In the days when every man who had the slightest pretensions to calling himself a gentleman wore a sword, personal encounters were, of course, of very frequent occurrence in France. No reason was too slight to furnish an excuse for calling upon any man to draw and defend himself, and the clash of steel was a familiar sound at all public resorts for amusement, or indeed anywhere except in the most sedate assemblies. But, though duels were then sometimes carried out with dignity and circumstance, the greater proportion of the fights were more in the nature of chance medley. There were no special rules for their conduct, they were fought out at once without any deliberation and not infrequently either without witnesses or only in the presence of spectators who assumed little responsibility for fair play. Many lives were lost and much blood was shed, and the custom became a public reproach. Many attempts were made by kings and rulers to check dueling, but they had very little effect and that only temporary. When every district had its own parliament and its own code of law it was easy in most instances for a bloodstained man to escape from the consequences of his offence, and the affair in which he had been engaged generally blew over after he had been a few months in retirement. As elsewhere, towards the end of the eighteenth century, the necessity was felt in France for greater regularity in conducting affairs of honor, and it more and more became the custom to place all arrangements connected with them in the hands of temoiiis or seconds, who undertook that, generally speaking, combatants met under equal conditions, with equal weapons, and that honor might be declared satisfied after certain limits had been reached without necessarily pushing the fight to a fatal conclusion. It does not appear however that any definite code of dueling law was ever formulated, as was done in Ireland, and the actual arrangements for each meeting were left very much to the discretion of the combatants and their friends.
In the old Royal Army of France, before the Revolution, duels were very frequent, in fact there was a perfect mania for them. Officers, non-commissioned officers and men fought for the most trivial reasons. In each regiment there were several bretteurs, who were ever ready to challenge anyone who might be supposed to dispute the preeminence in the use of the small sword. The story is told of Marshal Augereau, then a sousofficier in the Carabiniers, that, being on leave in Paris, the celebrated fencing master Saint George saw him pass one day and remarked to the bystanders “there goes one of the best swordsmen of France.” A sous-officier of dragoons named Belair who believed that he was de la premiere force at once wrote to Augereau and challenged him, unless Augereau would acknowledge Belair as his superior. This Augereau promptly declined to do, and the two had a meeting in the Champs-Elysees, in which he ran Belair through the body. The defeated man recovered after a time and left the service, but was unfortunate in life. Being reduced with his family nearly to starvation, he bethought himself of applying for assistance to his old opponent, who had meantime forced his way to the highest honors. Augereau recognised him at once, supplied him with money, sent two of his sons to school and put him into a good civil appointment—a kindly action on the part of the great soldier. Augereau fought many duels but the most dramatic was one in which he represented his regiment. At that time there sometimes existed between corps a longstanding quarrel, so longstanding indeed that the origin had in most cases been quite forgotten. There was a quarrel of this sort between the carabiniers and the gendarmes of Luneville, and, when the two regiments met at Compiegne, they at once wished to show that they were not less ready to fight than their predecessors, and there was every probability of a succession of bloody encounters. The senior officers felt that they had no power altogether to stop an inveterate custom, but, in order to prevent too much bloodshed, they managed to arrange that there should only be one duel, each of the regiments to be represented by its chosen champion. Augereau was selected to represent the carabiniers, and his adversary from the gendarmes was a first-rate fencer, a duellist by profession, who had on the two previous days killed two sergeants of the Gardes Francaises. A pretext for fighting had to be found and Augereau betook himself to a cafi where this bully was to be met, and seated himself at a table to await his arrival. The gendarme arrived and, as soon as the champion of the carabiniers was pointed out to him, he sat down insolently on Augereau’s table, with his back close to Augereau’s face. Augereau had just been served with some coffee and he carefully poured the boiling liquid into the slit at the back of the gendarme’s leather breeches. This was sufficient and more than sufficient, and the champions went at once to the fighting ground, followed by a crowd of their comrades. On their way, the ferocious gendarme, thinking to cow the man whom he considered as already his victim, asked him facetiously “Do you wish to be buried in the town or in the country?” “I prefer the country,” replied Augereau, “I have always loved fresh air.” “Well,” said the gendarme, addressing his second, “you can lay this gentleman beside the two whom I finished yesterday and the day before.” This bombast made no impression on Augereau and the duel began. The gendarme had met his match and, losing his head because his first attacks were coolly and scientifically foiled, tried to force the fighting. Augereau remained unmoved and, profiting by his adversary’s violence, passed his sword through him, saying “You, at any rate, shall be buried in the country.”
Duels continued during the Consulate and the Empire and, despite Napoleon’s stern edicts against them, they were nearly as frequent as at an earlier date. Napoleon himself was deceived on one occasion as to a duel and its results. Among several officers of marked gallantry who had been recommended for “the cross,” was one with an empty sleeve. The Emperor, according to his custom, enquired of each what were his claims to distinction, and, coming to the one-armed man, asked him where he had been wounded. “Sire, I left my arm at Ulm” was the reply. “The cross is granted,” said the Emperor, little knowing that, however otherwise deserving the officer might be, he had not lost his arm in action but in a duel fought at Ulm. If he had known the real facts, he would certainly not have been so gracious.
Young soldiers in the Imperial army were generally called upon by their older comrades to give proof of their spirit before they could take an assured position in their corps. Sometimes these encounters were checked as soon as the tyro had shown that he possessed necessary pluck; sometimes they were pushed to extremities. Capitaine Coignet tells how he was induced to seek a quarrel in his early days of soldiering and found himself on the ground. He had made a vigorous attack upon his adversary, when his second, an old maitre d’armes, struck up the contending swords and told the combatants to embrace. After this trial he was “reconnu pour tin bon grenadier.” Commandant Parquin’s first duel was more serious. He had been very early made a corporal, and, having found fault with an old soldier, he was promptly invited to prove that he was the better man of the two. Of course Parquin should have punished the man for insolence, but he considered it better as an untried youngster to accept the challenge. Unfortunately for him, though he wounded his man, he also was badly hurt and spent six weeks in hospital, but he gained the reputation of being “un crane,” with whom no liberties could be taken.
Augereau has been mentioned as a duellist, but his duels ceased when he was promoted from the ranks. Some of the most distinguished of Napoleon’s officers, however, continued to show a thirst for blood during their whole service. General Fournier Sarloveze bore an evil reputation till his death, and though a brilliant cavalry leader, he was even in the French army little liked or trusted. He was an extraordinary pistol shot and swordsman and thus entered upon every combat with all the chances in his favour. His cold-blooded ferocity was something to shudder at. It was currently reported that in a duel with a very young officer whom he had insulted, Fournier lost the toss for first shot and, after his adversary had fired, finding himself untouched, he deliberately walked up to the young man and, saying “Je plains ta mere,” shot him dead. General Junot was considered to be the best pistol shot in France, but he was engaged in very few affairs. He was of a kindly nature, provoking nobody, and probably his shooting reputation made other people somewhat loath to provoke him.
Count Montrond was a personage well-known in the best society even before the First Revolution. Under Napoleon he was employed in several missions that required address, perhaps not burdened with a too delicate sense of honor, and later he visited England and was received at the best clubs and indeed by the Duke of York. He was an inveterate gambler and, though the fact was never brought home to him, he was supposed often to correct fortune. In his youth, at the court of Marie Antoinette, an officer of the Guards, a certain Mons. de Champagne who was playing cards with him said, “Sir, you are cheating.” Montrond threw the cards in Champagne’s face and said with the complete coolness which he always preserved “Very possibly, but I don’t choose that any one should tell me so.” They fought the next day and Montrond was severely wounded and laid up for some months. As soon as he recovered he again called out
Mons. de Champagne and on this second occasion, though again himself severely wounded, he managed to kill his man. So much determination to avenge any question of his personal honor proved that he was a dangerous man to interfere with, and people were very chary of taking notice of his very suspicious luck at cards. Talleyrand said of him “// vit sur son mort.”
Dueling has been carried far in France, much farther in fact than in any other European country, for there it has not been confined to men alone, but the fair sex have also, it is said, asserted their right to settle their quarrels at the rapier’s point. Not content with practising fencing, which is perhaps hardly a womanly form of exercise, they have wished to utilise their skill in a practical manner. We have all seen in London shop-windows two prints “Before” and “After the duel,” representing this phase of Parisian life. Whether they were really true to fact is not for us to say, but certainly there have been reports that such incidents have occurred. If ladies have met with deadly weapons in their hands, however, within the last quarter of a century they have done nothing original, for it is recorded that Madame Lasalle, the mother of Napoleon’s most famous cavalry general, killed at Wagram, who was one of the most beautiful and fascinating ladies at Metz, was confined in a convent by a lettre de cachet on the application of her husband, because she had fought a duel with another lady as a consequence of some rivalry in a love affair. We may perhaps believe that the spirited dame was put under mild restraint by her husband, not so much on account of the duel as on account of the love affair.
On more than one occasion it was proved that in the armies of France and her enemies the customs of the days of chivalry were not forgotten and individual champions from opposing armies fought in view of their comrades. A case in point happened during Moreau’s famous retreat through the Black Forest. In the army of Archduke Charles there was a particularly formidable and efficient corps of hussars commanded by Colonel Schwartz, a well-known swordsman. In many encounters with the 20th Chasseurs a cheval the Austrian hussars had suffered from the undaunted courage and skill in arms of Capitaine Kermann, an Alsatian officer. One day, when the French and Austrians were within a short distance of each other, Colonel Schwartz was seized with the desire to measure his strength with the gallant Frenchman of whose deeds he had so often heard, and, riding out in front of his regiment “en parlementain,” he challenged Kermann to single combat with the sabre. He was told that unfortunately Kermann had been on the previous day wounded in the right arm and was then in hospital. As Schwartz was turning his horse away, a non-commissioned officer named Popineau, who belonged to Kermann’s squadron, galloped from the French ranks and said to the Austrian “My captain will infinitely regret that his wound prevents him from having the pleasure of accepting your invitation, but, if you will meet me, I am quite ready to take his place.” “Your audacity pleases me,” replied Schwartz, drawing his sword, and the two combatants began a furious encounter, while both armies looked on. Unfortunately for Schwartz, he found he had to do with the best maitre d’armes in the chasseurs, and, while his attack was coolly parried, he received in return a severe cut across the face. “Go to the ambulance, Colonel, and get yourself cured,” said Popineau, “and when you have recovered I will give you your revenge on foot in front of your regiment, or I will kill you to teach you manners.” For this and other gallant deeds, Popineau was awarded a carbine of honor, the only available reward before the Emperor instituted the Legion of Honor. A carbine of honor in the cavalry and a musket of honor in the infantry were accompanied with double pay and other privileges.
Even boys at school had their duels and, as they wore no swords, they were obliged to have recourse to improvised weapons. Baron Marbot tells how his brother died from the effects of a wound received in one of these duels. He had conceived it necessary to fight with one of his schoolfellows at the Ecole Militaire de Fontainebleau, and the weapons used were the limbs of compasses fastened on to walking sticks. Young Marbot was run through the arm, but would probably have recovered, had not the Emperor paid a visit of inspection to the school. The poor boy did not wish to acknowledge his injury, and carried a heavy musket throughout the day under the broiling sun. His wound was aggravated and he died from its effects. Robert Louis Stevenson makes the plot of his delightful novel “St. Ives” turn upon the fatal result of a duel fought between two French prisoners of war in Edinburgh Castle, when the weapons employed were the blades of scissors fastened to sticks. The same idea in finding a substitute for more legitimate deadly weapons has often been adopted and, even in our own day, the favourite weapon of a West Indian negro in a riot is a razor fastened to a stick. It was for this reason that the soldiers in our West Indian regiments were not for a long time, and possibly are not even now, allowed to possess razors, so that they should not be able to arm themselves if they became excited.
Readers of Charles Lever’s novels, and it is to be feared that they are not as numerous in the present generation as they were in the last, will remember the many dueling stories that he lays in French scenes. It may be thought that he has drawn upon his vivid imagination for many of these exciting incidents, but every one of them is literally true to fact both in the facility with which they came about and in the characteristics of the encounters. And here it may be permitted to remark en passant how very correct is the impression of the life of the period he portrays which is given by Lever. Of course he combines his incidents in a somewhat improbable manner, a privilege of all novelists, but there is not a single incident in any of his books that may not be paralleled from the records of real life, and indeed many of them are the stories of real incidents very slightly disguised. He has told what a number of duels were fought after the restoration of the Bourbons between the Royal officers and the officers of the old Imperial army, and he has not painted the manners of the time in any too lurid colors. Duels were fought for the most frivolous causes; if one man looked at another it was enough, cards were exchanged and a deadly meeting followed the next morning, and very often even so much decent delay was not allowed, but the affair came off at once in the daytime and sometimes even at night. The story of a retort made by an officer of the King’s Swiss Guards to a provocative Frenchman has often been told, but it may bear repetition as illustrating the feelings of the time. The Swiss was quietly eating an ice at Tortoni’s cafe, when the Frenchman, bent on insult, suddenly addressed him: “I would not, like you, serve any country for the sake of money—Frenchmen only serve to gain honor.” “Very true,” replied the Swiss, “we both of us serve in order to acquire what we do not possess.” A duel was inevitable, and was fought at once with swords by the light of the street lamps. The Frenchman was run through the body, but fortunately his wound was not fatal. It was, very naturally, considered to be in the highest degree dishonorable to wear any form of protection in an affair of honor. In a duel with swords the combatants generally stripped to their shirts in order to show that they wore nothing that could turn a sword’s point; but when pistols were used it was left to personal honor (not always to be depended upon) that a man should only wear his ordinary clothes without any additional safeguard. In “Charles O’Malley” Lever tells of the consternation among English officers when a duellist is found to be wearing “a vest of chain-mail armour fitting close to the skin and completely pistol proof.” And this was paralleled in real life in a duel fought by Admiral Baron de la Susse in 1816, when he was a young man very popular in society. At a ball given in the Faubourg St. Honore, de la Susse accidentally, when waltzing, came in contact with a looker-on who exclaimed “Such clumsy people should not be allowed to waltz.” An exchange of cards followed, and the gentlemen met the next day in the Bois de Boulogne. La Susse’s adversary won the toss and fired deliberately, but without effect. La Susse then fired in turn and his adversary fell. The seconds rushed up to render assistance, when much to their astonishment, they found that the bullet had only struck a concealed cuirass. La Susse invited the fallen hero to get up, as if he intended to have another shot at him, but contented himself with a kick on a spot where the cuirass was not. The kick was received without remonstrance and the matter ended.
The maitres d’amies in the French army have been mentioned. They were the fencing masters of their corps, and were to be found not only in cavalry who were armed with the sword, but also in infantry; for fencing, if only as a useful kind of physical exercise, has always been taught in the French army. There was some small additional pay attached to their position, but their best profits were gained from the fees which they received from their pupils. The maitres d’armes were, and it is understood still are, very fine swordsmen and most excellent instructors. In the old days of the French army however, the maitres d’armes were generally inveterate duelists. Their very skill tempted them to pit themselves against rival professors, and their pride was to prove practically that they were invincible. Lever, in “Tom Burke,” sketches the character admirably in Francois the voltigeur maitre d’armes:—
“ ‘How many duels, Francois, did you tell us the other evening that you fought in the 22nd?’
“ ‘Seventy-eight,’ replied the little man, “Not to speak of two affairs, which, I am ashamed to confess, were with the broadsword; but they were fellows from Alsace, and they knew no better.’ ” And again, describing the way of getting up a quarrel:—
“Little Piccotin knew how to treat such as well as any one. Methinks I see him approaching his man with a slide and a bow, and then taking off his cap, I hear him say in his mildest tone,’ Monsieur assuredly did not intend that stare and that grimace for me. I know I must have deceived myself; monsieur is only a fool; he never meant to be impertinent.’ Then, parbleu, what a storm would come on, and how cool Piccotin the whole time—how scrupulously timid he would be of misspelling the gentleman’s name, or misplacing an accent over it. How delicately he would enquire his address, as if the curiosity was only pardonable; and then with what courtesy he would take his leave, retiring half-a-dozen paces before he ventured to turn his back on the man he was determined to kill next morning.” And yet these men were gallant soldiers who were among the many who fought well for France and contributed not a little to her immense military glory, and it is possible that the recklessness of life, the result of the duels that they did so much to encourage, may have had some influence in stimulating the many acts of military devotion which are recorded in French history.
A characteristic of many of what may be called professional duelists in France must not be passed unnoticed—their swagger and bravado on the ground. They no doubt hoped and expected that they would shake the nerves of their opponents, besides encouraging themselves by the thoughts of their own prowess. The conduct of Augereau’s antagonist in his most famous duel has been noticed. Then there is the story of an English officer in the Army of occupation who had been grossly insulted by a French colonel. When he came on the ground, to fight the necessary duel, accompanied by his second, he found the colonel boasting of the number of officers of all nations whom he had killed and saying” to make the list complete I will now kill an Englishman.” While the ground was being measured the Colonel turned to his adversary and went on, “My little man, you will soon be finished with, for I shoot particularly straight.” “I don’t shoot so very badly myself” coolly replied the English officer as he took his place. The signal to fire was given, and the colonel’s bullet passed through the Englishman’s whiskers, while he himself fell dead without a groan, a bullet in his heart.
—from Baily’s Magazine of Sport’s and Pastimes. Volume LXXX. 1903. This popular sporting magazine ran from 1860 to 1926. Subjects as diverse as the solider as sportsman to how to mange foxes were addressed. As to this article’s author, C. Stein, we were unable to obtain any biographical information.