A few days previous to the one fixed for the duel, the guest, under pretence of paying a visit to his relatives, withdrew from the Count of Conversano’s castle, and secretly returned to his former lord, where he lost no time in communicating to his nephew all the peculiarities and advantages repeated experience had enabled him to remark in the count’s manner of fencing. The Duke de Martina was thereby taught that the only chance of success which he could look to, was by keeping on the defensive during the early part of the combat: he was instructed, that his antagonist, though avowedly the most able swordsman in the kingdom, was extremely violent; and that, if his first passes could be parried, his person, somewhat inclined to corpulency, would speedily be exhausted from the effects of his impetuosity. The Duke de Martina, furnished with this important advice, and strong in the conviction of what he considered a just cause, waited in calm anxiety the day of battle; and the behaviour of the two combatants on the last morning strongly characterized their different dispositions, as well as the manners and habits of the age they lived in. The duke made his will, confessed himself, and took an affectionate leave of his mother, who retired to her oratory to pass in prayer the time devoted to the conflict, while the Count Conversano ordered a sumptuous feast to be prepared, and invited his friends and retainers after the fight. He then carelessly bade his wife farewell; and, brutally alluding to his adversary’s youth and inexperience, remarked, “Vado a far un capretto,”—“I am going to kill a kid.”
The parties met at the place appointed. It was an open space, before a monastery of friars, at Ostuni; but these good fathers, by their intercessions and prayers, prevailed upon the combatants to remove to another similar spot of ground, in front of the Capuchin convent, in the same town. Here the bishop and clergy, carrying the host in solemn procession, attempted in vain to dissuade them from their bloody purpose; they were dismissed with scorn, and the duel began.
The conflict was of long duration, and afforded the duke an opportunity of availing himself of the counsels he had received: when he found the count began to be out of breath, and off his guard, he assumed the offensive, and, having wounded him, demanded if he was satisfied, and proposed to desist from any further hostility; but, stung to the soul by this unexpected reverse, he proudly rejected all offers of accommodation; actuated by blind revenge and redoubled animosity he soon lost all command of himself, and received a second wound, which terminated the contest together with his life.
It appeared afterwards that the Prince de Francavilla, whose principles were as little honourable as those of his adversary, and whose thirst of revenge was no less insatiable, had appointed a band of bravoes to waylay and murder him on his way home, had he been victorious.
When Marshal de Crequi carried the Fort des Barreaux, commanded by Philippin, natural brother of the Duke of Savoy, the latter escaped with great difficulty, by exchanging his dress for the uniform of a common soldier, with whom he left a lady’s scarf which he had worn. The following day, a truce having been demanded to bury the dead, Crequi sent word by the officer who bore it, to advise Philippin to be more careful for the future of his lady’s gifts; upon which Philippin sent a challenge to the French general, which he accepted, but his adversary was prevented from attending the meeting by the duke his brother. The following year, Crequi having been made a prisoner, the challenge was renewed, when Philippin was wounded in the thigh. The Duke of Savoy, offended at the thought that his brother should owe his life to Crequi’s forbearance, insisted upon another meeting, in which Philippin was killed, or, to use the expressive language of D’Audiguier, “Crequi ran him through the body, and stitched him to the ground.” Crequi’s friends exclaimed, “Kill him! kill him!” while Philippin’s second begged for his life, which Crequi would only grant at his own supplication; this, however, was a difficult matter, as the unfortunate man was already dead.
Not only were the duels in Italy remarkable for the treacherous acts of its combatants, but similar breaches of good faith and honour were observed in their tournaments and passages of arms. In one instance a tournament took place between twelve Frenchmen and twelve Italians, in which many of the latter were dismounted, when they crept in between the other champions, and with their stilettoes stabbed the horses of the French knights. This perfidious conduct is related by Guicciardin.
Beccaria accounts for the frequency of duelling in Italy on the following grounds:—“It was owing to the necessity of the good opinion of others, that single combat was resorted to during a state of legal anarchy. It was in vain that this practice was forbidden under pain of death; it was found impossible to check a custom founded upon sentiments which were considered dearer than life. Why do not the lower classes of society imitate the conduct of their superiors? Simply because they stand in less need of the esteem of others, than those who, from their position, are subject to more suspicion and distrust.”
Filangieri follows up the argument, by maintaining, that in a duel, it is a dolo (a ruse) on the part of the aggressor, and a fault on the part of the offended, if he kills or injures his enemy, as very probably he might have avoided such a catastrophe; the offended party has only committed a fault, since he was compelled to fight by public opinion: it is, therefore, only those who have violated the established laws of duelling, who can be considered as guilty of assassination. The sophistry of this doctrine is worse than absurd.
The history of Italy shows us, that Beccaria’s opinions on the subject were not exactly correct, for, while the upper classes challenged each other to single combat, we find other grades of society, even artists, avenging their wrongs with the stiletto. From this charge, we must, however, exonerate Michael Angelo Caravaggio, who, to avenge the insult offered to him by Arpino, who had presumed to criticise some of his productions, sent him a challenge, which was rejected on the plea of disparity of condition; when our artist, to qualify himself for future occasions of the kind, went over to Malta and got himself dubbed a knight. With this distinction, it appears that he sought endless quarrels, was obliged to fly from Malta, and killed a critic in Rome, finally ending his days in abject poverty on the high-road.
It may be easily imagined that, from the constant revolutions to which Italy was exposed, the clashing interests and consequent altercations amongst its petty principalities, and the long-protracted wars the country had to wage against France and Spain, disputes and sanguinary frays must have been very frequent, and that, from the want of power, treachery was often resorted to. Convulsed by intestine discord, exposed to foreign hostility, suspecting the good faith of their allies, and oppressed by their various masters,—intrigue among the Italians became indispensable, and assassination was safer than open vengeance. We need not, therefore, be surprised that the policy of Machiavel should have been considered a national code; and in these weak states, we find that the stiletto was the weapon of diplomacy, as well as of popular animosity. In the cabinet, assassination became a science, in the streets it was an art; and more elaborate works have been written on duels, satisfaction of wounded honour, and the various qualifications of murder, by Italians, than by the natives of any other country.[32] There does not exist a more consuming and ardent passion, than an impotent thirst of revenge for injuries inflicted by those whose power we dread, and whose position is such as to place them beyond the reach of legal pursuit and of justice. Assassination in such a state of society becomes a natural impulse, when the wrongs of power drive the weak and the helpless to actual madness. It is therefore unfair to stigmatize a nation with the brand of cowardice, from the prevalence of this blood-thirsty practice. It is simply the result of a bad government, corrupted nobility, and a culpable or inefficient magistracy, when crimes may be considered as an unavoidable catenation between causes and effects; and there can be no doubt that the prevalence of duelling and gambling amongst the great, and of thieving amongst the lower orders, will lead to assassination.