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The purpose of fencing is to develop a man with enough self-control so as to make him able to direct his attack with accuracy and avid as much as possible the deadly end. – Jean-Louis Michel

In an age when there were no greater swordsmen on earth than the French, the greatest swordsman in France was an immigrant from Haiti.

When a 11 year old slight boy was offered a chance to resettle in France after Haiti’s 1795 insurrection, Jean-Louis took it and was enlisted in the 32d Regiment.

Sent to the local fencing school, sale d’armes, his devotion to the art (despite his youth and size) led to take his exam for maitre d’armes as the youngest candidate ever, in which he passed with honors.

One of his contemporaries described his style being such that he

omitted everything that was superfluous; the affected salutations, the counter-coups, the capricious pauses, all shocked him and appeared to him unworthy of such a serious art. One admires both his simple, natural, and well-becoming defense, and the development and rapidity of his attack, his sure judgment, his impassibility in the defensive, as also the regularity, even in the most unforeseen circumstances, of all his movements, which followed each other like the rings of a chain.

His most famous fencing feat came on the heels of drunken brawl of soldiers where the 1st Regiment battled the 32d, ending in arrests and injuries. To restore morale a council convened and decided that 15 fencing masters to a side would represent their units and fight duels.

The regiments were assembled in a hollow square on a plain outside Madrid. At its center was a natural elevation forming a platform where, two at a time, 30 champions would duel for the honor of 10,000 men. As the premier fencing master of the 32d Regiment, Jean-Louis was the first up. His opponent was Giacomo Ferrari, a celebrated Florentine swordsman and fencing master of the First Regiment.

Drums rolled. The troops were ordered to parade rest, and as they slammed down the butts of their muskets in unison, the earth shook. Jean-Louis and Giacomo Ferrari stepped onto the fencing strip, each stripped to the waist to show that they wore nothing that would turn a thrust. An expectant silence filled the air as every eye was fixed on the two masters. The traditional rivalry between Europe’s two theories of fencing, the French and the Italian, added a piquance to the duel. The French school was formalistic-movements were made according to rules, as quietly as possible, and following in logical sequence; even when fighting a duel, Frenchmen seemed to work together like a piece of fine machinery. The Italian style was looser, freer, less formal, and more individualistic-a bout between Italians resembled a furious struggle involving shouts, stamping of the feet, whirling about, and leaps forward and back. The French said that the Italian technique was more bruyant (rowdy) than brilliant, and decried it as inartistic and crude. The French were considered the world’s best fencers, but the Italians the deadliest duelists. The Frenchman was never free from the thought of the picture he presented, while the Italian was fixed on one thing-to kill. He would take a severe wound to deliver a fatal one.

The fencing masters crossed swords and the bout began. Ferrari took the offensive, but Jean-Louis followed all his flourishes with a calm but intense attention; every time Ferrari tried to strike, his sword met steel. With a loud cry Ferrari jumped to the side and attempted an attack from below, but Jean-Louis parried the thrust and with a lightning riposte wounded Ferrari in the shoulder. “It is nothing, start the fight again!” cried Ferrari, getting back to his feet. Jean-Louis’ next thrust struck home, and Ferrari fell dead.

Jean-Louis wiped the blood from his blade, resumed his first position, and waited. His battle had only begun. The victor in each bout was to continue until he was injured or killed, and
Jean-Louis still faced 14 swordsmen of the 1st Regiment, all of them eager to avenge their comrade.

Another adversary came at him. After a brief clash, Jean-Louis lunged and, while recovering, left his point in line. Rushing at him, his opponent was impaled. A second corpse lay at the French master’s feet.

His third opponent, a taller man, attacked fiercely, with jumps and feints, but Jean-Louis’ point disappeared into his chest, and he fell unconscious.

The next man approached. The regiments watched in fascinated silence. They were accustomed to the wholesale music of slaughter: the booming of artillery, the bursting of shells, the rattle of musketry, the clash of sabers. All are impressive, but none so keenly painful as the thin whisk of steel against steel as men engage in single combat. As one contemporary observer wrote, “it goes clean through the mind and makes the blood of the brain run cold.”

After 40 minutes only two Italian provosts were left awaiting their turn, pale but resolved. A truce was called, and the colonel of the 32d approached Jean-Louis.

“Maitre,” he said, “you have valiantly defended the regiment’s honor, and in the name of your comrades, and my name, I thank you sincerely. However, 13 consecutive duels have taken too much of your body stamina. Retire now, and if the provosts decide to finish the combat with their opponents, they will be free to do so.”

“No, no!” exploded Jean-Louis, “I shall not leave the post which has been assigned me by the confidence of the 32d Regiment. Here I shall remain, and here I shall fight as long as
I can hold my weapon.” As he finished his statement he made a flourish with his sword, which cut one of his friends on the leg. “Ah,” cried Jean-Louis, distraught, “there has only been one man of the 32d wounded today, and it had to be by me.”

Seizing upon the incident, the colonel said, “This is a warning; there has been enough blood. All have fought bravely and reparation has been made. Do you trust my judgment in the matter of honor?” After Jean-Louis said he did, the colonel said there was nothing more to do but extend a hand to the 1st Regiment. Pointing to the two provosts who still waited, he said to Jean-Louis, “They cannot come to you!”

Jean-Louis dropped his sword, approached the two Italians, and clasped them by the hands. His regiment cheered, “Vive Jean-Louis! Vive the 32d Regiment!”

Jean-Louis added, “Vive the First! We are but one family! Vive l’armee!”

– Kircher, Deadliest Men

Even after his retirement from the army after being awarded the highest order of the Legion of Honor and the Medaille de St. Helene, he continued to teach the sword, continuing even when cataracts made him blind. He died at 80 in 1865. The fencing academy he established in Montpellier in 1830 still exists, and his techniques form the basis of French instruction to this day.