The intelligent reader must have been, at some time, struck with the mass of contradictions which, in one shape or other, has been offered to the world on the subject of duels; divines and law-givers crying murder; commentators[[12]] extolling the justice of laws which cannot be executed; historians[[13]] deducing effects which they call good, from causes which they call absurd; and lastly, the world at large, admitting all that can be said against duels, sometimes demanding sanguinary punishments, which they would shrink from seeing executed, and sometimes allowing that although they are shocking things, yet they are necessary “in a certain rank of life.”
While the public mind is in such a chaos, it is almost hopeless to expect any speedy amelioration, either in the law, or in popular opinion. Yet the period of improvement may not be so infinitely distant as at first sight we should be led to suppose.
The great principle of legislation, that the severity of punishment ought not to be so great as to shock the general feeling, is gradually toiling its way from the works of theorists (as they are called), into the heads of practical men, and in the course of a few ages these latter gentlemen may also be taught, that to visit with the same penalty the aggressor and his antagonist, whom he has forced into a duel, is not quite consistent with sound and enlightened maxims of justice; and, what will probably have more weight, they may discover that it is a species of legislation which cannot be carried into effect. In equally reasonable time it may be found, that what cannot be entirely abolished may be regulated. Suppose that after a duel was fought, the law condescended to inquire into the merits of the dispute, and punish him who had provoked the outrage; is it not probable that fear of legal punishment, superadded to the danger of being shot, would prevent some of those aggressions from which duels arise? Even the master of that most valuable accomplishment, the power of snuffing a candle with a pistol-bullet, might shrink from such an investigation as this, which would naturally be followed up with a severe penalty. Public feeling would offer no obstacle. The wretch who wantonly, or perhaps maliciously, puts a fellow-creature under the necessity of either suffering mental pain and degradation, or exposing his life to extreme danger, deserves no sympathy, and would receive none.
Nor ought the second, who assisted such a man, wholly to escape. To a certain degree he would be an object of public displeasure, and might therefore be visited with a punishment bearing some proportion to that of his principal. Where blame fairly attaches to both parties, then, let both be punished; but let the penalty have relation to the common feelings of mankind. It is impossible to treat the survivor in such a duel as a murderer, but he ought not therefore entirely to escape. The law as it now stands resembles Thor in Jutenheim; his hammer was able to beat down rocks, but he struck at shadows, and his real enemies laughed at his blows.
Much good would result from making it the duty of the coroner to hold an inquest after every duel, whether the consequences had been fatal or not. When a pistol is discharged, accident alone determines what shall be the consequence. The guilt of the shooter is just the same, whether the ball take effect or not. It is true the parties might, according to the law as it now exists, be prosecuted, and since Lord Ellenborough’s Act they are liable to be capitally convicted; but it has not been made the particular duty of any public officer to see the law put into execution, and consequently nothing is done. Since, however, a great, and perhaps the greatest part of the efficacy of punishment results from the certainty of its infliction, it is evident that every temptation to violate the law, from the hope that accident will be favourable, ought to be cut off.
In the present state of society, the total abolition of duels cannot, as experience abundantly shows, be effected. A speedy, certain, and reputable method of punishing insults must first be discovered and established. At present, with respect to those injuries, society is in a state of nature. The right of private war has only been surrendered, because the individual is better protected by the arm of the law than by his own strength. Whenever there shall be instituted a supreme court, to act as arbiter among nations, public war will, for the same reason, fall into disuse, or will only be made for the purpose of chastising a refractory member of this great community, just as the police officers may be said to carry on war against the criminals whom they apprehend. But as it would be preposterous to expect a nation to sit down quietly under its wrongs until such a court is appointed, so it is equally unreasonable to demand that private men should always refrain from redressing, by their own means, those grievances for which the law offers no remedy. By the plan which we have proposed the balance of pain would be fearfully against the aggressor; and that noxious animal, the bully, must soon become extinct. At present he stands on equal ground with his antagonist; or rather, from having made a just estimate of the worthlessness of his own life, he is aware that the stakes are in his favour. Add to this, he generally has no better occupation for his time than to become very expert at his weapons. In England, these creatures are happily become rare; but in Ireland, notwithstanding its boasted exemption from venomous animals, in France, in the United States, and in our own colonies, the breed still flourishes—at once the terror and the disgrace of civilized society.
THE END.
LONDON: PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY, BANGOR HOUSE, SHOE LANE.
FOOTNOTES