in their hands. It was generally believed that fire would not burn the
innocent, and the clergy, of course, took care that the innocent, or
such as it was their pleasure or interest to declare so, should be so
warned before undergoing the ordeal, as to preserve themselves without
any difficulty from the fire. One mode of ordeal was to place red-hot
ploughshares on the ground at certain distances, and then, blindfolding
the accused person, make him walk barefooted over them. If he stepped
regularly in the vacant spaces, avoiding the fire, he was adjudged
innocent; if he burned himself, he was declared guilty. As none but the
clergy interfered with the arrangement of the ploughshares, they could
always calculate beforehand the result of the ordeal. To find a person
guilty, they had only to place them at irregular distances, and the
accused was sure to tread upon one of them. When Emma, the wife of King
Ethelred, and mother of Edward the Confessor, was accused of a guilty
familiarity with Alwyn, Bishop of Winchester, she cleared her character
in this manner. The reputation, not only of their order, but of a queen,
being at stake, a verdict of guilty was not to be apprehended from any
ploughshares which priests had the heating of. This ordeal was called
the Judicium Dei, and sometimes the Vulgaris Purgatio, and might also be
tried by several other methods. One was to hold in the hand, unhurt, a
piece of red-hot iron, of the weight of one, two, or three pounds. When
we read not only that men with hard hands, but women of softer and more
delicate skin, could do this with impunity, we must be convinced that
the hands were previously rubbed with some preservative, or that the
apparently hot iron was merely cold iron painted red. Another mode was
to plunge the naked arm into a caldron of boiling water. The priests
then enveloped it in several folds of linen and flannel, and kept the
patient confined within the church, and under their exclusive care,
for three days. If, at the end of that time, the arm appeared without a
scar, the innocence of the accused person was firmly established. [Very
similar to this is the fire-ordeal of the modern Hindoos, which is thus
described in Forbes's "Oriental Memoirs," vol. i. c. xi.--"When a man,
accused of a capital crime, chooses to undergo the ordeal trial, he is
closely confined for several days; his right hand and arm are covered
with thick wax-cloth, tied up and sealed, in the presence of proper
officers, to prevent deceit. In the English districts the covering was
always sealed with the Company's arms, and the prisoner placed under an
European guard. At the time fixed for the ordeal, a caldron of oil is
placed over a fire; when it boils, a piece of money is dropped into the
vessel; the prisoner's arm is unsealed, and washed in the presence of
his judges and accusers. During this part of the ceremony, the attendant
Brahmins supplicate the Deity. On receiving their benediction, the
accused plunges his hand into the boiling fluid, and takes out the coin.
The arm is afterwards again Sealed up until the time appointed for a
re-examination. The seal is then broken: if no blemish appears,
the prisoner is declared innocent; if the contrary, he suffers the
punishment due to his crime." * * * On this trial the accused thus
addresses the element before plunging his hand into the boiling
oil:--"Thou, O fire! pervadest all things. O cause of purity! who givest
evidence of virtue and of sin, declare the truth in this my hand!" If no
juggling were practised, the decisions by this ordeal would be all the
same way; but, as some are by this means declared guilty, and others
innocent, it is clear that the Brahmins, like the Christian priests of
the middle ages, practise some deception in saving those whom they wish
to be thought guiltless.]
As regards the water-ordeal, the same trouble was not taken. It was a
trial only for the poor and humble, and, whether they sank or swam,
was thought of very little consequence. Like the witches of more modern
times, the accused were thrown into a pond or river; if they sank, and
were drowned, their surviving friends had the consolation of knowing
that they were innocent; if they swam, they were guilty. In either case
society was rid of them.
But of all the ordeals, that which the clergy reserved for themselves
was the one least likely to cause any member of their corps to be
declared guilty. The most culpable monster in existence came off clear
when tried by this method. It was called the Corsned, and was thus
performed. A piece of barley bread and a piece of cheese were laid
upon the altar, and the accused priest, in his full canonicals, and
surrounded by all the pompous adjuncts of Roman ceremony, pronounced
certain conjurations, and prayed with great fervency for several
minutes. The burden of his prayer was, that if he were guilty of the
crime laid to his charge, God would send his angel Gabriel to stop his
throat, that he might not be able to swallow the bread and cheese.
There is no instance upon record of a priest having been choked in
this manner. [An ordeal very like this is still practised in India.
Consecrated rice is the article chosen, instead of bread and cheese.
Instances are not rare in which, through the force of imagination,
guilty persons are not able to swallow a single grain. Conscious of
their crime, and fearful of the punishment of Heaven, they feel a
suffocating sensation in their throat when they attempt it, and they
fall on their knees, and confess all that is laid to their charge. The
same thing, no doubt, would have happened with the bread and cheese
of the Roman church, if it had been applied to any others but
ecclesiastics. The latter had too much wisdom to be caught in a trap of
their own setting.]
When, under Pope Gregory VII, it was debated whether the Gregorian chant
should be introduced into Castile, instead of the Musarabic, given by
St. Isidore, of Seville, to the churches of that kingdom, very much ill
feeling was excited. The churches refused to receive the novelty, and it
was proposed that the affair should be decided by a battle between two
champions, one chosen from each side. The clergy would not consent to a
mode of settlement which they considered impious, but had no objection
to try the merits of each chant by the fire ordeal. A great fire was
accordingly made, and a book of the Gregorian and one of the Musarabic
chant were thrown into it, that the flames might decide which was most
agreeable to God by refusing to burn it. Cardinal Baronius, who says
he was an eye-witness of the miracle, relates, that the book of the
Gregorian chant was no sooner laid upon the fire, than it leaped out
uninjured, visibly, and with a great noise. Every one present thought
that the saints had decided in favour of Pope Gregory. After a slight
interval, the fire was extinguished; but, wonderful to relate! the other
book of St. Isidore was found covered with ashes, but not injured in the
slightest degree. The flames had not even warmed it. Upon this it was
resolved, that both were alike agreeable to God, and that they should
be used by turns in all the churches of Seville? [Histoire de Messire
Bertrand du Guesclin, par Paul Hay du Chastelet. Livre i. chap. xix.]
If the ordeals had been confined to questions like this, the laity would
have had little or no objection to them; but when they were introduced
as decisive in all the disputes that might arise between man and man,
the opposition of all those whose prime virtue was personal bravery, was
necessarily excited. In fact, the nobility, from a very early period,
began to look with jealous eyes upon them. They were not slow to
perceive their true purport, which was no other than to make the Church
the last court of appeal in all cases, both civil and criminal: and not
only did the nobility prefer the ancient mode of single combat from
this cause, in itself a sufficient one, but they clung to it because
an acquittal gained by those displays of courage and address which the
battle afforded, was more creditable in the eyes of their compeers, than
one which it required but little or none of either to accomplish. To
these causes may be added another, which was, perhaps, more potent than
either, in raising the credit of the judicial combat at the expense
of the ordeal. The noble institution of chivalry was beginning to take
root, and, notwithstanding the clamours of the clergy, war was made the
sole business of life, and the only elegant pursuit of the aristocracy.
The fine spirit of honour was introduced, any attack upon which was only
to be avenged in the lists, within sight of applauding crowds, whose
verdict of approbation was far more gratifying than the cold and formal
acquittal of the ordeal. Lothaire, the son of Louis I, abolished that
by fire and the trial of the cross within his dominions; but in England
they were allowed so late as the time of Henry III, in the early part
of whose reign they were prohibited by an order of council. In the mean
time, the Crusades had brought the institution of chivalry to the full
height of perfection. The chivalric spirit soon achieved the downfall
of the ordeal system, and established the judicial combat on a basis
too firm to be shaken. It is true that with the fall of chivalry, as an
institution, fell the tournament, and the encounter in the lists; but
the duel, their offspring, has survived to this day, defying the
efforts of sages and philosophers to eradicate it. Among all the
errors bequeathed to us by a barbarous age, it has proved the most
pertinacious. It has put variance between men's reason and their honour;
put the man of sense on a level with the fool, and made thousands who
condemn it submit to it, or practise it. Those who are curious to
see the manner in which these combats were regulated, may consult the
learned Montesquieu, where they will find a copious summary of the code
of ancient duelling. ["Esprit des Loix," livre xxviii. chap. xxv.]
Truly does he remark, in speaking of the clearness and excellence of the
arrangements, that, as there were many wise matters which were conducted
in a very foolish manner, so there were many foolish matters conducted
very wisely. No greater exemplification of it could be given, than the
wise and religious rules of the absurd and blasphemous trial by battle.
In the ages that intervened between the Crusades and the new era that
was opened out by the invention of gunpowder and printing, a more
rational system of legislation took root. The inhabitants of cities,
engaged in the pursuits of trade and industry, were content to
acquiesce in the decisions of their judges and magistrates whenever any
differences arose among them. Unlike the class above them, their habits
and manners did not lead them to seek the battle-field on every slight
occasion. A dispute as to the price of a sack of corn, a bale of
broad-cloth, or a cow, could be more satisfactorily adjusted before the
mayor or bailiff of their district. Even the martial knights and nobles,
quarrelsome as they were, began to see that the trial by battle
would lose its dignity and splendour if too frequently resorted
to. Governments also shared this opinion, and on several occasions
restricted the cases in which it was legal to proceed to this extremity.
In France, before the time of Louis IX, duels were permitted only in
cases of Lese Majesty, Rape, Incendiarism, Assassination, and Burglary.
Louis IX, by taking off all restriction, made them legal in civil eases.
This was not found to work well, and, in 1303, Philip the Fair judged it
necessary to confine them, in criminal matters, to state offences,
rape, and incendiarism; and in civil cases, to questions of disputed
inheritance. Knighthood was allowed to be the best judge of its own
honour, and might defend or avenge it as often as occasion arose.
Among the earliest duels upon record, is a very singular one that
took place in the reign of Louis II (A.D. 878). Ingelgerius, Count of
Gastinois, was one morning discovered by his Countess dead in bed at her
side. Gontran, a relation of the Count, accused the Countess of
having murdered her husband, to whom, he asserted, she had long been
unfaithful, and challenged her to produce a champion to do battle in her
behalf, that he might establish her guilt by killing him.[Memoires
de Brantome touchant les Duels.] All the friends and relatives of the
Countess believed in her innocence; but Gontran was so stout and bold
and renowned a warrior, that no one dared to meet him, for which, as
Brantome quaintly says, "Mauvais et poltrons parens estaient." The
unhappy Countess began to despair, when a champion suddenly appeared
in the person of Ingelgerius, Count of Anjou, a boy of sixteen years
of age, who had been held by the Countess on the baptismal font, and
received her husband's name. He tenderly loved his godmother, and
offered to do battle in her cause against any and every opponent. The
King endeavoured to persuade the generous boy from his enterprise,
urging the great strength, tried skill, and invincible courage of the
challenger; but he persisted in his resolution, to the great sorrow
of all the court, who said it was a cruel thing to permit so brave and
beautiful a child to rush to such butchery and death.
When the lists were prepared, the Countess duly acknowledged her
champion, and the combatants commenced the onset. Gontran rode so
fiercely at his antagonist, and hit him on the shield with such
impetuosity, that he lost his own balance and rolled to the ground. The
young Count, as Gontran fell, passed his lance through his body, and
then dismounting, cut off his head, which, Brantome says, "he presented
to the King, who received it most graciously, and was very joyful, as
much so as if any one had made him a present of a city." The innocence
of the Countess was then proclaimed with great rejoicings; and she
kissed her godson, and wept over his neck with joy, in the presence of
all the assembly.
When the Earl of Essex was accused, by Robert de Montfort, before King
Henry II, in 1162, of having traitorously suffered the royal standard
of England to fall from his hands in a skirmish with the Welsh, at
Coleshill, five years previously, the latter offered to prove the
truth of the charge by single combat. The Earl of Essex accepted
the challenge, and the lists were prepared near Reading. An immense
concourse of persons assembled to witness the battle. Essex at first
fought stoutly, but, losing his temper and self-command, he gave an
advantage to his opponent, which soon decided the struggle. He was
unhorsed, and so severely wounded, that all present thought he was dead.
At the solicitation of his relatives, the monks of the Abbey of Reading
were allowed to remove the body for interment, and Montfort was declared
the victor. Essex, however, was not dead, but stunned only, and,
under the care of the monks, recovered in a few weeks from his bodily
injuries. The wounds of his mind were not so easily healed. Though a
loyal and brave subject, the whole realm believed him a traitor and a
coward because he had been vanquished. He could not brook to return to
the world deprived of the good opinion of his fellows; he, therefore,
made himself a monk, and passed the remainder of his days within the
walls of the Abbey.
Du Chastelet relates a singular duel that was proposed in
Spain.[Histoire de Messire Bertrand du Guesclin, livre i. chap. xix.] A
Christian gentleman of Seville sent a challenge to a Moorish cavalier,
offering to prove against him, with whatever weapons he might choose,
that the religion of Jesus Christ was holy and divine, and that of
Mahomet impious and damnable. The Spanish prelates did not choose that
Christianity should be com promised within their jurisdiction by the
result of any such combat, and they commanded the knight, under pain of
excommunication, to withdraw the challenge.
The same author relates, that under Otho I a question arose among
jurisconsults, viz. whether grandchildren, who had lost their father,
should share equally with their uncles in the property of their
grandfather, at the death of the latter. The difficulty of this question
was found so insurmountable, that none of the lawyers of that day could
resolve it. It was at last decreed, that it should be decided by single
combat. Two champions were accordingly chosen; one for, and the other
against, the claims of the little ones. After a long struggle, the
champion of the uncles was unhorsed and slain; and it was, therefore,
decided, that the right of the grandchildren was established, and that
they should enjoy the same portion of their grandfather's possessions
that their father would have done had he been alive.
Upon pretexts, just as frivolous as these, duels continued to be fought
in most of the countries of Europe during the whole of the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries. A memorable instance of the slightness of the
pretext on which a man could be forced to fight a duel to the death,
occurs in the Memoirs of the brave Constable, Du Guesclin. The advantage
he had obtained, in a skirmish before Rennes, against William Brembre,
an English captain, so preyed on the spirits of William Troussel, the
chosen friend and companion of the latter, that nothing would satisfy
him but a mortal combat with the Constable. The Duke of Lancaster,
to whom Troussel applied for permission to fight the great Frenchman,
forbade the battle, as not warranted by the circumstances. Troussel
nevertheless burned with a fierce desire to cross his weapon with Du
Guesclin, and sought every occasion to pick a quarrel with him. Having
so good a will for it, of course he found a way. A relative of his had
been taken prisoner by the Constable, in whose hands he remained till he
was able to pay his ransom. Troussel resolved to make a quarrel out of
this, and despatched a messenger to Du Guesclin, demanding the release
of his prisoner, and offering a bond, at a distant date, for the payment
of the ransom. Du Guesclin, who had received intimation of the hostile
purposes of the Englishman, sent back word, that he would not accept his
bond, neither would he release his prisoner, until the full amount of
his ransom was paid. As soon as this answer was received, Troussel sent
a challenge to the Constable, demanding reparation for the injury he had
done his honour, by refusing his bond, and offering a mortal combat, to
be fought three strokes with the lance, three with the sword, and
three with the dagger. Du Guesclin, although ill in bed with the ague,
accepted the challenge, and gave notice to the Marshal d'Andreghem, the
King's Lieutenant-General in Lower Normandy, that he might fix the day
and the place of combat. The Marshal made all necessary arrangements,
upon condition that he who was beaten should pay a hundred florins
of gold to feast the nobles and gentlemen who were witnesses of the
encounter.
The Duke of Lancaster was very angry with his captain, and told him,
that it would be a shame to his knighthood and his nation, if he forced
on a combat with the brave Du Guesclin, at a time when he was enfeebled
by disease and stretched on the couch of suffering. Upon these
representations, Troussel, ashamed of himself, sent notice to Du
Guesclin that he was willing to postpone the duel until such time as he
should be perfectly recovered. Du Guesclin replied, that he could not
think of postponing the combat, after all the nobility had received
notice of it; that he had sufficient strength left, not only to meet,
but to conquer such an opponent as he was; and that, if he did not make
his appearance in the lists at the time appointed, he would publish
him everywhere as a man unworthy to be called a knight, or to wear an
honourable sword by his side. Troussel carried this haughty message to
the Duke of Lancaster, who immediately gave permission for the battle.
On the day appointed, the two combatants appeared in the lists, in the
presence of several thousand spectators. Du Guesclin was attended by
the flower of the French nobility, including the Marshal de Beaumanoir,
Olivier de Mauny, Bertrand de Saint Pern, and the Viscount de la
Belliere, while the Englishman appeared with no more than the customary
retinue of two seconds, two squires, two coutilliers, or daggermen, and
two trumpeters. The first onset was unfavourable to the Constable: he
received so heavy a blow on his shield-arm, that he fell forward to
the left, upon his horse's neck, and, being weakened by his fever, was
nearly thrown to the ground. All his friends thought he could never
recover himself, and began to deplore his ill fortune; but Du Guesclin
collected his energies for a decisive effort, and, at the second charge,
aimed a blow at the shoulder of his enemy, which felled him to the
earth, mortally wounded. He then sprang from his horse, sword in hand,
with the intention of cutting off the head of his fallen foe, when the
Marshal D'Andreghem threw a golden wand into the arena, as a signal that
hostilities should cease. Du Guesclin was proclaimed the victor, amid
the joyous acclamations of the crowd, and retiring, left the field to
the meaner combatants, who were afterwards to make sport for the people.
Four English and as many French squires fought for some time with
pointless lances, when the French, gaining the advantage, the sports
were declared at an end.
In the time of Charles VI, about the beginning of the fifteenth century,
a famous duel was ordered by the Parliament of Paris. The Sieur de
Carrouges being absent in the Holy Land, his lady was violated by the
Sieur Legris. Carrouges, on his return, challenged Legris to mortal
combat, for the twofold crime of violation and slander, inasmuch as he
had denied his guilt, by asserting that the lady was a willing party.
The lady's asseverations of innocence were held to be no evidence by the
Parliament, and the duel was commanded with all the ceremonies. "On
the day appointed," says Brantome, [Memoires de Brantome touchant les
Duels.] "the lady came to witness the spectacle in her chariot; but the
King made her descend, judging her unworthy, because she was criminal in
his eyes till her innocence was proved, and caused her to stand upon
a scaffold to await the mercy of God and this judgment by the battle.
After a short struggle, the Sieur de Carrouges overthrew his enemy, and
made him confess both the rape and the slander. He was then taken to the
gallows and hanged in the presence of the multitude; while the innocence
of the lady was proclaimed by the heralds, and recognized by her
husband, the King, and all the spectators."
Numerous battles, of a similar description, constantly took place, until
the unfortunate issue of one encounter of the kind led the French King,
Henry II, to declare solemnly, that he would never again permit any such
encounter, whether it related to a civil or criminal case, or the honour
of a gentleman.
This memorable combat was fought in the year 1547. Francois de Vivonne,
Lord of La Chataigneraie, and Guy de Chabot, Lord of Jarnac, had been
friends from their early youth, and were noted at the court of Francis
I for the gallantry of their bearing and the magnificence of their
retinue. Chataigneraie, who knew that his friend's means were not very
ample, asked him one day, in confidence, how it was that he contrived to
be so well provided? Jarnac replied, that his father had married a
young and beautiful woman, who, loving the son far better than the sire,
supplied him with as much money as he desired. La Chataigneraie betrayed
the base secret to the Dauphin, the Dauphin to the King, the King to his
courtiers, and the courtiers to all their acquaintance. In a short time
it reached the ears of the old Lord de Jarnac, who immediately sent for
his son, and demanded to know in what manner the report had originated,
and whether he had been vile enough not only to carry on such a
connexion, but to boast of it? De Jarnac indignantly denied that he had
ever said so, or given reason to the world to say so, and requested his
father to accompany him to court, and confront him with his accuser,
that he might see the manner in which he would confound him. They
went accordingly, and the younger De Jarnac, entering a room where the
Dauphin, La Chataigneraie, and several courtiers were present, exclaimed
aloud, "That whoever had asserted, that he maintained a criminal
connexion with his mother-in-law, was a liar and a coward!" Every eye
was turned to the Dauphin and La Chataigneraie, when the latter stood
forward, and asserted, that De Jarnac had himself avowed that such was
the fact, and he would extort from his lips another confession of it. A
case like this could not be met or rebutted by any legal proof, and the
royal council ordered that it should be decided by single combat. The
King, however, set his face against the duel [Although Francis showed
himself in this case an enemy to duelling, yet, in his own case, he had
not the same objection. Every reader of history must remember his answer
to the challenge of the Emperor Charles V. The Emperor wrote that he
had failed in his word, and that he would sustain their quarrel
single-handed against him. Francis replied, that he lied--qu'il en avait
menti par la gorge, and that he was ready to meet him in single combat
whenever and wherever he pleased.] and forbade them both, under pain of
his high displeasure, to proceed any further in the matter. But Francis
died in the following year, and the Dauphin, now Henry II, who was
himself compromised, resolved that the combat should take place.
The lists were prepared in the court-yard of the chateau of St.
Germain-en-Laye, and the 10th of July 1547 was appointed for the
encounter. The cartels of the combatants, which are preserved in the
"Memoires de Castelnau," were as follow:--
"Cartel of Francois de Vivonne, Lord of La Chataigneraie.
"Sire,
"Having learned that Guy Chabot de Jarnac, being lately at Compeigne,
asserted, that whoever had said that he boasted of having criminal
intercourse with his mother-in-law, was wicked and a wretch,--I, Sire,
with your good-will and pleasure, do answer, that he has wickedly lied,
and will lie as many times as he denies having said that which I affirm
he did say; for I repeat, that he told me several times, and boasted of
it, that he had slept with his mother-in-law.
"Francois de Vivonne."
To this cartel De Jarnac replied:--
"Sire,
"With your good will and permission, I say, that Francois de Vivonne has
lied in the imputation which he has cast upon me, and of which I spoke
to you at Compeigne. I, therefore, entreat you, Sire, most humbly, that
you be pleased to grant us a fair field, that we may fight this battle
to the death.
"Guy Chabot."