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Original article: «Será pelea a muerte con cuchillos»: La época en que las discusiones político-literarias terminaban en duelos y comilonas

By Osvaldo Carvajal M., academic in the Bachelor of Literature and Doctorate in Applied Humanities at U. Andrés Bello

You may not believe this, but there was a time in this country when Congress welcomed individuals so delirious they proposed laws that would take us back centuries in civilization. Don’t be alarmed, I’m not referring to our current era. In the roaring twenties, a grandson of Benjamín Vicuña Mackenna suggested legalizing duels in the name of honor. Grab your white glove and join me in slapping the archives.

The ex-soldier and deputy, Aquiles Vergara Vicuña, was the one who, in early 1922, published an article in the newspaper La Nación titled “The Demands of Honor.” In this piece, he argued for the need to regulate dueling through legislation, lamenting that Chile lacked rules to uphold “the true concept” of honor and chivalry.

For those unfamiliar with the subject, a duel was a ritual meant to remedy an “offense to honor.” When someone felt insulted, they would issue a challenge to their opponent. Each party would appoint sponsors responsible for negotiating an apology and, should that fail, setting the terms of the fight: weapons, location, distance, and rules. Sound medieval? It makes sense, as the tradition originates from that period.

The fact is, for four months, Vergara had a platform in a nationally circulated newspaper to write about this topic. It should be noted that the idea wasn’t original. In Uruguay, two years earlier, following a scandal in which former President José Batlle y Ordóñez killed journalist and deputy Washington Beltrán in a pistol duel, the country decided to regulate these practices through honor tribunals.

If “gentlemen” were to continue brawling, at least let them do it with some paperwork involved. The craziest part? That law wasn’t repealed until 1992.

Returning to Chile, while Vergara sought to convince Congress, the Penal Code had explicitly banned dueling since its inception, even punishing those who issued challenges.

However, whether we like it or not, we might have to concede some truth to the deputy’s points. Six months after his campaign, La Nación reported: “Deputies Edwards Matte and Saavedra exchanged a shot each and emerged unscathed. There was no reconciliation.” Felipe Avello would have been disappointed.

Speaking of which, one of the ancestors of Pececillo was the voice of reason in this sea of madness. I say “ancestor” because my theory is that journalistic chronicles were the stand-up comedy of that time: short texts published in mass spaces, commenting on current events with humor and lightening the social fabric. One of the main practitioners was Jenaro Prieto, whom you might remember from El socio.

In El Diario Ilustrado, Prieto published an “Open Letter to Don Aquiles Vergara.” In it, he states that he hasn’t even read the articles from Vergara’s “patriotic campaign” because he considers it unnecessary. He cites statistics showing that “of the 1248 duels in the Republic, only three had fatal consequences, due to the poor aim of the duelists.”

For him, Chilean duels always ended with a shared cazuela at the home of some landowner: “The habit of dueling has its drawbacks; but they are only for the host who has to provide the field, lunch, and drinks for the duelists.”

Now, when it came time to comment on the Edwards-Saavedra encounter, the joke was on its own. Neither contender fired at their opponent. One shot into the air and the other shot downwards. No one was injured, and both honor and hunger were officially satisfied.

The following day, the controversy continued in the newspapers: Edwards insisted that it had not been a duel —likely to avoid legal repercussions— while Saavedra argued that it had been one, lest the military honor of his family be compromised. All of this appeared in a full-page spread in La Nación. It’s no wonder that when Prieto criticized our worst defects, he called us Tontilandia.

Though, to be fair, even Prieto was not entirely free from the affliction he criticized. Literary critic Hernán Díaz Arrieta (Alone) recounts a time he went to confront the director of El Diario Ilustrado over an unjust note about Vicente Huidobro. The argument escalated, and Jenaro Prieto appeared: “You are insulting Don Alejandro,” he said before grabbing Arrieta by the arm.

What followed was a fistfight in the newsroom. Alone ended up with a black eye; Prieto was so battered that he could not attend the wedding where he was meant to act as a witness; and Huidobro received back his copy of La Nación stained with the blood of his defender.

Another day I’ll tell you why, but perhaps Alone deserved those punches. For now, one thing is for sure: the vanguards and the politicians who named our streets: sometimes, the “vandals” wear suits, ties, and smoke pipes, just like the Edwards, Huidobro, Saavedra, and even the good Jenaro Prieto.

Osvaldo Carvajal M.

La entrada The Deadly Discourse: When Political and Literary Discussions Led to Duels and Feasts se publicó primero en El Ciudadano.