefore, exerted himself to foment
discord between them, until at last their constant dissensions led
to a duel. Von Zahn insisting upon being the second to his _friend_,
a meeting took place; when, by one of those chances in arms, the
inexperienced combatant killed his expert antagonist. Von Zahn was
brought to trial and condemned to death, and Baron Linsmar to ten
years’ imprisonment. The sentence of the former, however, was commuted
into twenty years’ confinement.
In 1834 the German papers gave an account of a duel of a most romantic
nature:--“A Baron Trautmansdorf was paying courtship to the widow of
a Polish general, the young Countess Lodoiska R----; he only awaited
an appointment to an embassy to marry her. In the mean time a Baron
de Ropp courted the lady, and in a sonnet turned his more successful
rival into ridicule. The baron immediately sent him a message, which
Ropp accepted; but on the ground proposed a champion, who espoused his
cause, when Trautmansdorf fell. His second, indignant at this act of
treachery, insisted that Ropp should give him satisfaction. The second
was also mortally wounded, when it was found out that Lodoiska herself
had accompanied her betrothed in male attire. Ropp, having recognised
her when she fell, felt so deeply the turpitude of his conduct, that he
threw himself on his own sword, and expired near the bodies of Lodoiska
and her lover.”
Duels are so very rare in Germany, that a hostile meeting that took
place at Frankfort in 1834 between two officers, and which proved fatal
to one of them, was considered a remarkable event; and all Vienna was
astonished when a noble German sent a challenge to Baron Rothschild for
having refused to lend him money.
Madame de Staël’s observations on duelling in Germany are worthy
of remark:--“Germany, if we except some courts anxious to imitate
the manners of the French, was never assailed by that infatuation,
immorality, and incredulity, which, since the regency, had changed the
natural character of the French. Feudality still maintained in Germany
some of its chivalric maxims: duels occasionally took place, but they
were not so frequent as in France; for the Germans do not possess the
same vivacity and petulance as the French nation, nor do they partake
of the same notions of courage, public opinion being much more severe
on the want of probity and fair dealing. If a man had transgressed the
laws of morality, ten duels a day would not have enabled him to recover
the esteem he had forfeited. In France we constantly see persons of
distinguished rank, who, when accused of an improper action, will say,
“It may have been wrong, but no one will dare assert it to my face!”
Such an expression is an evident proof of confirmed depravity; for what
would be the condition of society, if it was only requisite to kill one
another, to commit with impunity every evil action,--to break one’s
word and assert a falsehood, provided no one dared tell you that you
had lied?
“The spirit of chivalry still reigns amongst the Germans,--but
passively. They are incapable of deceit, and in every transaction act
with loyalty; but that energy which exposed man to so many sacrifices,
which exacted from woman so many virtues,--the chivalric spirit of
olden times,--has only left feeble traces in Germany, where noble
actions will only be the result of that liberal impulse which in Europe
has succeeded chivalry.”
Chateaubriand pays a similar compliment to the German people:--“I love
Germany; I admire its domestic virtues and its hospitable manners; its
poetic and religious sentiments, and its love for science. Amongst the
Germans we feel that invincible power that conceals the _positiveness_
of the world and the _prosaism_ of life.”
In Russia duels very rarely took place, a circumstance which in a great
measure may be attributed to the ferocity of their princes, who not
only saw the penal laws executed, but not unfrequently acted themselves
as executioners: a fact illustrated by Peter I, who gave the signal for
the judicial massacre of the revolted Strelitz, his Pretorian guards,
by seizing an axe and striking off the heads of a hundred of his
victims. The gross and brutal conduct of the Russian autocrat towards
women was imitated by his court and the people; and it can scarcely
be expected that a nice sense of honour can prevail in the minds of
men who only punished infidelity by a bastinade inflicted on both
the offending parties, and who usually testified their affection by
submitting the object of their love to the _knout_,--indeed, the fair
sex of Muscovy considered this infliction as a gallantry on the part
of their husbands; nor could their sense of delicacy be very acute,
when we find their Empress kneeling at the shrine of the Virgin and St.
Nicholas, to ask from what company of her guards she was to select her
favourite paramour.
The Russian laws against duelling were most severe. In the military
penal code of Peter I. it was ordered, that whoever provoked another
to fight a duel should be hanged, whether the duel took place or not;
that the seconds should suffer the same punishment, unless they exerted
themselves to prevent the meeting. That in the case of any dispute,
or blow being given, the aggressor was to ask pardon of the offended
party in presence of the military tribunal; and that whoever should
slap another’s face was to submit to a public retaliation. In the code
of Catherine we find, in the 234th article, the following view of the
subject:--“As to duelling, the best mode of preventing it is to punish
the aggressor, and to declare the innocence of the man who, without any
fault of his own, has found himself under the necessity of avenging
his honour.” We also find in an ukase of Catherine the following
enactment:--
“Whoever insults or strikes a citizen with an _unarmed hand_, shall
forfeit the amount of whatever yearly tax the citizen pays to the
state. Whoever insults or injures the wife or the daughter of a
citizen, shall pay double the amount for the wife, and four times the
amount for the daughter, of the annual tax the father or husband pays
to the state.”
It was, however, no uncommon practice on the part of the Czars to
strike their officers and attendants. Peter the Great would cane any
person, whatever might have been his rank, who had offended him.
Indeed, a blow from an imperial hand was considered an honour: though
this was not the case with a French architect, of the name of Le Blond,
who, after a caning, took it so much to heart, that he fell ill of a
fever and died.
It appears that no _prestige_ of rank could screen Russian ladies from
the brutal treatment of their husbands and lovers; and the Empress
Catherine herself was frequently horsewhipped by Gregory Orloff,
the most favoured of the five brothers of that name who shared her
smiles. No duels arose among her numerous lovers. Potemkin, playing
one day at billiards with Alexis Orloff, a brother-favourite, had some
difference, when Orloff struck him on the eye with a cue: the parties
were separated; but Alexis complained to his brother Gregory, then the
greater favourite, who insisted that Potemkin should be immediately
exiled, a request that the Empress did not dare refuse; and Potemkin,
who had lost an eye in the affray, was banished to Smolensko. He was
recalled, however, a year afterwards, and he soon avenged himself by
banishing his former rival, whom he succeeded; and shortly after,
he ceded her charms to another lover of the name of Lanskoi. Orloff
travelled, married, and visited the court of France, which he publicly
insulted by going to a levee in a common undress suit of clothes;
an offence which was not resented by Choiseul, the French minister.
Orloff’s wife soon after died, when he returned to St. Petersburgh on
the very night that the Empress was giving a ball in the palace of
Tzarco-zelo. He repaired to the festive hall in deep mourning, and
made up to Catherine, who was leaning on the arm of her favourite
Lanskoi, when he exclaimed with a ferocious look, “So, Kalinga, you
are still fond of dancing;--will you waltz with me? You hesitate: does
my dress alarm you? Do you know,” he added in a dismal tone of voice,
“do you know that my wife is dead? do you know it? and, if you knew
it, how did you dare to give this entertainment?” and, thus saying, he
seized a chair and dashed it to pieces. Lanskoi wanted to rush upon
the ruffian, but Catherine forcibly held him back, and assured Orloff
that she was not aware of his wife’s death; when he continued, “Yes,
she is dead, and I am alive! I am miserable, Kalinga! for I loved my
wife dearly!” and, so saying, he burst into tears; when, suddenly
casting his eyes upon Lanskoi, he exclaimed, “So, this is the young
new-comer! Ha! you are very young, my boy! poor blind buzzard, to be
caught in such a snare!” Again Lanskoi wanted to have recourse to
force to expel the bold intruder, who threatened to throw him out of
the window if he stirred one step; while Catherine exclaimed in agony,
“He is mad! he is mad!” “Yes, I am mad!” replied the ruffian with a
bitter laugh; “but who maddened me?--was it not thou, Kalinga? was it
not for thee that I became a regicide, an assassin? and now, woman, you
tell me I am mad!” So saying, he raised his hand to strike her; but
Catherine swooned on a sofa, and Orloff stalked out of the ball-room
unmolested. No punishment was inflicted on him for this audacious
conduct; on the contrary, he frequently attended the court, until he
died of a brain-fever in 1785. Lanskoi soon followed him to the grave;
when Potemkin sought to assuage the despair of Catherine by privately
marrying her, receiving as a marriage portion a palace worth 600,000
roubles, a coat embroidered with diamonds worth 200,000 roubles, and
200,000 peasants! Such was the wealth lavished on this favourite, that
he died worth 300,000,000 francs!--Could duels, or any feeling of
honour, be known in such a court?
However, at a later period, under Alexander I, who entertained some
chivalric notions and a faint idea of honour, duels came into fashion.
A singular manner of settling a quarrel was instanced in the case of
an old general officer of the name of Zass, who, having received from
Prince Dolgoroucki an order which would have defeated his plan of
operations, refused to obey him. High words ensued, and a challenge
was forwarded. At that moment the Swedish artillery was heard, and
intelligence was brought that the enemy were attacking a redoubt.
“Prince,” said the general, “we cannot fight a duel when our duty calls
us to meet the enemy; but let us both stand in an embrasure of that
battery, against which the enemy are directing their fire, and let
us remain there until one of us is struck.” Dolgoroucki accepted the
proposal. They both exposed themselves to the enemy’s fire, standing
erect with one hand on the hip, and looking fiercely at each other,
until the prince was cut in two by a cannon-ball; this desperate
resolve being witnessed by the whole army.
A conflict no less singular occurred in the case of one of the
most celebrated Russian duellists, a Count de Tolstoy, who, having
quarrelled with a naval officer, sent him a message, which was declined
on the plea of the count’s dexterity in the use of arms. Tolstoy then
proposed that they should fight with pistols muzzle to muzzle; but
this also the sailor declined, and insisted upon fighting according
to what he called a naval manner, which was, to seize each other and
jump into the water, the victory being awarded to the party that
escaped drowning. The count in his turn objected to the proposal, on
the plea that he could not swim, on which his adversary accused him of
cowardice; when he rushed upon him, seized him, and threw himself with
him into the sea. However, they were both drawn out of the water; but
the naval officer was so much injured, that he died a few days after.
In the annals of Poland judicial combats were not unfrequent, and were
similar to those resorted to in other countries; and we find the wife
of a grand duke of Lithuania accused of an adulterous intercourse,
when twelve champions presented themselves to defend her cause. The
proposal was objected to, and the law of the land, which was somewhat
singular, prevailed. The accuser was condemned to place himself on
all fours, like a quadruped, under a bench, and then to _unbark_ his
assertion, by publicly declaring that he _had lied like a dog_.
The jocularity of the Poles appears to have been occasionally of a very
rough nature. It is related of an Italian nobleman, that, being invited
by Prince Zboruski to his castle, he was made the butt of the company,
who one day proceeded to strip him; and, after smearing him all over
with honey, introduced him to some tame bears, who, licking off the
honey with their rough tongues, did not produce a very agreeable
sensation. The offended Italian wanted to depart, but the prince had
ordered the wheels of his carriage to be taken off. He contrived,
however, to effect his escape, and sent a challenge to Zboruski,
accompanied with a copy of his genealogy, to prove that he could not
refuse to meet him on the plea of a disparity of rank. But the Pole
thought otherwise, and declined the honour.
Since the misfortunes of the Poles, duelling has frequently taken place
amongst these exiles; and Lelewel observes on this subject, “that
emigrants fight from idleness, and that condition of suffering and
demoralization which renders every feeling susceptible of the slightest
offence.” During the generous struggle of this unhappy people with
their ferocious oppressors, a conflict of a most desperate nature
took place between a Polish and a Russian officer near Warsaw; the
following are the particulars:--A young Polish officer, who had served
under Napoleon in his Guards, had paid his addresses to a young lady
of Warsaw, who was carried off by a Russian officer; he offered his
hand in vain to his victim, who scorned his proposal with indignation:
the retreat of the Russian was discovered; a challenge was sent and
accepted. The ground was fixed in a wood four leagues from the city;
and, after measuring eight paces, swords marked the distance. The
combatants were armed with pistols, and were to advance upon each
other, and fire at will; the Russian fired first, and wounded his
antagonist in the breast, when the Pole exclaimed, “Come on, wretch,
and receive your death,--I still possess sufficient strength and life
to deprive thee of thine;” but the Russian mounted his horse and
galloped off. His seconds, indignant at such cowardly behaviour, bade
the friends of the wounded Pole pursue him, and give him up to them
as a disloyal dastard. They rode after him, and cutting him down,
brought him to an inn where the Pole had been also borne: upon seeing
his wounded antagonist, the Pole collected the little strength that
remained in him, and, seizing his sword, staggered towards his rival,
ran him through the body, and expired. The Russian officer recovered
from his wounds, and the young lady was restored to her family.