THE moment I got a chance I
slipped aside privately and touched
an ancient common looking man
on the shoulder and said, in
an insinuating, confidential
way:
"Friend, do
me a kindness. Do you belong
to the asylum,
or are you just on a visit or
something like that?"
He looked me over stupidly,
and said:
"Marry, fair
sir, me seemeth --"
"That will do," I said; "I
reckon you are a patient."
I moved away, cogitating, and
at the same time keeping an eye
out for any chance passenger
in his right mind that might
come along and give me some light.
I judged I had found one, presently;
so I drew him aside and said
in his ear:
"If I could
see the head keeper a minute
-- only just a minute
--"
"Prithee do
not let me."
"Let you WHAT?"
"HINDER me,
then, if the word please thee
better. Then he went
on to say he was an under-cook
and could not stop to gossip,
though he would like it another
time; for it would comfort his
very liver to know where I got
my clothes. As he started away
he pointed and said yonder was
one who was idle enough for my
purpose, and was seeking me besides,
no doubt. This was an airy slim
boy in shrimp-colored tights
that made him look like a forked
carrot, the rest of his gear
was blue silk and dainty laces
and ruffles; and he had long
yellow curls, and wore a plumed
pink satin cap tilted complacently
over his ear. By his look, he
was good-natured; by his gait,
he was satisfied with himself.
He was pretty enough to frame.
He arrived, looked me over with
a smiling and impudent curiosity;
said he had come for me, and
informed me that he was a page.
"Go 'long," I said; "you
ain't more than a paragraph."
It was pretty severe, but I
was nettled. However, it never
phazed him; he didn't appear
to know he was hurt. He began
to talk and laugh, in happy,
thoughtless, boyish fashion,
as we walked along, and made
himself old friends with me at
once; asked me all sorts of questions
about myself and about my clothes,
but never waited for an answer
-- always chattered straight
ahead, as if he didn't know he
had asked a question and wasn't
expecting any reply, until at
last he happened to mention that
he was born in the beginning
of the year 513.
It made the cold chills creep
over me! I stopped and said,
a little faintly:
"Maybe I didn't
hear you just right. Say it
again -- and say
it slow. What year was it?"
"513."
"513! You don't
look it! Come, my boy, I am
a stranger and friendless;
be honest and honorable with
me. Are you in your right mind?"
He said he was.
"Are these
other people in their right
minds?"
He said they were.
"And this isn't
an asylum? I mean, it isn't
a place where
they cure crazy people?"
He said it wasn't.
"Well, then," I said, "either
I am a lunatic, or something
just as awful has happened. Now
tell me, honest and true, where
am I?"
"IN KING ARTHUR'S
COURT."
I waited a minute, to let that
idea shudder its way home, and
then said:
"And according
to your notions, what year
is it now?"
"528 -- nineteenth
of June."
I felt a mournful
sinking at the heart, and muttered: "I
shall never see my friends
again --
never, never again. They will
not be born for more than thirteen
hundred years yet."
I seemed to believe the boy,
I didn't know why. SOMETHING
in me seemed to believe him --
my consciousness, as you may
say; but my reason didn't. My
reason straightway began to clamor;
that was natural. I didn't know
how to go about satisfying it,
because I knew that the testimony
of men wouldn't serve -- my reason
would say they were lunatics,
and throw out their evidence.
But all of a sudden I stumbled
on the very thing, just by luck.
I knew that the only total eclipse
of the sun in the first half
of the sixth century occurred
on the 21st of June, A. D. 528,
O.S., and began at 3 minutes
after 12 noon. I also knew that
no total eclipse of the sun was
due in what to ME was the present
year -- i.e., 1879. So, if I
could keep my anxiety and curiosity
from eating the heart out of
me for forty-eight hours, I should
then find out for certain whether
this boy was telling me the truth
or not.
Wherefore, being a practical
Connecticut man, I now shoved
this whole problem clear out
of my mind till its appointed
day and hour should come, in
order that I might turn all my
attention to the circumstances
of the present moment, and be
alert and ready to make the most
out of them that could be made.
One thing at a time, is my motto
-- and just play that thing for
all it is worth, even if it's
only two pair and a jack. I made
up my mind to two things: if
it was still the nineteenth century
and I was among lunatics and
couldn't get away, I would presently
boss that asylum or know the
reason why; and if, on the other
hand, it was really the sixth
century, all right, I didn't
want any softer thing: I would
boss the whole country inside
of three months; for I judged
I would have the start of the
best-educated man in the kingdom
by a matter of thirteen hundred
years and upward. I'm not a man
to waste time after my mind's
made up and there's work on hand;
so I said to the page:
"Now, Clarence,
my boy -- if that might happen
to be your
name -- I'll get you to post
me up a little if you don't mind.
What is the name of that apparition
that brought me here?"
"My master
and thine? That is the good
knight and great
lord Sir Kay the Seneschal, foster
brother to our liege the king."
"Very good;
go on, tell me everything."
He made a long story of it;
but the part that had immediate
interest for me was this: He
said I was Sir Kay's prisoner,
and that in the due course of
custom I would be flung into
a dungeon and left there on scant
commons until my friends ransomed
me -- unless I chanced to rot,
first. I saw that the last chance
had the best show, but I didn't
waste any bother about that;
time was too precious. The page
said, further, that dinner was
about ended in the great hall
by this time, and that as soon
as the sociability and the heavy
drinking should begin, Sir Kay
would have me in and exhibit
me before King Arthur and his
illustrious knights seated at
the Table Round, and would brag
about his exploit in capturing
me, and would probably exaggerate
the facts a little, but it wouldn't
be good form for me to correct
him, and not over safe, either;
and when I was done being exhibited,
then ho for the dungeon; but
he, Clarence, would find a way
to come and see me every now
and then, and cheer me up, and
help me get word to my friends.
Get word to my friends! I thanked
him; I couldn't do less; and
about this time a lackey came
to say I was wanted; so Clarence
led me in and took me off to
one side and sat down by me.
Well, it was a curious kind
of spectacle, and interesting.
It was an immense place, and
rather naked -- yes, and full
of loud contrasts. It was very,
very lofty; so lofty that the
banners depending from the arched
beams and girders away up there
floated in a sort of twilight;
there was a stone-railed gallery
at each end, high up, with musicians
in the one, and women, clothed
in stunning colors, in the other.
The floor was of big stone flags
laid in black and white squares,
rather battered by age and use,
and needing repair. As to ornament,
there wasn't any, strictly speaking;
though on the walls hung some
huge tapestries which were probably
taxed as works of art; battle-pieces,
they were, with horses shaped
like those which children cut
out of paper or create in gingerbread;
with men on them in scale armor
whose scales are represented
by round holes -- so that the
man's coat looks as if it had
been done with a biscuit-punch.
There was a fireplace big enough
to camp in; and its projecting
sides and hood, of carved and
pillared stonework, had the look
of a cathedral door. Along the
walls stood men-at-arms, in breastplate
and morion, with halberds for
their only weapon -- rigid as
statues; and that is what they
looked like.
In the middle of this groined
and vaulted public square was
an oaken table which they called
the Table Round. It was as large
as a circus ring; and around
it sat a great company of men
dressed in such various and splendid
colors that it hurt one's eyes
to look at them. They wore their
plumed hats, right along, except
that whenever one addressed himself
directly to the king, he lifted
his hat a trifle just as he was
beginning his remark.
Mainly they were drinking --
from entire ox horns; but a few
were still munching bread or
gnawing beef bones. There was
about an average of two dogs
to one man; and these sat in
expectant attitudes till a spent
bone was flung to them, and then
they went for it by brigades
and divisions, with a rush, and
there ensued a fight which filled
the prospect with a tumultuous
chaos of plunging heads and bodies
and flashing tails, and the storm
of howlings and barkings deafened
all speech for the time; but
that was no matter, for the dog-fight
was always a bigger interest
anyway; the men rose, sometimes,
to observe it the better and
bet on it, and the ladies and
the musicians stretched themselves
out over their balusters with
the same object; and all broke
into delighted ejaculations from
time to time. In the end, the
winning dog stretched himself
out comfortably with his bone
between his paws, and proceeded
to growl over it, and gnaw it,
and grease the floor with it,
just as fifty others were already
doing; and the rest of the court
resumed their previous industries
and entertainments.
As a rule, the speech and behavior
of these people were gracious
and courtly; and I noticed that
they were good and serious listeners
when anybody was telling anything
-- I mean in a dog-fightless
interval. And plainly, too, they
were a childlike and innocent
lot; telling lies of the stateliest
pattern with a most gentle and
winning naivety, and ready and
willing to listen to anybody
else's lie, and believe it, too.
It was hard to associate them
with anything cruel or dreadful;
and yet they dealt in tales of
blood and suffering with a guileless
relish that made me almost forget
to shudder.
I was not the
only prisoner present. There
were twenty or
more. Poor devils, many of them
were maimed, hacked, carved,
in a frightful way; and their
hair, their faces, their clothing,
were caked with black and stiffened
drenchings of blood. They were
suffering sharp physical pain,
of course; and weariness, and
hunger and thirst, no doubt;
and at least none had given them
the comfort of a wash, or even
the poor charity of a lotion
for their wounds; yet you never
heard them utter a moan or a
groan, or saw them show any sign
of restlessness, or any disposition
to complain. The thought was
forced upon me: "The rascals
-- THEY have served other people
so in their day; it being their
own turn, now, they were not
expecting any better treatment
than this; so their philosophical
bearing is not an outcome of
mental training, intellectual
fortitude, reasoning; it is mere
animal training; they are white
Indians." |