In 1805 I happened to be in Pisa, and thanks to some friends and the kindness of M. Aubusson de la Feuillade, the French ambassador, I was enabled to witness that extraordinary fête. It had been announced throughout the length and breadth of Italy some weeks before its celebration. At the news of the forthcoming contest offered to strength and dexterity, there was a rush from all parts of combatants who had acquired a reputation for bravery or herculean strength. There was, according to report, one from Calabria, others from Ancona and Geneva; Rome had sent a couple of Transteverinos, and, wonderful to relate, the learned University of Padua added to the contingent with a professor reputed to be the strongest man of Italy. Personages belonging to the highest classes of Italian society had inscribed themselves under the name of some of their retainers: assured of preserving their incognito, thanks to the visors of their helmets, they intended taking part in the struggle, the pugilistic fever having become general. Constant practice had familiarised the athletes with the use of their clubs to such a degree as to enable them to handle these as their forefathers handled the double-edged sword in the Middle Ages. The professor from Padua talked of challenging four men armed with sabres and swords, and of vanquishing them with the sole aid of his club. The enthusiasm had turned all heads. No doubt it is a very extraordinary thing that, in an enlightened age like ours, such an amusement, with all its inevitable and perhaps fatal consequences, should have been allowed. It is, moreover, most probable that the danger involved in the whole affair added to people’s curiosity. Certain is it, however, that Pisa was invaded by more than a hundred thousand strangers--an enormous number for a town the population of which did not exceed twelve thousand inhabitants. The week preceding the struggle was spent in warlike exercises, and the eve of the day itself in pious practices and meditation. All the combatants scrupulously kept their vigil in prayers like the knights of old, went to confession, and took the Sacrament. The bishop publicly blessed the standards, richly embroidered by the ladies of the foremost families of the land. In short, everything calculated to sustain the combatants’ courage was resorted to in honour of either the patron or patroness whose banner they defended. Those who had laid wagers on the event--and their number and the amount of their bets were considerable--spared neither promises nor encouragement. During that week, each combatant was fed like a podesta; but the use of strong liquors was strictly forbidden: like Richelieu at the siege of Mahon, the chiefs intimated in the ‘orders for the day’ that any champion guilty of inebriety should not have the honour of competing.