In the commencement of this work I have endeavoured to show that the practice of duelling was unknown amongst the ancient Romans; for although, as I have observed, various combats have been recorded between individuals who had stepped out of the ranks of their army to sustain the honour of their country, yet they cannot be considered in the light of duels, as no private resentment or personal wrongs had to be gratified or revenged. Such were the combats of Manlius Torquatus and Valerius Corvinus.
It was after the irruption of the northern barbarians that these savage hordes, after putting to the sword as many victims as they could immolate, turned against each other their blood-stained arms; and historians relate that, after the failure of the Goths in their attack upon Rome in 405, upwards of thirty thousand of these barbarians destroyed each other on their retreat. It was after the progress of Christianity amongst these fierce invaders that these scenes of murder 304 gradually ceased to prevail, as appears by the following letter of Theodoric to the rude tribes of Hungary.
“It is against the common enemy that you should display your valour, and not against each other. A slight difference between you should not lead you to such an extremity; but confide in that justice which constitutes the joy and the tranquillity of the world. Why have recourse to duels, when public officers are not venal, and the judges in my dominions are incorruptible? Lay down your arms, since you have no enemies to contend with. You commit a crime in raising your weapons against relations for whom you should be proud to perish. And why use an armed hand, when you have a tongue to plead your cause? Imitate the Goths, who know how to conquer the foreigner, but who cultivate moderation and peace amongst themselves.”
That this injunction was rendered necessary by the ferocity of the tribes to whom it was addressed, appears evident from a manuscript lately discovered at Cassel in Westphalia, in which was a fragment of a poem, describing a duel between a father and a son under the reign of Theodoric.
Notwithstanding the wise enactments of this prince, during the wars of extermination that followed his reign these lamentable excesses were renewed in all their horror; and in the annals of the Lombards we find numerous traces of the 305 prevalence of duelling, both in Cisalpine Gaul and in Germany. According to the laws of Rotharis, single combat was admitted as legal proof; and when a man had held the property of another for five years, the latter could only claim its restitution by a duel; and in litigation amongst women, they had the privilege of naming a champion to dispute their rights.
One of the most celebrated duels of that country took place in 626, to maintain the innocence of Queen Gundeberge, wife of Kharoald, King of Lombardy, which I have already related.
In 668, Grimoald made some alteration in the laws of Rotharis; but confirmed the right of women accused of an adulterous intercourse to appoint a champion to defend their fame. In 713, Luitprand confirmed the laws, but abrogated that part of them which confiscated the property of the vanquished. The language of his edict showed clearly that it was issued with repugnance:—“We are not convinced of the justice of what is called the judgement of God, since we have found that many innocent persons have perished in defending a good cause; but this custom is of such antiquity amongst the Lombards, that we cannot abolish it, notwithstanding its impiety.”
Charlemagne, who succeeded to the crown of Lombardy in 774, exerted himself, both in France and Italy, to put an end to, or at least to check 306 the practice; and it was chiefly from the Italian nobility that he met with opposition. In many instances we find the chivalrous spirit of the day nobly exerted to repress depredations. In 807 we read of a duel between a French knight-errant, De Medicis, and a bandit named Mugel, who had ravaged a district of the Florentine state, which has ever since been called Mugello.
When the Othos governed the Italian dominions, it was at the urgent request of the Italian nobility, that Otho II, in an assembly at Verona in 988, re-established the practice of duelling in all its vigour, not even exempting from the obligation the clergy, or women; and while personal combat had to decide between the guilty and the innocent, trials by ordeal, similar to those already detailed, were constantly resorted to. George Acropolites relates the case of an Italian archbishop, who recommended one of his deacons to submit to the trial by fire; to this the priest did not object, provided the red-hot iron was handed to him by his diocesan, who then thought it advisable to decline the ordeal on the plea that it was sinful to tempt God.
The progress of civilization in the rude manners of the times, which resulted from the discovery of the pandects at Amalfi, did not prove sufficiently powerful to check this ancient practice; and we find Charles Tocco, a celebrated Neapolitan professor, maintaining that the practice 307 of duelling ought to be kept up, however condemnable in principle.
During the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the Italian press teemed with works on the noble nature of the science of duelling, which was held out to the admiration of the world in the most elegant language, although in the eleventh century the establishment of municipal corporations materially checked these chivalric excesses. It was in the thirteenth century that we see Mainfroi, natural son of Frederic II, murdering the Emperor Conrad, and killed in turn by Charles d’Anjou, who usurped the throne of Conradin, a young prince whom we find casting his gauntlet to defy the usurper, who ordered his head to be struck off in a public square at Naples. A knight had the boldness to take up the gauntlet, and carried it to Peter III, King of Arragon, who avenged the death of Conradin by the massacre of the Sicilian vespers, while he renewed the challenge of the ill-fated prince, and defied Charles d’Anjou, although sixty years old, to single combat: a challenge which was accepted, notwithstanding the King of Arragon was only forty years of age. The personal conflict, however, was avoided in the following manner:—Peter sent a message to Charles, to settle the point with each other at the head of a hundred chosen knights. Charles, despite the injunctions of the Pope, rashly accepted the proposal, 308 and our Edward I. appointed the field at Bordeaux, the day being fixed on the 1st of July 1282. Trusting to the faith of Peter, Charles raised the siege of Messina. The Pope fulminated his anathema from the Vatican, and excommunicated the Arragonese prince, who, however, treated his wrath with sovereign contempt. The day of the meeting, Charles, faithful to his engagement, entered the field at the head of his hundred knights, and remained there from sun-rise to sunset, awaiting his adversary, who did not make his appearance until Charles had retired, when, with true Spanish rodomontade, he galloped and curveted over the field, and declared that he had not found his craven antagonist.
It had been stipulated, that the defaulter in this meeting should be branded with the name of traitor, and declared perjured, cowardly, and eternally infamous, worthless of all regal title or honour, and condemned for ever after to be merely followed by a humble menial.
It appears that Charles came to the lists with his uncle, Philippe le Hardi, King of France; and it is to this circumstance that the conduct of the King of Arragon was attributed. A paper war between the two princes followed; and, as both treated their adversaries as cravens, the merits of the cause were never fairly determined; while the learned Alciat declared, Dubitatum fuit utrius causa esset justior. 309
From that period arose the endless differences between the houses of Anjou and Arragon, regarding the succession to the Neapolitan crown. The Arragonese having carried their point, Charles VIII. of France, towards the latter end of the fifteenth century, as heir to Louis XI, renewed the contest, and involved his successors in ruinous wars.
Louis I, head of the second house of Anjou, was duped in 1382 in the same manner as his predecessor Charles, by Charles III, a challenge having been mutually accepted,—in which case both parties upbraided each other with falsehood. Louis appeared at the camp, when Charles attacked his army by surprise, and Louis, severely wounded in the treacherous conflict, shortly after died.
Naples, at this period, was the theatre of duelling; its practice became a science regularly professed by celebrated teachers, as the Scienza Cavalleresca, and Alberic Balbiano, constable of Naples, instituted a military order, under the patronage of St. George, for the due maintenance of this honourable pursuit. The knights of this noble institution wandered about the country plundering and pillaging, but ever ready to give satisfaction to all who considered themselves aggrieved. The accollade of knighthood was accompanied by the following injunction:—“The stroke of this sword is the last that 310 you shall patiently submit to.” In the practice of this science, dexterity and cunning cuts and thrusts became accomplishments, and disarming an adversary a high feat of honour, since it afforded the right to kill the disarmed champion without further resistance or trouble.
Soon after, the bloody disputes between the Guelphs and the Ghibelins afforded numerous opportunities for personal rencontres, when the parties did not meet in battle array; but it is manifest, that at all times Italian duels were attended with circumstances of ferocity and treachery; and to avoid publicity, these meetings frequently took place behind hedges and ditches, and in woods and solitary places; hence the practice was called combatere à la mazza.
It appears that the practice bringing in seconds and witnesses, who were to share the dangers of the principals, originated in Italy. Brant?me relates the story of a Neapolitan gentleman who, being called out, killed his antagonist; he was about leaving the field, when the second of the deceased stopped him, and observed that he could not allow him to depart until he had avenged his fallen friend. To this proposal the gentleman very politely acceded, and killed him. Another witness then stepped forward, and with much courtesy said, that if he did not feel himself tired, he would be delighted to have a share in the honour; and proposed, if 311 fatigued, to postpone the meeting until the following day. The gentleman was too urbane to disappoint him, and replied, that he did not feel in the least tired; and as he was warm, and his hand in, they might as well lose no time in gratifying his fancy; in a few lounges the amateur’s corpse was stretched by the side of his two departed friends.
Brant?me makes the following remarks on this practice:—“I have heard much talk on this matter, and have been informed by great Italian captains, that they were the founders of these fights and their punctilios, which were well known theoretically and practically. The Spaniards resemble them, but are not so proficient in the art, which now-a-days our Frenchmen practise in perfection. The Italians are a little more cool and advised in this business than we are, and somewhat more cruel. They have given as an instruction to those who feel disposed to grant or to spare their adversary’s life, the glorious opportunity of showing their generosity, by maiming their fallen foe, both in his legs and arms, and moreover giving him a desperate cut across the nose and face, to remind him of their condescension and humanity.”
Most of the celebrated fencing-masters were Italians; and Brant?me states, that Jarnac, previous to his fatal duel with La Chastaigneraye, had taken lessons from an Italian captain, named 312 Caise, who had taught him the hamstring cut. These professors, it appears, were not very particular in regard to the means employed to kill their man, which they recommended to be done in ogni modo. Our pugnacious historian farther relates that, when he was at Milan, he took fencing lessons for a month, under a celebrated master, named Trappe; and during this period not a day passed but he witnessed at least twenty quadrilles of persons fighting in the streets, and leaving the dead bodies of their adversaries on the pavement. There were numerous bravoes who let themselves out to hire, to fight for those who did not feel disposed to risk their own lives. The same practice prevailed in Spain. This mode of fighting constituted the famed Vendetta; and the hired combatants were called Bandeleri.
The practice of these scientific assassins appears to have been singular; and we find Lampugnano, previous to his murdering Galeas Maria Sforza, getting a portrait of his victim painted, and exercising himself in stabbing it in various parts, until he found himself sufficiently dexterous to kill him in church with seven mortal stabs.
In 1528, four Florentines fought in presence of the Prince of Orange, when one of the combatants summoned his antagonist whom he had overthrown to surrender; but the prostrate champion exclaimed, “I surrender to the Prince!” “There is no other prince here but myself,” replied 313 his adversary; and with a dagger at his throat he compelled him to submit.
In the expedition of the Duke de Guise, in 1557, under Henri II, a duel was fought at Ferrara, in presence of the Duke Hercules d’Este, and his brother the cardinal, in a hall of the palace, which was lighted up with torches on the occasion.
The Prince of Melfe Caraccioli, who commanded the forces of Francis I. from 1545 to 1550, issued many orders to check the practice of duelling: one of them was to compel duellists to fight upon the parapet of the bridge of Turin, so that the combatant who lost his equilibrium, ran a fair chance of being drowned.
The Italian princes not unfrequently were engaged in murderous quarrels, although it is related of Humbert II, the dauphin of Viennois, that on receiving a challenge from Amédée, Count of Savoy, he sent the following reply to his herald:—“My friend, tell your master, that the virtues of a prince do not lie in corporeal strength; but that if he is desirous of displaying his prowess, I have not a bull in my possession that is not stronger than he is; if he wishes to ascertain the fact, I shall have great pleasure in sending him one of the fiercest.”
The town of Ostuni, in 1664, was rendered remarkable by one of the most deadly family feuds recorded, and an extraordinary duel, in 314 which every principle of honour was violated. The Count de Conversano, called also Duke de le Noci, of the family of Aquaviva, and the Prince of Francavilla, of that of Imperiali, were the two most powerful lords in Lower Apulia: the former boasted of his ancient descent and his numerous titles, and numbered among his predecessors a succession of nobles, whose tyrannical and violent disposition had designated them as a race dreaded by their inferiors, and hated by their equals. The Prince of Francavilla was of Genoese extraction, but his family had been settled in the kingdom from the time of Charles V, and he emulated the count in pride, while he surpassed him in wealth. Their territories joined, and the constant litigations arising out of their inordinate and ill-timed jurisdictions were thereby superadded to the long lists of mutual injuries recorded by both families. Their animosity broke out at Naples, on some trifling occasion, when they were both in their carriages; and, after a long contest of words, the Count de Conversano challenged the Prince of Francavilla to decide their differences by the sword: the latter declined this mode of combat as ill-suited to his age and infirmities, but consented to a duel if the arms might be exchanged for pistols. His antagonist, who was esteemed the best swordsman in the kingdom, insisted on his first proposal, and excited the 315 prince to accede to it, by striking him repeatedly with the flat of his sword. An insult so grossly offered in the public streets, authorized the government to check the consequences likely to arise, by ordering both parties to retire to their respective estates. A short time after, the Prince of Francavilla, thirsting for a just revenge, proposed a champion to espouse his cause in the person of his nephew, the Duke de Martina, of the house of Caraccioli. This young man was but just returned from his travels, and his education had not been completed; it was therefore agreed, that a year should elapse previous to the final settlement of the dispute, and the field of battle was fixed at Ostuni, the jurisdiction of which had been previously claimed and disputed by both noblemen. The eyes of the whole kingdom were directed with anxious and fearful expectation towards this spot; but the wishes of the majority were in favour of the Duke de Martina, whose youth, accomplishments, and amiable disposition, called forth the interest of all ranks. His uncle, actuated more by fear of the shame attendant on defeat, than by feelings of affection for his relative, endeavoured to ensure success by the following stratagem:—A gentleman who had been for some time, as was the custom in those days, a retainer in his family, left it abruptly one night, and re............