| |
Mark
Twain - A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
Chapter 39
THE YANKEE'S FIGHT WITH THE KNIGHTS
HOME again, at Camelot. A morning or two later I found the paper,
damp from the press, by my plate at the breakfast table. I turned
to the advertising columns, knowing I should find something of personal
interest to me there. It was this:
DE PAR LE ROI
DE PAR LE ROI. Know that the great lord and illustrious Kni8ht,
SIR SAGRAMOR LE DESIROUS naving condescended to meet the King's Minister,
Hank Morgan, the which is surnamed The Boss, for satisfgction of offence
anciently given, these wilL engage in the lists by Camelot about the
fourth hour of the morning of the sixteenth day of this next succeeding
month. The battle will be à l'outrance, sith the said offence
was of a deadly sort, admitting of no comPosition. DE PAR LE ROI
Clarence's editorial reference to this affair was to this effect:
thdrew. |It will be observed, by a gl7nce at our |our disppointm
work maintained |advertising columns, that the community |Promptly
and-
there since, soon|is to be favored with a treat of unusual |two of
their felo
listic have writh|interest in the tournament line. |erlain, and o
oked interest |The names of the artists are warrant of |ers have already
upon the ev n |good enterTainment. The box-office |spoken, you'
ve been m d |will be open at noon of the 13th; admission |furnisned
for
oy the an s, |3 cents, reserved seats 5; proceeds |their use,
ent out ch by |to go to the hospital fund The |make and
terian B |and|royal pair and all the Court will be present.|the kind
some young men |With these exceptions, and the |letters
of our under the|press and the clergy, the free list is strictly|of
introd
i guidance of the|susended. Parties are hereby warned |duction what
or aid in a known|against buying tickets of speculators; |they are
un
ie great enterprise|they will not be good at the door. |ing friends
to us
of making pure |Everybodv knows and likes The Boss, |ried, and leave
the
esent |everybody knows and likes Sir Sag.; |thotkind words and
wovement had its|come, let us give the lads a good sendoff. |which
you, my joy-
origin in preven|ReMember, the proceeds go to a |hind; and it is a
has ever been a |great and free charity, and one whose |home matter
b
sions in our |broad benevolence stretches out its helping |it is our
durp
on of Mis- |hand, warm with the blood of a loving |direct them to
other one |heart, to all that suffer, regardless of |now under the
ospel, |race, creed, condition or color -- the |g field sg as ar
by- |only charity yet established in the earth |These young me
e |which has no politico-religious stopcock |are warm-hearted
The |on its compassion, but says Here |azirl, regions bey
the same |flows the stream, let all come and |not to "build
co represent |drink! Turn out, all hands! fetch along |ond,',and the
ized thirty of -- our doughnuts and your gum-drops |der instructi
eeds and hear-|and have a good time. Pie for sale on |ons of our
hich, years ago!|the grounds, and rocks to crack it with;|another
man
esgn was osgan- |and ciRcus-lemonade -- three drops of |founhati's
on.
ng, the missions,|lime juice to a barrel of water. |ociety, whlch
so that both had|N.B. This is the first tournament |They go un
o withdraw and |under the new law, whidh allow each |say that "inr
much to their |combatant to use any weapon he may prefer. |ionaries
to mon
grief, |You may want to make a note of that. |say sending miss
Up to the day set, there was no talk in all Britain of anything but
this combat. All other topics sank into insignificance and passed
out of men's thoughts and interest. It was not because a tournament
was a great matter, it was not because Sir Sagramor had found the
Holy Grail, for he had not, but had failed; it was not because the
second (official) personage in the kingdom was one of the duellists;
no, all these features were commonplace. Yet there was abundant reason
for the extraordinary interest which this coming fight was creating.
It was born of the fact that all the nation knew that this was not
to be a duel between mere men, so to speak, but a duel between two
mighty magicians; a duel not of muscle but of mind, not of human skill
but of superhuman art and craft; a final struggle for supremacy between
the two master enchanters of the age. It was realized that the most
prodigious achievements of the most renowned knights could not be
worthy of comparison with a spectacle like this; they could be but
child's play, contrasted with this mysterious and awful battle of
the gods. Yes, all the world knew it was going to be in reality a
duel between Merlin and me, a measuring of his magic powers against
mine. It was known that Merlin had been busy whole days and nights
together, imbuing Sir Sagramor's arms and armor with supernal powers
of offense and defense, and that he had procured for him from the
spirits of the air a fleecy veil which would render the wearer invisible
to his antagonist while still visible to other men. Against Sir Sagramor,
so weaponed and protected, a thousand knights could accomplish nothing;
against him no known enchantments could prevail. These facts were
sure; regarding them there was no doubt, no reason for doubt. There
was but one question: might there be still other enchantments, unknown
to Merlin, which could render Sir Sagramor's veil transparent to me,
and make his enchanted mail vulnerable to my weapons? This was the
one thing to be decided in the lists. Until then the world must remain
in suspense.
So the world thought there was a vast matter at stake here, and
the world was right, but it was not the one they had in their minds.
No, a far vaster one was upon the cast of this die: the life of knight-errantry.
I was a champion, it was true, but not the champion of the frivolous
black arts, I was the champion of hard unsentimental common-sense
and reason. I was entering the lists to either destroy knight-errantry
or be its victim.
Vast as the show-grounds were, there were no vacant spaces in them
outside of the lists, at ten o'clock on the morning of the 16th. The
mammoth grand-stand was clothed in flags, streamers, and rich tapestries,
and packed with several acres of small-fry tributary kings, their
suites, and the British aristocracy; with our own royal gang in the
chief place, and each and every individual a flashing prism of gaudy
silks and velvets -- well, I never saw anything to begin with it but
a fight between an Upper Mississippi sunset and the aurora borealis.
The huge camp of beflagged and gay-colored tents at one end of the
lists, with a stiff-standing sentinel at every door and a shining
shield hanging by him for challenge, was another fine sight. You see,
every knight was there who had any ambition or any caste feeling;
for my feeling toward their order was not much of a secret, and so
here was their chance.
If I won my fight with Sir Sagramor, others would have the right
to call me out as long as I might be willing to respond.
Down at our end there were but two tents; one for me, and another
for my servants. At the appointed hour the king made a sign, and the
heralds, in their tabards, appeared and made proclamation, naming
the combatants and stating the cause of quarrel. There was a pause,
then a ringing bugle-blast, which was the signal for us to come forth.
All the multitude caught their breath, and an eager curiosity flashed
into every face.
Out from his tent rode great Sir Sagramor, an imposing tower of
iron, stately and rigid, his huge spear standing upright in its socket
and grasped in his strong hand, his grand horse's face and breast
cased in steel, his body clothed in rich trappings that almost dragged
the ground -- oh, a most noble picture. A great shout went up, of
welcome and admiration.
And then out I came. But I didn't get any shout. There was a wondering
and eloquent silence for a moment, then a great wave of laughter began
to sweep along that human sea, but a warning bugle-blast cut its career
short. I was in the simplest and comfortablest of gymnast costumes
-- flesh-colored tights from neck to heel, with blue silk puffings
about my loins, and bareheaded. My horse was not above medium size,
but he was alert, slender-limbed, muscled with watch-springs, and
just a greyhound to go. He was a beauty, glossy as silk, and naked
as he was when he was born, except for bridle and ranger-saddle.
The iron tower and the gorgeous bedquilt came cumbrously but gracefully
pirouetting down the lists, and we tripped lightly up to meet them.
We halted; the tower saluted, I responded; then we wheeled and rode
side by side to the grand-stand and faced our king and queen, to whom
we made obeisance. The queen exclaimed:
"Alack, Sir Boss, wilt fight naked, and without lance or sword
or -- "
But the king checked her and made her understand, with a polite
phrase or two, that this was none of her business. The bugles rang
again; and we separated and rode to the ends of the lists, and took
position. Now old Merlin stepped into view and cast a dainty web of
gossamer threads over Sir Sagramor which turned him into Hamlet's
ghost; the king made a sign, the bugles blew, Sir Sagramor laid his
great lance in rest, and the next moment here he came thundering down
the course with his veil flying out behind, and I went whistling through
the air like an arrow to meet him -- cocking my ear the while, as
if noting the invisible knight's position and progress by hearing,
not sight. A chorus of encouraging shouts burst out for him, and one
brave voice flung out a heartening word for me -- said:
"Go it, slim Jim!"
It was an even bet that Clarence had procured that favor for me
-- and furnished the language, too. When that formidable lance-point
was within a yard and a half of my breast I twitched my horse aside
without an effort, and the big knight swept by, scoring a blank. I
got plenty of applause that time. We turned, braced up, and down we
came again. Another blank for the knight, a roar of applause for me.
This same thing was repeated once more; and it fetched such a whirlwind
of applause that Sir Sagramor lost his temper, and at once changed
his tactics and set himself the task of chasing me down. Why, he hadn't
any show in the world at that; it was a game of tag, with all the
advantage on my side; I whirled out of his path with ease whenever
I chose, and once I slapped him on the back as I went to the rear.
Finally I took the chase into my own hands; and after that, turn,
or twist, or do what he would, he was never able to get behind me
again; he found himself always in front at the end of his maneuver.
So he gave up that business and retired to his end of the lists. His
temper was clear gone now, and he forgot himself and flung an insult
at me which disposed of mine. I slipped my lasso from the horn of
my saddle, and grasped the coil in my right hand. This time you should
have seen him come! -- it was a business trip, sure; by his gait there
was blood in his eye. I was sitting my horse at ease, and swinging
the great loop of my lasso in wide circles about my head; the moment
he was under way, I started for him; when the space between us had
narrowed to forty feet, I sent the snaky spirals of the rope a-cleaving
through the air, then darted aside and faced about and brought my
trained animal to a halt with all his feet braced under him for a
surge. The next moment the rope sprang taut and yanked Sir Sagramor
out of the saddle! Great Scott, but there was a sensation!
Unquestionably, the popular thing in this world is novelty. These
people had never seen anything of that cowboy business before, and
it carried them clear off their feet with delight. From all around
and everywhere, the shout went up:
"Encore! encore!"
I wondered where they got the word, but there was no time to cipher
on philological matters, because the whole knight-errantry hive was
just humming now, and my prospect for trade couldn't have been better.
The moment my lasso was released and Sir Sagramor had been assisted
to his tent, I hauled in the slack, took my station and began to swing
my loop around my head again. I was sure to have use for it as soon
as they could elect a successor for Sir Sagramor, and that couldn't
take long where there were so many hungry candidates. Indeed, they
elected one straight off -- Sir Hervis de Revel.
Bzz! Here he came, like a house afire; I dodged: he passed like
a flash, with my horse-hair coils settling around his neck; a second
or so later, fst his saddle was empty.
I got another encore; and another, and another, and still another.
When I had snaked five men out, things began to look serious to the
ironclads, and they stopped and consulted together. As a result, they
decided that it was time to waive etiquette and send their greatest
and best against me. To the astonishment of that little world, I lassoed
Sir Lamorak de Galis, and after him Sir Galahad. So you see there
was simply nothing to be done now, but play their right bower -- bring
out the superbest of the superb, the mightiest of the mighty, the
great Sir Launcelot himself!
A proud moment for me? I should think so. Yonder was Arthur, King
of Britain; yonder was Guenever; yes, and whole tribes of little provincial
kings and kinglets; and in the tented camp yonder, renowned knights
from many lands; and likewise the
Great Scott! But there was a sensation! selectest body known to chivalry,
the Knights of the Table Round, the most illustrious in Christendom;
and biggest fact of all, the very sun of their shining system was
yonder couching his lance, the focal point of forty thousand adoring
eyes; and all by myself, here was I laying for him. Across my mind
flitted the dear image of a certain hello-girl of West Hartford, and
I wished she could see me now. In that moment, down came the Invincible,
with the rush of a whirlwind -- the courtly world rose to its feet
and bent forward -- the fateful coils went circling through the air,
and before you could wink I was towing Sir Launcelot across the field
on his back, and kissing my hand to the storm of waving kerchiefs
and the thunder-crash of applause that greeted me!
Said I to myself, as I coiled my lariat and hung it on my saddle-horn,
and sat there drunk with glory, "The victory is perfect -- no
other will venture against me -- knight-errantry is dead." Now
imagine my astonishment -- and everybody else's, too -- to hear the
peculiar bugle-call which announces that another competitor is about
to enter the lists! There was a mystery here; I couldn't account for
this thing. Next, I noticed Merlin gliding away from me; and then
I noticed that my lasso was gone! The old sleight-of-hand expert had
stolen it, sure, and slipped it under his robe.
The bugle blew again. I looked, and down came Sagramor riding again,
with his dust brushed off and is veil nicely re-arranged. I trotted
up to meet him, and pretended to find him by the sound of his horse's
hoofs. He said:
"Thou'rt quick of ear, but it will not save thee from this!"
and he touched the hilt of his great sword . "An ye are not able
to see it, because of the influence of the veil, know that it is no
cumbrous lance, but a sword -- and I ween ye will not be able to avoid
it."
His visor was up; there was death in his smile. I should never be
able to dodge his sword, that was plain. Somebody was going to die
this time. If he got the drop on me, I could name the corpse. We rode
forward together, and saluted the royalties. This time the king was
disturbed. He said:
"Where is thy strange weapon?"
"It is stolen, sire."
"Hast another at hand?"
"No, sire, I brought only the one."
Then Merlin mixed in:
"He brought but the one because there was but the one to bring.
There exists none other but that one. It belongeth to the king of
the Demons of the Sea. This man is a pretender, and ignorant, else
he had known that that weapon can be used in but eight bouts only,
and then it vanisheth away to its home under the sea."
"Then is he weaponless," said the king. "Sir Sagramore,
ye will grant him leave to borrow."
"And I will lend!" said Sir Launcelot, limping up. "He
is as brave a knight of his hands as any that be on live, and he shall
have mine."
He put his hand on his sword to draw it, but Sir Sagramor said:
"Stay, it may not be. He shall fight with his own weapons;
it was his privilege to choose them and bring them. If he has erred,
on his head be it."
"Knight!" said the king. "Thou'rt overwrought with
passion; it disorders thy mind. Wouldst kill a naked man?"
"An he do it, he shall answer it to me," said Sir Launcelot.
"I will answer it to any he that desireth!" retorted Sir
Sagramor hotly.
Merlin broke in, rubbing his hands and smiling his lowdownest smile
of malicious gratification:
"'Tis well said, right well said! And 'tis enough of parleying,
let my lord the king deliver the battle signal."
The king had to yield. The bugle made proclamation, and we turned
apart and rode to our stations. There we stood, a hundred yards apart,
facing each other, rigid and motionless, like horsed statues. And
so we remained, in a soundless hush, as much as a full minute, everybody
gazing, nobody stirring. It seemed as if the king could not take heart
to give the signal. But at last he lifted his hand, the clear note
of the bugle followed, Sir Sagramor's long blade described a flashing
curve in the air, and it was superb to see him come. I sat still.
On he came. I did not move. People got so excited that they shouted
to me:
"Fly, fly! Save thyself! This is murther!"
I never budged so much as an inch till that thunderng apparition
had got within fifteen paces of me; then I snatched a dragoon revolver
out of my holster, there was a flash and a roar, and the revolver
was back in the holster before anybody could tell what had happened.
Here was a riderless horse plunging by, and yonder lay Sir Sagramor,
stone dead.
The people that ran to him were stricken dumb to find that the life
was actually gone out of the man and no reason for it visible, no
hurt upon his body, nothing like a wound. There was a hole through
the breast of his chain-mail, but they attached no importance to a
little thing like that; and as a bullet wound there produces but little
blood, none came in sight because of the clothing and swaddlings under
the armor. The body was dragged over to let the king and the swells
look down upon it. They were stupefied with astonishment naturally.
I was requested to come and explain the miracle. But I remained in
my tracks, like a statue, and said:
"If it is a command, I will come, but my lord the king knows
that I am where the laws of combat require me to remain while any
desire to come against me."
I waited. Nobody challenged. Then I said:
"If there are any who doubt that this field is well and fairly
won, I do not wait for them to challenge me, I challenge them."
"It is a gallant offer," said the king, "and well
beseems you. Whom will you name first?"
"I name none, I challenge all! Here I stand, and dare the chivalry
of England to come against me -- not by individuals, but in mass!"
"What!" shouted a score of knights.
"You have heard the challenge. Take it, or I proclaim you recreant
knights and vanquished, every one!"
It was a "bluff" you know. At such a time it is sound
judgment to put on a bold face and play your hand for a hundred times
what it is worth; forty-nine times out of fifty nobody dares to "call,"
and you rake in the chips. But just this once -- well, things looked
squally! In just no time, five hundred knights were scrambling into
their saddles, and before you could wink a widely scattering drove
were under way and clattering down upon me. I snatched both revolvers
from the holsters and began to measure distances and calculate chances.
Bang! One saddle empty. Bang! another one. Bang -- bang, and I bagged
two. Well, it was nip and tuck with us, and I knew it. If I spent
the eleventh shot without convincing these people, the twelfth man
would kill me, sure. And so I never did feel so happy as I did when
my ninth downed its man and I detected the wavering in the crowd which
is premonitory of panic. An instant lost now could knock out my last
chance. But I didn't lose it. I raised both revolvers and pointed
them -- the halted host stood their ground just about one good square
moment, then broke and fled.
The day was mine. Knight-errantry was a doomed institution. The
march of civilization was begun. How did I feel? Ah, you never could
imagine it.
And Brer Merlin? His stock was flat again. Somehow, every time the
magic of fol-de-rol tried conclusions with the magic of science, the
magic of fol-de-rol got left.
Contents:
Copyright © www.book-portal.net |
|
map