After this courteous preamble both parties drew their swords; when the duke observed, “You are not aware, sir, that the sun shines full upon you.” “You are right,” answered the count; “we had better proceed to that wall, where we shall find more shade than under these leafless trees.”
The parties then placed their drawn swords under their arms, and proceeded, conversing with each other, to the appointed spot, followed by their two seconds, all other persons keeping at a distance. M. de Vibraye, second of the duke, observing that they had both kept on their spurs, which might prove inconvenient, the seconds immediately proceeded to unbuckle them; and, while so doing, De Vibraye had an eye nearly put out by the point of the duke’s sword. The spurs being off, the duke asked the prince’s permission to take off his coat; to which proposal the Comte d’Artois not only acceded; but threw off his own.
Several lounges had passed between the parties, and D’Artois was evidently becoming impatient and flushed, when the duke was observed to stagger; and the seconds, thinking that he had been wounded, interfered, and begged the parties to suspend all further hostility. The count replied, “It is not for me to offer any opinion; it is for M. le Duc de Bourbon to express his wishes, I am here at his orders.” The duke immediately lowered his sword, and replied, “I feel penetrated with gratitude at your kindness, and shall never forget the honour that you have conferred on me.” The Comte d’Artois then opened his arms, and the duke flew into his embrace.
After this harmless meeting, at the suggestion of the Queen and the Baron de Besenval, the count repaired to the Palais Bourbon, and made an ample apology to the insulted duchess. The punishment awarded to the combatants was an exile of a week; the count at Choisy, and the duke at Chantilly. Thus ended this celebrated duel, which has been much misrepresented by different writers, influenced by party spirit. There is no doubt that, in the whole transaction, the Comte d’Artois behaved with becoming firmness and gentlemanly feeling: and there is not the least foundation for the story of a bloodless meeting having been pre-arranged, although it is not improbable that the Duke de Bourbon was satisfied in defending himself, without a wish of injuring his antagonist; which was the more easy, as he remained cool, while the count was evidently excited.
This transaction affords a vivid picture of the corruption and manners of the times. A woman of the highest rank insults another woman who had been her husband’s mistress; not on that account, but for having become the mistress of another man, to whom she herself was attached: and the foolish husband is made to peril life and liberty by fighting the real object of the dispute, who had so far lost sight of all gentlemanly deportment as to insult a female by actually inflicting a blow!
The Prince de Condé, father of this Duke de Bourbon, had also had a hostile meeting with the Vicomte d’Agout, a captain in the Guards. This officer had been paying court to a young widow of the household of the Princess de Condé, and had promised to marry her: having, however, discovered that she had bestowed her favours on the prince, he bitterly reproached her with her duplicity, and retracted his engagement. The lady complained to her protector, who directed that D’Agout should resign his situation of captain in his Guards. That officer immediately tendered his resignation into the prince’s hands, and at the same time requested to know what part of his conduct had exposed him to disgrace. To this request the prince replied, “that he would not keep in his service liars and calumniators:” to this severe observation D’Agout answered, “Your highness is aware that, when I took the liberty of putting this question, I was no longer in your highness’s service, and will be pleased also to recollect that I am a gentleman.” “I understand you, sir,” replied the prince; “and am ready to maintain what I have asserted, in whatever manner you may think proper.”
“Then,” replied D’Agout, “I depend upon your highness’s kindness;” and he lost no time in repairing to Versailles to secure some protection in the event of a fatal result. Having succeeded, he presented himself at the carriage-window of the prince, who was changing horses at Sèvres, and said to him, “My lord, I came to receive your highness’s orders.” “Then, sir,” answered the prince, “at nine o’clock to-morrow morning I shall be at the entrance of the Bois de Boulogne, near the Maillot gate.”
D’Agout, as might be expected, was punctual in his attendance, accompanied by his brother. The prince soon after made his appearance, and first placed in the hands of his adversary a declaration of his having been the aggressor, with letters of recommendation to foreign powers for protection, in the event of a fatal issue of the meeting, which might render his quitting the kingdom advisable.
D’Agout, having returned his grateful thanks for this courteous proceeding, then threw off his coat; on which the prince observed, “No doubt, sir, by taking off your coat, you expect that I should do the same.” To which D’Agout replied, “I have no right to demand anything from your highness, as I trust implicitly in your honour, and was only anxious to afford your highness a proof of mine.”
The prince immediately took off his coat, and swords were soon crossed. The offended captain fought with that desperate determination which his critical position inspired, and the prince was slightly wounded; when the seconds interfered, and parted the combatants. A short time after this meeting, D’Agout was promoted by the prince to the rank of major in the Guards. The King, on this occasion, scarcely knew how to act: but the people viewed the duel, between a prince of the blood and an individual of an humble rank, as a sign of the times, and the sacrifice of olden prejudices to the novel innovations in manners that gradually appeared to level all distinctions; while the chivalric portion of the nation compared the Prince de Condé to Francis I.