Previous to this fracas, a rencontre had taken place between the son of the Count de Latour d’Auvergne and a celebrated swordsman, the Chevalier de Caylus; a quarrel having arisen in a brothel about cards and prostitutes. Caylus was obliged to quit the kingdom, and his effigy was hanged on the Place de Grève.
A gambling duel, on a point of honour, is recorded of a M. de Boisseuil, one of the King’s equerries; who, having detected his antagonist cheating at cards, exposed his conduct. The insulted gentleman demanded satisfaction, when Boisseuil replied that he did not fight with a person who was a rogue! “That may be,” said the other; “but I do not like to be called one!” They met on the ground, where Boisseuil received two desperate wounds.
It was during this reign that a curious meeting took place between La Fontaine the fabulist, whose meekness and apathy had acquired him the name of “the Good,” and an officer. Although generally blind to the irregularities of his wife, he once took it into his head to become jealous of a captain of dragoons, of the name of Poignant. La Fontaine had not himself observed the intimacy with his wife; but some kind friends had drawn his attention to its impropriety, telling him that it was incumbent on him to demand satisfaction. La Fontaine reluctantly persuaded, contrary to his usual habits, got up early one morning, took his sword, and went out to meet his antagonist. When the parties were in presence, the worthy poet said, “My dear sir, I must fight you, since I am assured that it is absolutely necessary.” He then proceeded to acquaint him with the reasons that induced him to call him out, and drew his pacific sword. The dragoon, thus obliged to defend himself, whipped the weapon out of the inexperienced hand of the fabulist, and, having disarmed him, proceeded quietly to point out to him the absurdity of the reports circulated in regard to his wife, and the folly of his having thus exposed his valuable life; adding, that since his visits had been the occasion of scandal, he would from that hour cease to call at his house. Le Bon La Fontaine was so affected by this sincere explanation, that he not only insisted that the captain should pay more frequent visits than ever, but swore that he would fight him over again if he discontinued them.
The inefficacy of the various edicts to restrain duels was at last acknowledged, and various means were adopted to enforce them. In the year 1651, a clergyman of the name of Olier, founder of the congregation of St. Sulpice, conceived a plan of supplying the inefficiency of the law, by putting honour in opposition to itself. With this view he projected an association of gentlemen of tried valour, who, by subscribing an engagement to which the solemnity of an oath was to be added, obliged themselves never to send or accept a challenge, and never to serve as seconds in a duel. In this project he engaged the Marquis de Fénélon, a nobleman respected for the frankness of his disposition and the austerity of his principle, as well as for his well-known courage, when that quality had been called upon in the service of his country; since it was of him that the great Condé had said, that he was equally qualified for conversation, for the field, or for the cabinet. It was to this nobleman that the justly celebrated Archbishop of Cambray owed his education and his rise in the church.
The Marquis de Fénélon having placed himself at the head of this association—into which no one was admitted unless he had distinguished himself in the service—on the Sunday of the Pentecost, the members assembled in the church of St. Sulpice, and placed in the hands of Mr Olier a solemn instrument, expressing their firm and unalterable resolution never to be principals or seconds in a duel, and moreover to discourage the baneful practice to the utmost of their power. The great Condé was so struck with the proceeding, that he said to the marquis, that a person must have the opinion which he himself entertained of his valour, not to be alarmed at seeing him the first to break the ice on such an occasion.
However, it appears that neither the King’s determination to forward the views of this praiseworthy association, nor the exertions of its respectable members, could totally eradicate the prejudice that maintained the evil; and Madame de Crequi, in her Reminiscences, sadly errs when she affirms that during seventeen years not a duel had been fought. Voltaire was also incorrect when he attributed to this prince, surnamed the Great, the abolition of these bloody proceedings. Voltaire was such an enthusiastic admirer of Louis XIV, that in this case, as in many others, where his partiality, his prejudices, or his scepticism prevailed, he lost sight of facts, or, at any rate, passed them over in silence to suit his purposes. The following extract from a recent work gives a much fairer view of this prince’s reign than is given by the generality of his historians:
“His reign, like that of most conquerors, was equally divided between repeated successes and failures. His arms were triumphant so long as he fought to obtain the natural limits of France, which to this day enjoys the fruits of his conquests; but Fortune forsook his banners as soon as he drew his sword to level the Pyrenees. His reign commenced in glory, and terminated in humiliation; the prestige of authority took wing with that of victory. When the Grand Monarque died, the monarchy may be said to have descended into its sepulchre, and the people, who had once trembled in his presence, insulted his ashes; while the parliament, into whose halls he was wont to enter booted and spurred, avenged themselves by trampling on his will. It was, in truth, the protection he afforded to literature, and the patronage with which he honoured distinguished men and letters, that acquired for him the surname of Great. The Mæcenas of his age, he was entitled to the distinction; and it has been truly said of him that France owed to him her knowledge of literature, as Asia owed her acquaintance with Grecian superiority to Alexander.”
The efforts of Louis to civilize the country, and encourage science and the fine arts, were indefatigable; and what is still more estimable in this monarch was, his attending to the improvement of the nation during the turmoil of war. He established the most extensive manufactures; formed the East India Company; built an observatory, and a printing-office in his palace for the publication of the best translations of ancient writers; sent out navigators on voyages of discovery; and, while he received at his court Cassini, Huygens, and the most distinguished foreigners who could adorn it, he encouraged native genius with liberality. He personally defended Boileau, Racine, and Molière against their enemies, provided for the family of Corneille, directed the studio of Le Brun and his contemporary artists, while he attached Lulli to his court, and gave Quinault the subjects of his operas; pensions too were granted to all those who had contributed by their courage or their talents to the grandeur of the empire. He felt and knew that no sovereign can become popular unless national genius and talent meet with encouragement at court; and that, thus fostered, national taste will improve more rapidly than by the degrading importation of foreign perfections. The greatest error of this prince was his neglect of the future, while engrossed by the glorious schemes of the present; and his never thinking on the means that his successor might require to replenish the exhausted exchequer. His ambition had been to revive the Augustan age: his position, in reality, was not unlike that of the Roman Emperor; Cæsar had become the master of the empire, and Henry IV. had consolidated his kingdom. Both princes ascended the throne surrounded by a warlike people that required civilization, and Colbert was to Louis what Mæcenas had been to his imperial master; what is more singular is, the circumstance of their both being born in the same month, and dying nearly at the same age. It is to be lamented that, while the great mind of Louis encouraged the fine arts and literature, it should have been warped by superstition and bigotry; and the persecution of Protestantism, with the odious Dragonades, will ever be a blot upon his memory. We can only account for these atrocities by considering them as the terms upon which he