THE ungentle laws and customs
touched upon in this tale are
historical, and the episodes
which are used to illustrate
them are also historical. It
is not pretended that these laws
and customs existed in England
in the sixth century; no, it
is only pretended that inasmuch
as they existed in the English
and other civilizations of far
later times, it is safe to consider
that it is no libel upon the
sixth century to suppose them
to have been in practice in that
day also. One is quite justified
in inferring that whatever one
of these laws or customs was
lacking in that remote time,
its place was competently filled
by a worse one.
The question as to whether
there is such a thing as divine
right of kings is not settled
in this book. It was found too
difficult. That the executive
head of a nation should be a
person of lofty character and
extraordinary ability, was manifest
and indisputable; that none but
the Deity could select that head
unerringly, was also manifest
and indisputable; that the Deity
ought to make that selection,
then, was likewise manifest and
indisputable; consequently, that
He does make it, as claimed,
was an unavoidable deduction.
I mean, until the author of this
book encountered the Pompadour,
and Lady Castlemaine, and some
other executive heads of that
kind; these were found so difficult
to work into the scheme, that
it was judged better to take
the other tack in this book (which
must be issued this fall), and
then go into training and settle
the question in another book.
It is, of course, a thing which
ought to be settled, and I am
not going to have anything particular
to do next winter anyway.
MARK TWAIN.
A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING
ARTHUR'S COURT
A WORD OF EXPLANATION
IT was in Warwick Castle that
I came across the curious stranger
whom I am going to talk about.
He attracted me by three things:
his candid simplicity, his marvelous
familiarity with ancient armor,
and the restfulness of his company
-- for he did all the talking.
We fell together, as modest people
will, in the tail of the herd
that was being shown through,
and he at once began to say things
which interested me. As he talked
along, softly, pleasantly, flowingly,
he seemed to drift away imperceptibly
out of this world and time, and
into some remote era and old
forgotten country; and so he
gradually wove such a spell about
me that I seemed to move among
the specters and shadows and
dust and mold of a gray antiquity,
holding speech with a relic of
it! Exactly as I would speak
of my nearest personal friends
or enemies, or my most familiar
neighbors, he spoke of Sir Bedivere,
Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Launcelot
of the Lake, Sir Galahad, and
all the other great names of
the Table Round -- and how old,
old, unspeakably old and faded
and dry and musty and ancient
he came to look as he went on!
Presently he turned to me and
said, just as one might speak
of the weather, or any other
common matter --
"You know about
transmigration of souls; do
you know about transposition
of epochs -- and bodies?"
I said I had not heard of it.
He was so little interested --
just as when people speak of
the weather -- that he did not
notice whether I made him any
answer or not. There was half
a moment of silence, immediately
interrupted by the droning voice
of the salaried cicerone:
"Ancient hauberk,
date of the sixth century,
time of King Arthur
and the Round Table; said to
have belonged to the knight Sir
Sagramor le Desirous; observe
the round hole through the chain-mail
in the left breast; can't be
accounted for; supposed to have
been done with a bullet since
invention of firearms -- perhaps
maliciously by Cromwell's soldiers."
My acquaintance smiled -- not
a modern smile, but one that
must have gone out of general
use many, many centuries ago
-- and muttered apparently to
himself:
"Wit ye well, I SAW IT DONE." Then,
after a pause, added: "I did
it myself."
By the time I had recovered
from the electric surprise of
this remark, he was gone.
All that evening I sat by my
fire at the Warwick Arms, steeped
in a dream of the olden time,
while the rain beat upon the
windows, and the wind roared
about the eaves and corners.
From time to time I dipped into
old Sir Thomas Malory's enchanting
book, and fed at its rich feast
of prodigies and adventures,
breathed in the fragrance of
its obsolete names, and dreamed
again. Midnight being come at
length, I read another tale,
for a nightcap -- this which
here follows, to wit:
HOW SIR LAUNCELOT SLEW TWO
GIANTS, AND MADE A CASTLE FREE
Anon withal came there upon
him two great giants, well armed,
all save the heads, with two
horrible clubs in their hands.
Sir Launcelot put his shield
afore him, and put the stroke
away of the one giant, and with
his sword he clave his head asunder.
When his fellow saw that, he
ran away as he were wood [* demented],
for fear of the horrible strokes,
and Sir Launcelot after him with
all his might, and smote him
on the shoulder, and clave him
to the middle. Then Sir Launcelot
went into the hall, and there
came afore him three score ladies
and damsels, and all kneeled
unto him, and thanked God and
him of their deliverance. For,
sir, said they, the most part
of us have been here this seven
year their prisoners, and we
have worked all manner of silk
works for our meat, and we are
all great gentle-women born,
and blessed be the time, knight,
that ever thou wert born;for
thou hast done the most worship
that ever did knight in the world,
that will we bear record, and
we all pray you to tell us your
name, that we may tell our friends
who delivered us out of prison.
Fair damsels, he said, my name
is Sir Launcelot du Lake. And
so he departed from them and
betaught them unto God. And then
he mounted upon his horse, and
rode into many strange and wild
countries, and through many waters
and valleys, and evil was he
lodged. And at the last by fortune
him happened against a night
to come to a fair courtilage,
and therein he found an old gentle-woman
that lodged him with a good-will,
and there he had good cheer for
him and his horse. And when time
was, his host brought him into
a fair garret over the gate to
his bed. There Sir Launcelot
unarmed him, and set his harness
by him, and went to bed, and
anon he fell on sleep. So, soon
after there came one on horseback,
and knocked at the gate in great
haste. And when Sir Launcelot
heard this he rose up, and looked
out at the window, and saw by
the moonlight three knights come
riding after that one man, and
all three lashed on him at once
with swords, and that one knight
turned on them knightly again
and defended him. Truly, said
Sir Launcelot, yonder one knight
shall I help, for it were shame
for me to see three knights on
one, and if he be slain I am
partner of his death. And therewith
he took his harness and went
out at a window by a sheet down
to the four knights, and then
Sir Launcelot said on high, Turn
you knights unto me, and leave
your fighting with that knight.
And then they all three left
Sir Kay, and turned unto Sir
Launcelot, and there began great
battle, for they alight all three,
and strake many strokes at Sir
Launcelot, and assailed him on
every side. Then Sir Kay dressed
him for to have holpen Sir Launcelot.
Nay, sir, said he, I will none
of your help, therefore as ye
will have my help let me alone
with them. Sir Kay for the pleasure
of the knight suffered him for
to do his will, and so stood
aside. And then anon within six
strokes Sir Launcelot had stricken
them to the earth.
And then they all three cried,
Sir Knight, we yield us unto
you as man of might matchless.
As to that, said Sir Launcelot,
I will not take your yielding
unto me, but so that ye yield
you unto Sir Kay the seneschal,
on that covenant I will save
your lives and else not. Fair
knight, said they, that were
we loath to do; for as for Sir
Kay we chased him hither, and
had overcome him had ye not been;
therefore, to yield us unto him
it were no reason. Well, as to
that, said Sir Launcelot, advise
you well, for ye may choose whether
ye will die or live, for an ye
be yielden, it shall be unto
Sir Kay. Fair knight, then they
said, in saving our lives we
will do as thou commandest us.
Then shall ye, said Sir Launcelot,
on Whitsunday next coming go
unto the court of King Arthur,
and there shall ye yield you
unto Queen Guenever, and put
you all three in her grace and
mercy, and say that Sir Kay sent
you thither to be her prisoners.
On the morn Sir Launcelot arose
early, and left Sir Kay sleeping;
and Sir Launcelot took Sir Kay's
armor and his shield and armed
him, and so he went to the stable
and took his horse, and took
his leave of his host, and so
he departed. Then soon after
arose Sir Kay and missed Sir
Launcelot; and then he espied
that he had his armor and his
horse. Now by my faith I know
well that he will grieve some
of the court of King Arthur;
for on him knights will be bold,
and deem that it is I, and that
will beguile them; and because
of his armor and shield I am
sure I shall ride in peace. And
then soon after departed Sir
Kay, and thanked his host.
As I laid the book down there
was a knock at the door, and
my stranger came in. I gave him
a pipe and a chair, and made
him welcome. I also comforted
him with a hot Scotch whisky;
gave him another one; then still
another -- hoping always for
his story. After a fourth persuader,
he drifted into it himself, in
a quite simple and natural way:
THE STRANGER'S HISTORY
I am an American. I was born
and reared in Hartford, in the
State of Connecticut -- anyway,
just over the river, in the country.
So I am a Yankee of the Yankees
-- and practical; yes, and nearly
barren of sentiment, I suppose
-- or poetry, in other words.
My father was a blacksmith, my
uncle was a horse doctor, and
I was both, along at first. Then
I went over to the great arms
factory and learned my real trade;
learned all there was to it;
learned to make everything: guns,
revolvers, cannon, boilers, engines,
all sorts of labor-saving machinery.
Why, I could make anything a
body wanted -- anything in the
world, it didn't make any difference
what; and if there wasn't any
quick new-fangled way to make
a thing, I could invent one --
and do it as easy as rolling
off a log. I became head superintendent;
had a couple of thousand men
under me.
Well, a man like that is a
man that is full of fight --
that goes without saying. With
a couple of thousand rough men
under one, one has plenty of
that sort of amusement. I had,
anyway. At last I met my match,
and I got my dose. It was during
a misunderstanding conducted
with crowbars with a fellow we
used to call Hercules. He laid
me out with a crusher alongside
the head that made everything
crack, and seemed to spring every
joint in my skull and made it
overlap its neighbor. Then the
world went out in darkness, and
I didn't feel anything more,
and didn't know anything at all
-- at least for a while.
When I came to again, I was
sitting under an oak tree, on
the grass, with a whole beautiful
and broad country landscape all
to myself -- nearly. Not entirely;
for there was a fellow on a horse,
looking down at me -- a fellow
fresh out of a picture-book.
He was in old-time iron armor
from head to heel, with a helmet
on his head the shape of a nail-keg
with slits in it; and he had
a shield, and a sword, and a
prodigious spear; and his horse
had armor on, too, and a steel
horn projecting from his forehead,
and gorgeous red and green silk
trappings that hung down all
around him like a bedquilt, nearly
to the ground.
"Fair sir, will ye just?" said
this fellow.
"Will I which?"
"Will ye try
a passage of arms for land
or lady or for --"
"What are you giving me?" I
said. "Get along back to your
circus, or I'll report you."
Now what does this man do but
fall back a couple of hundred
yards and then come rushing at
me as hard as he could tear,
with his nail-keg bent down nearly
to his horse's neck and his long
spear pointed straight ahead.
I saw he meant business, so I
was up the tree when he arrived.
He allowed that I was his property,
the captive of his spear. There
was argument on his side -- and
the bulk of the advantage --
so I judged it best to humor
him. We fixed up an agreement
whereby I was to go with him
and he was not to hurt me. I
came down, and we started away,
I walking by the side of his
horse. We marched comfortably
along, through glades and over
brooks which I could not remember
to have seen before -- which
puzzled me and made me wonder
-- and yet we did not come to
any circus or sign of a circus.
So I gave up the idea of a circus,
and concluded he was from an
asylum. But we never came to
an asylum -- so I was up a stump,
as you may say. I asked him how
far we were from Hartford. He
said he had never heard of the
place; which I took to be a lie,
but allowed it to go at that.
At the end of an hour we saw
a far-away town sleeping in a
valley by a winding river; and
beyond it on a hill, a vast gray
fortress, with towers and turrets,
the first I had ever seen out
of a picture.
"Bridgeport?" said
I, pointing.
"Camelot," said
he.
My stranger had been showing
signs of sleepiness. He caught
himself nodding, now, and smiled
one of those pathetic, obsolete
smiles of his, and said:
"I find I can't
go on; but come with me, I've
got it all
written out, and you can read
it if you like."
In his chamber,
he said: "First,
I kept a journal; then by and
by, after years, I took the journal
and turned it into a book. How
long ago that was!"
He handed me his manuscript,
and pointed out the place where
I should begin:
"Begin here -- I've already
told you what goes before." He
was steeped in drowsiness by
this time. As I went out at his
door I heard him murmur sleepily: "Give
you good den, fair sir."
I sat down by my fire and examined
my treasure. The first part of
it -- the great bulk of it --
was parchment, and yellow with
age. I scanned a leaf particularly
and saw that it was a palimpsest.
Under the old dim writing of
the Yankee historian appeared
traces of a penmanship which
was older and dimmer still --
Latin words and sentences: fragments
from old monkish legends, evidently.
I turned to the place indicated
by my stranger and began to read
-- as follows: |