New York Dispatch

A WOMAN'S BATTLE.

Fierce Hatred Between Women of Rank.

Scandalous Verses.

AN ENCOUNTER IN CHURCH.

Savage Treatment on the Highway.

A Strange Incident of the Middle Ages.

This is the manner in which two ladies of title settled their disputes in France in the year 1691—in the good old days, when men, and particularly women, were so much better than in such degenerate times.

The Marquise de Tresnel and Lady de Liancour were two neighbors, living in the country; both being young and beautiful, naturally they hated each other, but rivalry was not the only reason for their mutual detestation. Lady de Liancour and her husband had been very intimate with the Marquis de Tresnel before his marriage.

This did not suit his wife, because Mme. de Liancour was handsome enough to arouse the jealousy of the bride.

An open rupture took place, and visiting ceased.

Shortly after, some satirical verses, aimed at the marquise, were published under the form of a request to the intendant of Paris. The substance of these lines was an endeavor to prove that the lovely marquise should be sent to a reformatory for women.

She immediately attributed the authorship to Lady Liancour, and complained to the tribunal of the marshals of France. The scandalous verses had spread everywhere, and had made a fortune for somebody. Who? In spite of all her inquiries Madame de Tresnel could not prove that Lady Liancour was the author of the libel. The marquise was none the less persuaded that her rival wrote them. and SWORE TO BE REVENGED.

One day she went to church and met there a very young daughter of her enemy, who did not offer her her place. This was another affront. After the sermon the ladies were invited to a cold collation by the sisters of a religious order. At table the marquise complained bitterly of the incivility of the child, hoping that her words would be carried to Lady Liancour, which proves that tale-bearing is not an invention of the nineteenth century.

Soon the two fair enemies met in that very same church, and hostilities began. The marquise entered followed by her lackeys and a magnificent retinue. Seeing Lady Liancour, she went straight to her, pushed her headlong from her seat, and sat down in it herself, saying:

"I cannot write verses, but I can knock you over."

The quaint old chronicler of this story remarks that "this was not really worthy of a woman of her rank, and a sad, sad thing to do; but anger will make anyone forget oneself."

The battle began in good earnest. Lady Liancour confessed her inability to knock her down in return, but gave her, as the vulgate hath it, the length of her tongue. The marquise threatened to make her husband chastise her, and called her a little stuck-up, upstart nobody, who had dared to make eyes at a marquis, her husband—the shameless flirt, the hussy, the baggage! Upon which Lady Liancour swooped down upon her antagonist by calling upon the heavens to witness that she (the marquise) had no character to boast of, and no beauty!

This was the worst of all. The marquise flew at her, threatening to TEAR HER IN PIECES.

The gentle creatures had to be separated and led from the church by their friends and followers.

This was another sad, sad scene—above all, in a church.

Certain friends of the combatants thinking that matters had gone far enough, undertook to reconcile the ladies. They persuaded the marquise that she owed an apology to Lady Liancour, as she had given the first offense. She consented, and a meeting was arranged between them; but, instead of receiving the apology Lady Liancour expected, the marquise heaped upon her fresh insults, and again they had to be separated.

Lady Liancour took the next step. She wrote to the marquis full particulars of the quarrel, and of her injuries at the hands of his wife. But it is not unlikely that he was of that class of men who have a faculty of getting women by the ears and then leaving them to fight it out themselves, while he slips away safely, like a dog slipping off with a bone. He is dead now, poor man, so let us not judge too harshly his motive for not replying to the lady's letter. His silence did not soften Lady Liancour's resentment, but if he had interfered, he might have got into trouble with his wife. All things considered, discretion in his case was the better part of valor. Still the running feud continued. The marquise Tresnel sent out spies upon her rival. One day they reported that Lady Liancour was going to pay a visit to a lady whose castle was only a short distance from her own.

"Come, saddle my horses, and call up my men!" was the order she instantly gave.

She set out in A CARRIAGE WITH SIX HORSES.

She took with her her companion, Mademoiselle Villemartin. Four men, on horseback, armed with pistols and swords, preceded her, and three others followed the carriage. She could not, however, overtake the lady, so she determined to wait and intercept her on her return.

When Lady Liancour saw at some distance such a formidable escort, she became alarmed, and ordered her coachman to gallop past, but the four horsemen cut the way. When the two carriages came together, the marquise ordered her coachman to turn short and overturn Lady Liancour's carriage, but not succeeding, she gave orders to attack her. The unfortunate lady tried to urge her people to speed homeward, but, seized with fright, they fled in a body, leaving her alone, with her dressing-maid, to the ferocity of her bloodthirsty enemy. The armed men dragged the lady and servant from the vehicle with insults and violence. Then followed a scene which, it is to be hoped, is without parallel in history. The two unprotected women were mercilessly beaten, and the last injuries and outrages inflicted upon them. The marquise gave the brutal ruffians encouragement by her laughter and cries of approbation, urging them to renewed ACTS OF VIOLENCE.

When this beautiful fiend had fully glutted her vengeance, her two victims were flung back into the carriage more dead than alive. Her menials then by her command cut the traces of the horses and the springs of the carriage, so that the least movement would topple it over; she then departed with a loud laugh of triumph, shouting to her disgraced victim that she would not leave a lady of quality on foot on the highroad.

Soon after some passers by found Lady Liancour in her helpless condition and conveyed her to her home, DISGRACED AND RUINED

Her husband separated from her. The news flew fast, and came even to the ears of the king himself.

But it will be readily understood why Lady Liancour hesitated to appeal to the law for redress. Was there any redress for injuries such as hers? She preferred to suffer her great shame in silence. In such a case, however, it is not simply one of individual wrong, but of public safety. The law having nosed out the affair demanded reparation, even though the party most injured sought it not, and so inquiries were made, or, as we should phrase it now, Lord and Lady Liancour were interviewed and all the facts were brought out. As the quaint chronicler before mentioned says, Lady Liancour then came forward and "deposited her confession in the bosom of justice."

She related first the origin of the quarrel, declaring that all the provocation came from the marquise, while she (Liancour) had done everything to avoid a climax; but what was embarrassing was the recital of the fact. When she came to that her language became obscure, but it was evident she wished to deny that any personal indignity, except the beating, had been put upon her. She felt, she said in conclusion, that bold and cruel hands had executed with fury the INFAMOUS AND BARBAROUS ORDERS of the marquise. This was not all the truth, but a more explicit statement would have cost the unhappy lady so much humiliation that it is not to be wondered at; such wrongs as she confessed to have suffered were sufficient, and the plaintiff demanded £100,000 damages and costs.

The defense of the marquise was difficult, and her lawyers without attempting to justify her conduct, dwelt largely on her wrongs. He urged that the satirical verses directed against his client were aimed at her honor, while those of Lady Liancour were only those of a beating which she had richly deserved. Taking advantage of Lady Liancour's refraining from telling the whole story, he pleaded that as neither her wealth nor life nor honor were menaced, his noble client had committed no offense meriting the application of the penal law. This was A SPECIOUS DEFENSE,

but the Judges saw in the case what the plaintiff had concealed.

Robbing the law's decree of its technical verbiage, this was the punishment inflicted upon the marquise and her followers. Before the Grand Chamber, in full audience, she was sentenced to confess on her knees to Lady Liancour, that willfully and maliciously she had been guilty of inflicting on Liancour, on the king's high road, all the indignities she was accused of; that for the insults put upon her, the marquise's domestics, by her order and in her presence, she humbly besought pardon. That done, the marquise was forbidden to appeal to Parliament for any legal address whatever for any injury done her, to forfeit her life if she attempted to evade the order, and furthermore to pay £1,500 to the king.

Two of the principal men had all their goods, of whatsoever nature, confiscated, and were themselves condemned to the galleys for life. Three others were banished for the space of three years, another sentenced to hard work on the high road for nine years, and all together, including the marquise, to pay to Lady Liancour THE SUM OF 30,000 DAMAGES AND COSTS.

The lady's companion, Mlle. Villemartin, was sentenced to beg £20 from the prisoners in the Conciergerie du Palais to pay her share. The £30,000 were to be collected from the estate of the Marquis de Tresnel; the sentence to be exhibited on posts placed in every prominent spot in the entire kingdom.

The reason of the light sentence pronounced upon Mlle. Villemartin was owing to want of proof that she took any part in the proceedings except looking on and applauding.

As to the marquise, the author and chief of this vile plot, her sex and rank were taken into consideration, and therefore she escaped with a less severe sentence than the menials who only acted on her instructions. Deprived of all legal redress, her ladyship was compelled to submit to the bold declaration of Lady Liancour, that the grand lady had, as leader of her minions, a swarthy and violent Moor, who did her bidding with such unholy zeal on condition of becoming her lackey. And so ended for the public this strange outrage committed upon one lady of title at the instigation of another.