The King, being out at a stag-hunt in the wood of Vincennes, accompanied by the nephew of Marshal St. André, this youth sought a quarrel with an elderly gentleman of the name of Matas, and they repaired to a lonely part of the wood, where Matas gave him a salutary lesson in fencing, by disarming him, whipping his sword out of his hand as soon as he was on guard; adding, “For the future, young man, learn to hold your sword, and do not seek to encounter a man like me! Take up your sword; depart, and I forgive you.” So saying, he was mounting his horse, when his adversary having raised his sword from the ground, thought the best use he could make of it was to rid himself of so troublesome a witness of his shame; he therefore stabbed him in the back, and left the corpse on the ground. The chronicler adds, “No notice of this transaction took place, for the young man was nephew of Marshal St. André; whereas the other was only a relation of Madame de Valentinois (the famed Diana de Poitiers), who, after the death of Henry II, had lost all her influence at court.” Nay, poor Matas was even blamed for having rebuked a fiery and honourable youth! “It is wrong,” says the chronicler, “for old boasting fencers to abuse their good fortune, and taunt a youth who is only in the bud,—car Dieu s’en attriste!”—It grieves God!
Nothing could exceed the sang froid that these desperate men exhibited on such occasions. Brantôme relates the case of a duel between a Norman gentleman and a little chevalier named De Refuge. They had taken a boat to go over to the Isle du Palais, to fight without witnesses; when, perceiving that several other boats were in pursuit of them, they jumped on shore, one of them exclaiming, “Pray, let us make haste, for they are coming to separate us!” and, so saying, they attacked each other. After four lounges, they were both dead. The same writer mentions a Seigneur de Gensac, who was eager to encounter two champions at once; and, when the absurdity of the attempt was alleged, merely replied, “Why, history is full of such deeds! and, mon Dieu! I am determined to have my name recorded.”
The following adventure of an illustrious murderer, called by Brantôme the Paragon of France, may give an idea of those glorious times:—
Duprat, Baron de Vitaux, was son of the Chancellor Duprat, and from early life had displayed symptoms of undaunted “courage.” He commenced his career in arms by killing the young Baron de Soupez, with whom he had quarrelled at dinner, when Soupez threw a candlestick at him and broke his head: he waylaid him on the road to Toulouse; and, having despatched him, effected his escape in female attire. His next exploit was murdering a gentleman of the name of Gounelieu, to avenge the death of one of his brothers, a lad of fifteen, whom Gounelieu had killed; on this expedition he was accompanied by a young nobleman named Boucicaut; their victim was travelling post near St. Denis, when they met with him: after this achievement, he fled to Italy, Gounelieu being a favourite of the King. Vitaux, however, could not remain long in exile and inactivity, but returned to France for the express purpose of revenging the death of another brother, killed by a near relation of his own, the Baron de Mittaud.
This Baron was a Seigneur from Auvergne, and had been summoned to court by Charles IX. to act as an interpreter to the ambassadors from Poland, who came to offer the crown of that kingdom to the King’s brother, the Duc d’Anjou. Mittaud, little suspecting that Vitaux was in Paris, was not upon his guard; while Vitaux, who had allowed his beard to grow to a considerable length, and was disguised as a lawyer, was watching every opportunity to surprise him,—having taken an obscure lodging on the Quai des Augustins, in company with his old companion Boucicaut, and a brother of his, both of them brave and valiant men, and called the Lions of the Baron de Vitaux. These worthies, having met the Baron de Mittaud, immediately despatched him; but it so happened, that, in defending himself, he had wounded one of the Boucicauts, who, not being able to keep pace with the two other assassins in their flight, was obliged to stop at a barber’s shop to get his wound dressed: he had been tracked by the traces of the blood he had lost in his flight, and was taken up by the Archers of the Provost twelve leagues from Paris; and, being confined in Fort l’Evêque, expected to have been executed, since both the King and his brother decided that he should forfeit his life.
It so happened, that the Polish ambassadors lodged in the house of the prisoner’s brother, who was Provost of Paris, and who earnestly supplicated them to apply to the King and his brother for the culprit’s pardon. The Polish envoys, backed by President de Thou, made a long harangue in Latin; which, whether the monarch understood them or not, succeeded in ultimately attaining their demand, and Boucicaut shortly after appeared at court as gay and as unconcerned as ever.
This event only encouraged our hero, who shortly after returned to Paris, and killed with “incredible audacity,” says the chronicler, Louis de Guart, the King’s favourite, who had presumed to oppose the grant of his pardon. Vitaux, with seven or eight companions, entered Guart’s house, and killed him in his bed; using for the purpose “a sword very short and very keen, which, upon such occasions, is considered preferable to a long one.” “This act,” adds the historian, “was considered one of great resolution and assurance.” One might have expected that such a ruffian would have died on the gallows; but he sought the protection of the Duc d’Alençon, being under the patronage of Queen Marguerite, of whom he was a special favourite.
At last, the Baron de Mittaud, brother of the one he had assassinated eight years previously, called him out: both parties were duly examined, although it was maintained that Mittaud wore a thin cuirass, painted flesh-colour, under his garments. Howbeit, the point of Vitaux’s sword was bent either upon this protection, or one of his ribs; finding that all his lounges and thrusts were of no avail, he had recourse to hacking and hewing, when in four well-applied cuts his adversary despatched him, without having had the “courtesy of offering him his life.” “Thus,” further says the historian, “died this brave Baron, the Paragon of France, where he was as much esteemed as in Spain, Germany, Poland, and England; and every foreigner who came to court was most anxious to behold him: he was small in stature, but lofty in courage: his enemies pretended that he did not kill people ‘properly’ (il ne tuait pas bien ses gens), but had recourse to various stratagems; wherein,” says Brantôme, “it is the opinion of great captains, even Italians, who were always the best avengers in the world,—that stratagem might be encountered by stratagem, without any breach of honour.” Brantôme adds, “I have spoken enough of him; although I should immortalize him were it in my power, as much for his merits, as for the sincere friendship that existed between us!”
The duel that most grieved the heart of Henry III. was that which occurred between his favourite mignons, Caylus and D’Entragues, who had fallen out about some fair ladies of the court. Riberac and Schomberg, a young German, were seconds to D’Entragues; Maugerin and Livaret were the seconds of Caylus. The parties met near the ramparts of the Porte St. Antoine, no one being present but three or four “poor persons, wretched witnesses of the valour of these worthy men.”
The moment the principals had commenced, Riberac addressed Maugerin, saying, “Methinks that we had better endeavour to reconcile these gentlemen, rather than allow them to kill each other.” To which unworthy proposal the other replied, “Sir, I did not come here to string beads; I came here to fight!” “And with whom?” innocently asked Riberac; “since you are not concerned in this quarrel,—with whom?” “With you, to be sure,” was the laconic reply of Maugerin. “If that be the case,” added Riberac, “let us pray;” and, so saying, he drew his sword and dagger, and placing the hilts cross-ways, fell upon his knees to put up proper orisons: but Maugerin thought his doxology too prolix; and, swearing most irreligiously, told him “that he had prayed long enough.” Upon which they furiously attacked each other, until both fell dead.