![<b>ALDE, Dec. 11:</b> CASSERIUS (JULIUS) [GIULIO CASSERIO]. <i>De vocis auditusq. organis historia anatomica singulari fide methodo ac industria concinnata tractatis duobus explicate,</i> Ferrara, 1600-1601. €4,000 to €5,000.](https://ae-files.s3.amazonaws.com/AdvertisementPhotos/b719f220-50aa-4855-9a72-293cad312283.jpg "<b>ALDE, Dec. 11:</b> CASSERIUS (JULIUS) [GIULIO CASSERIO]. <i>De vocis auditusq. organis historia anatomica singulari fide methodo ac industria concinnata tractatis duobus explicate,</i> Ferrara, 1600-1601. €4,000 to €5,000.")
Diogenes
Diogenes, the antique stoic philosopher lived in a tub in total destitution, but that didn’t impress Socrates who once told him: “I see vanity through the holes of your coat.” And I could see the same with the sense of pride of some duelists, who did all they could to stack the deck. God was supposed to be on the side of the righteous—but we know He is sometimes unpredictable in His wisdom; thus, down-to-earth duelists tried to maximise their chances, using every trick in the book. When given the choice of weapons, a duelist could almost impose every foolish idea on his opponent. In Italy, one duelist went as far as asking his one-eyed enemy to wear a special helmet that blinded his valid eye! “But this was rejected (by the officials, editor’s note), as too careless a requirement,” underlined Brantôme. Really?
In Piémont, on the contrary, one Sergeant agreed to wear a peculiar steel necklace with “pointy hedges as cutting as a razor blade; so that the duelists had to hold their heads well high not to cut their own throat.” Unfortunately, the Sergeant was very tall, and his opponent very small—the latter easily raised his head to fight, while the former couldn’t look down without hurting himself. He was killed very quickly. “I consider this necklace to be an abusive trick,” confessed Brantôme. Really?
In Milan, a duelist asked a blacksmith to forge some specific swords with brittle blades. He imposed them on his opponent who broke his own in pieces at the first strike—and was killed right away. “Using such deceitful arms,” wrote Brantôme, “is a hundred times worse than committing petty murders in the woods or in the streets.” In fact, many of these so-called gentlemen duelists were apparently nothing but bloodthirsty murderers, ready to do anything to get rid of their foes. In the time of Brantôme, Baron de Vitaux was called at la mazza by one Millaud, near Paris. Before the fight started, the respective assistants of the duelists made sure that each party would respect the agreed rules as it had been decided to fight in simple shirts—without protection. When the assistant of the Baron approached, Millaud opened his shirt and exhibited his chest from a short distance. The assistant was satisfied with what he saw from a distance, and turned back. “But the said Millaud was covered up with a thin cuirass painted in the exact colour and aspect of human flesh!” wrote Brantôme. The Baron hit him twice, forcing him to step backwards—but hitting his cuirass, he didn’t harm him; then he was wounded himself, and mercilessly finished off—a questionable way to defend one’s honour. But at the same time, the said Baron was an inveterate villain himself. He quarreled with Baron de Soupez one day, publicly throwing a candlestick at him. The people around prevented both men from drawing their swords, but Baron de Vitaux pretended to leave the place only to wait for his enemy outside. He jumped on him as soon as he stepped out and killed him on the spot. “He then bravely ran away dressed as a Damsel,” wrote Brantôme—and I still can’t figure out whether this is a sarcastic statement or not. He also killed one Gounellieu in the plains of Saint-Denis, who had killed his own brother. “He killed him at once, without any ceremony,” reported Brantôme. Called at la mazza by the dreadful Mr du Gua, our courageous—but prudent—Baron disappeared from Paris for six months, returning only to surprise his enemy in his bed! “He entered his home, leaving two of his men at the gate, and climbed the stairs leading to his room; upon seeing him, the other jumped through the window into the nearby alley, grabbing a wooden stake to defend himself. The Baron, armed with a short sword (much more efficient), stabbed him two or three times, leaving him dying on the ground.” What a bunch of ruthless murderers! The Baron, described as “a terrible and bold executioner” by his close friend Brantôme, was also decried by his enemies for his “ways of murdering”, and was soon “more feared than loved at Court.” Called at la mazza one day, he was ambushed by several avengers, who put an end to his life—and his many crimes. You could expect every low blow from these men of honour.
From mazza to worse
According to our author, the duels at la mazza—though condemned by the Church and the State—were politically correct; people, even in small groups, settled their feuds “with glory; or died in good reputation, as men courageous and bold enough to enter a fight.” On the contrary, antagonisms grew to incredible proportions when not rapidly settled. A gentleman who had an argument soon gathered several fighters in his party, to declare a restless war on the party of his enemy. When they met “in the street, or even at Court—though to a lesser extent, as they feared His Majesty and His provost—, or in an open field, killed and maimed each other like flies and beasts.” From Paris to Milan, hordes of warriors roamed the streets. Brantôme spent several months in Milan: “I swear that not one day passed by without my seeing some groups of men—up to eighty of them—walking the streets, and fighting upon meeting with their enemies; and such a way that corpses were lying in the streets everywhere.”
Welcome to the Shakespearian Verona, where civil blood made civil hands unclean; and where dangerous men like Benvolio, “as hot as a Jack in (his) mood as any in Italy,” did “quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard (...); for cracking nuts (...); for coughing in the street, because he hath awakened (his) dog that hath lain asleep in the sun.” In this world of blood and madness, many fighters hired their skills for a living—or rather for a killing. “How many of those have I seen in Paris, Milan and other cities of France, Spain and Italy!” lamented Brantôme.
The situation went on until the end of the 17th century when duels started to decline, mainly thanks to the laws passed by Louis XIV in France. “Henri III and his successors passed several strict edicts against duels. France thought this bloody custom abolished forever after the terrible orders given by Louis XIV,” reads L’Esprit de l’Encyclopédie. During the first twenty years of his reign, the Sun King issued more than 1,000 pardons to various duelists. But in 1679, he passed an edict that became a landmark in the slow and progressive abolition of duels. All duelists, whether calling or called, should be put to death and deprived of all their goods—even the dead should be judged, and then buried in a secular ground. Then, the Nobles would be ripped off their nobility and their arms darkened and broken in the public place. The servants, upon being convicted of passing notes for the arrangement of a duel, were to be whipped and branded with a fleur-de-lys! And these laws also applied to those who went to fight outside the kingdom—a cunning way to escape the wrath of the King. “The crime of duel shall be pardoned neither by death, nor any prescription (...),” read L’Esprit de l’Encyclopédie. “A person can be prosecuted, as well as his memory. (...) Duels are not an institution of honour, as the soldiers pretend, but an ugly and barbaric custom.”
The edicts of Louis XIV were a first step on the long road to abolition, but it helped to change the habits of people. The poets, the preachers and even some Nobles started to publicly condemn duels; mainly because they were now seen as a waste of a valuable blood. “For too long you’ve blood stained the Seine river / Express on other lands a more noble anger / The arm you’re losing, French man, is not yours (...) / Flee from the obscure fate of a petty duel / And fall, while holding our flag on a rampart (...) / Do not stain your steel with an unworthy fight / Live and let live for the sake of the State.” (La Monnoie). Thus, the Duke of Navailles was able to refuse to fight against the Count of Soisson without losing his honour. When crowned in 1722, Louis XV swore he would grant no more pardons to duelists. “The analysis of the latest edicts about duels,” read the same Esprit de l’Encyclopédie, “tends to prove that we are currently doing all that is necessary to avoid and prevent duels; as much as we used to promote and facilitate them in the past.” Of course, duels remained very fashionable all through the 18th century, and involved many famous people such as Lamartine or Victor Hugo; it was even codified in many books, including Essay on Duels, by the Count of Chateauvillard (1836).
Brantôme wrote things as they were, and didn’t care about passing any moral judgment on duels. He considered these fights to be a part of the everyday life of any man of honour of his time, and only condemned—and not always that firmly—the unfair methods of some duelists. Anecdotes sur les Duels is not the work of a learnt man like Montaigne, trying to understand mankind through its deeds and weaknesses. No, Brantôme obviously wrote about duels with jubilation, and concluded his book just like he started it: in a very casual way. And that’s what makes it a terrific reading, it plunges you in the middle of a discussion between honourable men from the 16th century—where honour was only one fierce and bloody passion among others.
(1): In 9 in-12° volumes with Elzevirian fonts. 3 volumes dedicated to the Dames illustres and Dames Gallantes; 4 volumes to the French Captains; and the last 2 volumes to the Foreign Captains
(2): “The date and the name Jean Sambix were apparently uncertain,” stated the Notice sur Brantôme (Paris, 1824). “The bookseller that published the same memoirs in 1740 claimed that this first edition was actually printed at La Haye, by the Steuckers brothers. We shall trust him on a matter that he was more inclined to check out.”
