It has been truly said by historians, that Louis XV. received from the hands of the Regent a sceptre stained by corruption, and a crown dimmed by depravity. He found a court composed of libertines, and females of the most abandoned character. His guides and counsellors were steeped in vice; and it would have required, perhaps, more than mortal power to have resisted the pestilential influence of such an atmosphere of prostitution. The commencement of his reign, however, was marked by a display of good qualities that obtained for him the flattering distinction of the Beloved, “the Bien-aimé,” an appellation far more desirable than that of Great, which had been applied to his predecessor. Little was it then thought that ere long he would show himself the Sardanapalus of his age.
In the first year of his reign he applied himself to check the practice of duelling, and issued an edict in which it was provided that any gentleman who struck another should be degraded from his rank and forfeit his arms; and he solemnly declared that he would keep most religiously the coronation oath, by which he had bound himself to enforce these laws in all their rigour. But, alas for coronation oaths! they appear to have been in the annals of every nation but too often mere formal professions.
We find, however, that in pursuance of this resolution, the parliament of Grenoble condemned to the wheel one of the counsellors for having killed a captain in the army; but, as the offender had made his escape, he was only executed in effigy, and the arm of justice fell upon his unfortunate servant, who was branded and sent to the galleys.
The prince of duellists in these despicable times was the celebrated Duke de Richelieu, who was certainly ever prompt to give satisfaction for the injuries he inflicted on the peace of families. During the regency, and when only twenty years of age, he fought the Count de Gacé in the street under a lamp; in this night affray both parties were wounded. Parliament interfered; but the Regent, to screen his favourite, sent him for a few days to the Bastille.
This worthy, at one time being anxious to fight the Count de Bavière, set out from Paris with his followers to waylay him on the road from Chantilly; and, for the furtherance of his project, obstructed and barricaded the road with his equipages. The parties met, and high words arose between the coachmen and the servants of both parties, when the masters stepped out of their carriages and drew their swords. However, they were separated by the Chevalier d’Auvray, who was lieutenant of the marshals of France, and whose duties were to prevent all duelling, and bring offenders before their tribunal.
Such was the case in this instance. All the noble youth of France was assembled, with their heads uncovered and without their swords, in the hall of meeting of the Point of Honour; and Richelieu was ordered to make an ample apology to the Count de Bavière.
This ceremony did not appear to affect the duke very sensibly, as appeared by his adventure with the Count Albani, nephew of Pope Clement XI, who was on a visit at the French court, and was most anxious to become acquainted with the Marquise de Crequi-Blanchefort, a lady not easy of access. Foiled in various attempts, he consulted Richelieu, who advised him to disguise himself as a servant, and to wait upon the marquise in that capacity, with strong letters of recommendation, which he gave him. So far the scheme succeeded, that Albani was taken into her service; but soon after he undeceived his supposed mistress by an avowal of his passion, for which he was forthwith dismissed with ignominy. Richelieu pretended to be ignorant of the transaction; but, the share he had had in the disgraceful business being proved, he was again sent to the Bastille. On his quitting the fortress, the young Marquis d’Aumont, a relation of the marquise, called him out, and so severely wounded him in the hip, that at one period his recovery was despaired of, and it was thought that he would remain a cripple.
In 1734 he fought and killed the Prince de Lixen, although one of his own relations, while they were both serving at the siege of Philipsbourg. The cause of this duel is too curious to be omitted, as the prince had himself killed the Marquis de Ligneville, uncle of his wife.
The party were at supper at the Prince de Conti’s. Richelieu, who had been exceedingly fatigued during the day, was very much heated, and some drops of perspiration were observed on his forehead. The Prince de Lixen, offended by several of the duke’s witticisms, observed, “that it was surprising that he did not appear in a more suitable state, after having been purified by an admission into his family:” Richelieu having allied himself with the house of Lorraine by marrying the Princess Elizabeth Sophie, daughter of the Duke de Guise; whereas his (Richelieu’s) original name was simply Vignerod. Such an insult could not be tolerated. At midnight they met in the trenches, when De Lixen fell.
Amongst the other fashionable roués of the day was Du Vighan, from Xaintonges, whose handsome appearance was so fascinating, that hackney-coachmen are said to have driven him without a fare, for the mere pleasure of serving such a joli garçon. Another anecdote is related, of a tailor’s wife, who called upon him for the payment of four hundred francs, due to her husband; but his attractions were such, that she left behind her a bill for three hundred. Although of middling birth, he sought to attract the notice of the King, who granted him letters of nobility on his appearance. This fortunate youth was constantly involved in law-suits, wherein he always contrived to win his cause. So successful was he in all his undertakings, that the Archbishop of Paris called him “the serpent of the terrestrial Paradise.” The name he was usually known by was Le Charmant; and Madame de Crequi was obliged to acknowledge that she only mentions him qu’à son corps défendant.
It was of course of the utmost necessity that such a charming gentleman should be constantly engaged in some duel; and his fascinations seemed to operate as powerfully on the marshals of France constituting the court of honour, as on the hearts of the ladies of the court, for he was invariably acquitted.
His sword, however, was not always as successful as his features and manners, for he received from the Comte de Meulan a severe wound that endangered his precious life. On his recovery he had the presumption to pay his addresses to Mademoiselle de Soissons, a young princess of great beauty; who became so enamoured of her admirer, that her aunt was obliged to shut her up in a convent at Montmartre, under the surveillance of one of the provost’s officers. But bars and locks could not keep out such a Lothario; and, a letter and a rope-ladder having been discovered, the lady’s family applied to the Baron d’Ugeon, one of their relatives and an expert swordsman, to bring the youth to reason. The challenge was sent and accepted; but the meeting did not take place, in consequence of the fatal malady of the King, upon whom Du Vighan attended to the last.
The monarch dead, Du Vighan lost no time in seeking his adversary, who inflicted two dangerous wounds in his right side. Notwithstanding the severity of the injury, he contrived to scale the walls of the abbey of Montmartre to see his beloved princess; but he was obliged to spend the night under the arches of the cloisters, the young lady having been shut up. During this painful vigil his wounds broke out afresh; and the hemorrhage was so profuse, that he was found there a corpse the following morning. The body was carried home, and a report spread abroad that he had died of the small-pox, caught from the King during his attendance on the royal sufferer. Although the princess grieved pretty nearly unto death, yet she at length consoled herself by marrying the Prince de Cobourg.
St. Evremont was another celebrated duellist of this period: he had discovered a particular thrust, which was honoured with his name, and called la botte14 de St. Evremont. This brave was witty and capricious, and would accept or refuse a challenge according to the fancy of the moment. St. Foix was his rival in this pursuit of an honourable name. Some of his duels were remarkable. One day, at the Café Procope, at dinner-time, he saw a gentleman seated at a bavaroise,15 and he exclaimed, “That is a confounded bad dinner for a gentleman!” The stranger, thus insulted, insisted upon satisfaction; which was granted, when St. Foix was wounded. Notwithstanding this injury, he coolly said to his antagonist, “If you had killed me, sir, I still should have persisted in maintaining that a bavaroise is a confounded bad dinner.”
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