IX. Whosoever has been the author of any new gabel or imposition in any province, city, or other dominion, without the consent of the Emperor, by which means subjects are oppressed, and trade and commerce with strangers are hindered and discouraged, let him be punished.
X. Whosoever is guilty of adultery, let him be punished.
XI. Whosoever doth not live suitably upon his lawful rents and income, but debaseth his dignity by buying and selling, and using mean and sordid arts to the damage of his neighbours and oppression of his tenants, let him be beaten.
XII. Whosoever cannot prove his nobility for four generations at least by both father and mother, shall not have the honour of being admitted into the tournament.—The two last articles were proposed by Philip, the secretary of the Emperor.
These ordinances are a strong illustration of the habits and practices of the nobles at that period, and present a vivid picture of the times, when few indeed must have been the champions who could have qualified for the lists.
Although, on the commencement of these exercises, blunt weapons were used, fatal accidents were nevertheless very frequent; and it is said of a Turkish ambassador, who was present at a tournament at the court of Charles VII, that, on beholding several of the combatants killed and wounded, he exclaimed, “If they are in earnest, this is not enough; but, if it is only in jest, we have had too much of it.”
It was the frequency of these playful accidents that induced the clergy to forbid tournaments; as appears in the canons of the council of Rheims in 1148, by which Christian sepulture is refused to those who fall on such occasions.
Howbeit, in 1274, our Edward I, on his passage by Chalons, being challenged by the Count de Chalons, entered into a joust with the French knights, which was so successful on the part of the English, that their opponents, infuriated by their inferiority, made a serious attack upon his retinue; and so much blood was idly shed on the occasion, that the tournament was ever after called “the petty battle of Chalons.”
In 1209 we find Philip Augustus obliging his sons, Louis and Philip, to make a vow against entering into any such meetings. In 1385 we find Francis I. in a tournament between Ardres and Guines; and Henry II. in 1559—a fatal encounter in which he died from a wound in the eye-ball received from Montgomery, captain of his guards. This accident took place on the occasion of the marriage of the King’s eldest daughter to Philip, King of Spain; in honour of which there were balls, masquerades, and tilting. His majesty, fancying to enter the lists, had a lance sent to Montgomery to encounter him: the captain at first very wisely declined the honour; but, upon the King’s repeated requests, was reluctantly obliged to comply with his orders. The tilt-yard was in the Rue St. Antoine, where the captain purposely and politely broke his lance against his royal master’s breast-plate: unfortunately one of the splinters flew into his eye, and penetrated the ball; the King lingered in great agony for a month and died, after having forbidden all similar exercises.10
To form an idea of the ferocity that marked these deadly meetings, and the absurdity of what were called points of honour, we have only to recount the particulars of a combat that took place between two Spanish captains at Ferrara. These two heroes had demanded a “field” of the Viceroy, Monsieur de Nemours. The Duchess of Ferrara was, of course, most anxious to be present at the contest; she being, according to Brantôme, the most beautiful and accomplished lady in Christendom, both as regarded corporeal and mental qualities, speaking moreover force belles langues: therefore was it, (and very naturally,) that M. de Nemours was deeply enamoured of her, and wore her colours, (rather sombre, to be sure,) black and grey. The combatants being engaged, one of the parties received a desperate wound, which occasioned such a loss of blood that he sunk on the ground; when his antagonist, according to the noble institutions of chivalry, rushed on him with the point of his sword to his throat. The which beholding, the Duchess, who was as kind as she was courteous, and as beauteous as she was virtuous, with clasped hands implored M. de Nemours to separate the combatants; to which he replied, rather uncourteously for a knight, “You cannot doubt, madam, that there is nothing in the world that I would not do to convince you of my thorough devotion to your will; but in this instance I can do nothing, nor offend against the laws of battle, nor can I honestly and against reason deprive the conqueror of a prize which he has obtained at the hazard of his life.”
Howbeit, the second of the fallen man stepped forward, and addressing the conqueror, whose name was Azevedo, declared that, knowing well the character of his friend, St. Croix, who would rather die a thousand deaths than admit that he was vanquished, surrendered himself for him, and avowed himself conquered. Azevedo was perfectly satisfied with this admission, and left the field in great pomp and glory, with a flourish of trumpets; while St. Croix’s wounds were dressed, and he was borne off the ground with his arms, which Azevedo had forgot to carry away as trophies of the battle: but, upon his being reminded of the circumstance, he forthwith sent a messenger to demand them. This request, however, being refused, the case was referred to the decision of M. de Nemours, who immediately ordered that the arms of St. Croix should be carried to the conqueror; or that, if he declined to send them, the dressings of his wounds should be taken off, and he should be again carried to the field, and laid in the situation in in which he was placed when his second interfered for his life: however, the second was wise enough to comply with the request. Brantôme observes, that much might be argued on this matter to decide how far Azevedo ought to have been satisfied with the second’s submission instead of the principal’s; as the combat was to have been mortal, the swords and daggers having been placed in the hands of the combatants by the Prior of Messina.
A beau combat is recorded of Monsieur de Bayard and another Spaniard, Don Alonzo de Soto Mayor, who, having been taken prisoner by the former, insulted him so grossly that he offered him the satisfaction of a meeting on foot or on horseback. The day being appointed, Bayard made his appearance, mounted upon a spirited charger and clad in white, a symbol of humility. The choice of arms having fallen upon the Spaniard, he preferred a combat on foot, on the plea that he was not so good a horseman as his adversary, but in reality from his having heard that the French knight was labouring under an intermittent fever, which he had experienced for upwards of two years. Bayard, on account of his indisposition, was strongly urged by his second, Monsieur de la Palisse, and his friends, to insist upon a mounted combat. To this he objected, as he did not wish that his opponent should accuse him of having thrown any difficulties in the way of a fair meeting. The ground was taken, and marked with several loose stones. Bayard, having received his arms, prostrated himself on the ground to put up a fervent prayer, while every one around him joined in the orison upon their knees; then, rising, he made the sign of the cross, and attacked his adversary as cheerfully as if he was stepping out in a ball-room to commence a dance. The Spaniard advanced, and calmly asked him, “Señor Bayardo, que me quereys?” To which he replied, “To defend my honour;” and forthwith attacked him. The struggle was fiercely kept up, and great skill displayed on both sides; until Bayard, by a feint, struck him such a blow in the throat, that, despite his gorget, the weapon penetrated four fingers deep. The wounded Spaniard grasped his adversary, and, struggling with him, they both rolled on the ground; when Bayard, drawing his dagger and thrusting its point in the nostrils of the Spaniard, exclaimed, “Señor Alonzo, surrender—or you are a dead man!” a speech which appeared quite useless, as Don Diego de Guignonnes, his second, exclaimed, “Señor Bayardo, es muerto; vincido haveys!” Bayard, says the chronicler, would have given a hundred thousand crowns to have spared his life; but, as matters turned out, he fell upon his knees, kissed the ground three times, and then dragged his dead enemy out of the camp, saying to the deceased’s second, “Señor Don Diego, have I done enough?” to which the other piteously replied, “Too much, Señor, for the honour of Spain!” when Bayard very generously made him a present of the corpse, although he had a right to do whatever he thought proper with it; an act highly praised by Brantôme, who says it is difficult to say which act did him most honour—the not having ignominiously dragged the body like the carcase of a dog by a leg or an arm out of the field, or having condescended to fight while labouring under an ague; as an ague in those days (sturdy dogs!) was not