g. Caprice and vanity, as well as the
excitement of passion, imposed the necessity of fighting. Friends were
obliged to enter into the quarrels of their friends, or be themselves
called out for their refusal, and revenge became hereditary in many
families. It was reckoned that in twenty years eight thousand letters of
pardon had been issued to persons who had killed others in single
combat.[61]

[61] _Elemens de l'Histoire de France_, vol. iii. p. 219.

Other writers confirm this statement. Amelot de Houssaye, in his Memoirs,
says, upon this subject, that duels were so common in the first years of
the reign of Louis XIII., that the ordinary conversation of persons when
they met in the morning was, "_Do you know who fought yesterday?_" and
after dinner, "_Do you know who fought this morning?_" The most infamous
duellist at that period was De Bouteville. It was not at all necessary to
quarrel with this assassin, to be forced to fight a duel with him. When he
heard that any one was very brave, he would go to him, and say, "_People
tell me that you are brave; you and I must fight together!_" Every morning
the most notorious bravos and duellists used to assemble at his house, to
take a breakfast of bread and wine, and practise fencing. M. de Valencay,
who was afterwards elevated to the rank of a cardinal, stood very high in
the estimation of De Bouteville and his gang. Hardly a day passed but what
he was engaged in some duel or other, either as principal or second; and
he once challenged De Bouteville himself, his best friend, because De
Bouteville had fought a duel without inviting him to become his second.
This quarrel was only appeased on the promise of De Bouteville that, in
his next encounter, he would not fail to avail himself of his services.
For that purpose he went out the same day, and picked a quarrel with the
Marquis des Portes. M. de Valencay, according to agreement, had the
pleasure of serving as his second, and of running through the body M. de
Cavois, the second of the Marquis des Portes, a man who had never done him
any injury, and whom he afterwards acknowledged he had never seen before.

Cardinal Richelieu devoted much attention to this lamentable state of
public morals, and seems to have concurred with his great predecessor
Sully, that nothing but the most rigorous severity could put a stop to the
evil. The subject indeed was painfully forced upon him by his enemies. The
Marquis de Themines, to whom