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VII

“Unless I know my man, or have come to an understanding with him beforehand, I have very little faith in a prolonged concatenation of parries, ripostes and counter-ripostes, and here again I should try to relieve the mind, as much as may be, from an unnecessary burden, by getting rid of complications instead of multiplying them.

“I look at it in this way. If a fencer has to concern himself with the different lines in which he may be attacked, he must be in a state of continual suspense. He will be continually asking himself whether the attack is coming in the inside line or the outside, in the high line or the low. Thus, in order to parry to advantage and correctly he must wait until his enemy’s object is clearly disclosed. Take the case of a simple attack promptly executed; it is obvious that the attacker must gain a considerable start. True, there are a few fencers, but very few, gifted with so fine a sense of touch, that they can divine their adversary’s intention, and read his inmost thought.

“Less gifted mortals should be content with a parry which mechanically traverses all the lines. Such a parry must of necessity encounter the adverse blade forcibly in whichever line the enemy has selected for his attack. When once you have acquired this universal parry the strain is lessened, your mind is more at ease, you are more sure of yourself and feel that you can act with certainty and decision.

VIII

“There are two kinds of parry, among those which I enumerated the other day, which answer this purpose equally well. The first consists in combining the parry of tierce or counter tierce with a cut over and beat in quarte; the second in parrying counter tierce and counter quarte in succession, and vice versa, or counter quarte and circle.

“These covering parries though they are technically composite, in practice are fairly simple, and rapidly pass through all the lines that are open to attack. Choose the one which you prefer instinctively, which is another way of saying the one that comes most naturally to your hand. Or, if you like, use sometimes one, sometimes the other.”

“But what if this parry is deceived?” asked the Comte de R.

“Well,” I answered, “‘Deception no cheating’ is the fencer’s motto. There is no such thing as an attack that cannot be parried, or a parry that cannot be deceived. Sooner or later the fatal moment comes, and superior activity or superior cunning prevails.

“If any professor can invent an attack which it is impossible to resist, or a parry which it is impossible to deceive, I should advise him to take very good care to secure the patent rights of his invention without a moment’s delay. He would certainly have no difficulty in floating a company to put it on the market in all the capitals of Europe.

“I have already expressed my opinion that a fencer’s strength lies much more in presence of mind and in quickness of hand than in a very varied play. This is so true that the majority of fencers, amateur and professional alike, affect certain favourite strokes; they have favourite attacks, favourite parries and ripostes, and always come back to them as to old friends on whose services they can confidently rely. In the course of an assault the same stroke is often repeated in many different ways; the shape it takes changes with the changing incidents of the fight, and accordingly as it is adapted to suit the peculiarities of the individual against whom it is employed. That is the great beauty of a stroke in fencing.

“Some of you, I know, are not fencers, but there are one or two connoisseurs present, who have studied the art, and are experts. It is to them that I now appeal. As an illustration of my argument I will take the most simple parry, the parry of quarte, and I will ask them if it is not the fact that it constantly changes and undergoes surprising transformations? Sometimes it is a light touch, sometimes a vigorous, almost a violent blow; it may form a high parry, it may form a low parry, it serves for every purpose and answers every call that can be made upon it. Watch the blade as the parry is formed; – perhaps it just meets the adverse blade and suddenly quits it or it may hold and dominate it.

“It is this power of varying the stroke and transforming it at will that marks the true fencer.

“The man, I repeat, who is content to recite his lesson by rote, however well he has learnt it, can never be anything more than a school-boy; call him that or an accomplished parrot, whichever he prefers.

IX

“I was reading one of the ancient treatises, which are reposing peacefully on your dusty shelves, my dear C., when I came across the following passage, which rather struck my fancy: —

The law of defence declares that your motions should be the natural motions of a man’s body. But, however sacred the dignity of law may be, nevertheless you ought to consider that necessity knows no law, and that it overrides even the weightiest laws of human contrivance.

“That was written in 1600. The maxim is a trifle too sweeping for general application, but it seems to me to be a good and serviceable maxim when applied to sword-play.

“My remarks are perhaps somewhat disconnected. I am simply giving you my ideas at random, as they occur to me. But my main object is to direct your attention to the points which appear to me of some importance.

“After the parries come the ripostes. On this subject a few words will suffice. Never forget that the parry and riposte are twin sisters, whose lives are so closely bound up in each other, that they cannot exist apart. Riposte and parry ought to be so closely allied that the riposte may seem to be the second part of the parry. Therefore, as a general principle, riposte direct, in the line in which you have found the blade. Changing the line wastes time, and gives your adversary an opportunity to pull himself together and make a remise or renew the attack. Never, on any consideration, allow yourself to draw back your arm, for then your riposte is lost, – as well throw your purse in the gutter.

“If your judgment tells you that your adversary is waiting for your direct riposte, and has attacked you with the object of drawing it, or if you have noticed that he covers himself effectively on that side, while he leaves you a clear opening elsewhere, then avoid the trap by a disengagement or a cut-over; but only make one feint, never more than one. For, if you do, though you may succeed once, you will probably find out later that your success was dearly bought. It is always wise, you know, to count the cost, and economise your resources, unless you wish to take the straight road to ruin.

X

“Our chat to-night,” I remarked after a moment’s silence, “if it has not been very long, has at least been very serious. I only complain that you have not sufficiently interrupted me.”

“We have been listening to you,” said the Comte de R., “very attentively, because you warned us of the importance of your subject.”

“Very well, my dear R.,” I replied. “Now just imagine you are in court, and let us hear how you would sum up the case for the benefit of the jury.”

“I fancy I can do that rather well,” answered R. “Let me try: – The lesson, you say, is the school-room, the assault is the fencer’s career, a free field for enterprise, where he must stand or fall by dint of his own unaided genius. The only counsels, which are worth anything, are those which have governed attack and defence from time immemorial. For attack, the union of desperate energy with cool and calculating caution; for defence, firmness, wariness, self-reliance.

“Then, passing from the general question to points of detail, or execution, I should add: – It is a great mistake, a piece of inconceivable folly, to have boycotted, to use your own expression, hits in the very low lines, because the fencer is prevented thereby from acquiring the habit of strictly guarding those parts of the body, where in a serious encounter any wound would probably prove fatal.

“As a general rule step back as you form the parry, to make assurance doubly sure, and to give greater freedom to your riposte. Stand your ground only when you think you have judged the stroke to a nicety, and when you hold your adversary in a tight place, from which he cannot escape.”

“I am infinitely obliged to you, my dear R.,” I remarked. “You have summarised most excellently the points that I have worked out in detail, and you have exactly caught my meaning.”

“Very good of you to say so,” answered R., “but let me finish: – In order to keep your wits about you, and to avoid trying to think of too many things at once, adopt as a rule a universal parry, which will cut all the lines, and must meet and drive away your opponent’s blade. Always riposte direct, and be careful on your riposte to avoid making feints which expose you to a remise or to a renewal of the attack. Does that satisfy you?”

“You have taken us over the ground most admirably, my dear Professor. To-morrow, I propose to discuss the attack, and in this connection we shall have to consider what is usually called ‘le sentiment du fer,’ the fencer’s sense of touch.

“To this sovereign principle we are asked to swear allegiance, as though it occupied the throne by divine right. I shall ask you to consider the pretensions of another claimant of very noble lineage to a share of the royal honours.”

The Fifth Evening

I

Although our conversation was quite informal and simply an after-dinner amusement, I found that it involved diligent preparation, especially when I was approaching one of the questions where I was in open conflict with current theories, which are often taken for granted on no better ground than their respectable antiquity.

One of these theories, which is described in fencing language as the importance of judging the blade by touch, I was now prepared to challenge, and I was ready to maintain the superiority of another principle, against which the professors raise their voices, almost with one accord, in a chorus of unmerited abuse. Accordingly when we assembled in the smoking-room, I took my usual seat and began without preface.

II

“Perhaps I had better explain what is meant by refusing to join blades. It means that, as soon as you have come on guard, you break away from the engagement, and avoid crossing swords with your adversary, instead of allowing the blades to remain in contact.

“This, I consider, was one of the most successful innovations of what it is the fashion to call ‘The New School’; and I am therefore very far from sharing the opinions of the professors, who discover in the practice the corruption of the best traditions of sword-play, and declare that the refusal to join blades is equivalent to fencing blindfold, and without judgment; it leads, they say, to mutual hits, and deprives the fencer of one of the finest accomplishments he can acquire, the power of judging the sword by touch.

III

“Undoubtedly the fencer’s touch is a great resource; I am even willing to allow that it is invaluable, and it is a thing that can only be obtained by practice and perseverance; it gives lightness and dexterity to the hand, and enables the foil to be manipulated with accuracy and speed.

“It is the refined result that is derived from extreme ease in regulating the extension of the arm, from exquisite subtlety in the use of the fingers, and from precision of play, which involves its victim almost unawares, dismays, and utterly confounds him. I profess the greatest admiration for this consummate power of fence, so seldom seen to perfection. No one can think more highly of it than I do, and on that account I am strongly convinced of the necessity of devising a means to resist it, when it is used against me. I shall perhaps be told to combat it by an equally fine sense of touch; – but it is still more rare to see a bout of fencing in which the two men are evenly matched in this respect, and general principles should be based on general grounds, not on exceptional cases.

“The man who possesses this consummate sleight of touch may almost be said to control his opponent’s blade by the exercise of his will. By a sort of hypnotic influence or fascination he does with it what he pleases. If you refuse the engagement, you create a difficulty for him; if you do not allow him to bring his blade into contact with yours, you put an impediment in his way, which his skill will doubtless overcome, but with less certainty; his course is not so clear, and he is no longer completely master of the situation. For if you join blades you are always within striking distance of his point, that is to say he can attack you at any moment without shifting his ground. Now such attacks are exceedingly difficult to stop, even for the most practised hand, especially simple attacks such as straight thrusts or simple disengagements.

“The mind perpetually held in suspense is harassed and distressed, you have no leisure to think for yourself and are demoralised by the slow torture of a constant strain. For, I repeat, it is very rare to find two fencers so evenly matched in this respect that the risk is equally divided.

“In that case I should say: – ‘Do what you please.’ In the other case: – ‘By refusing the engagement you can at first keep your opponent out of distance, which will compel him to advance in order to attack you, and so give you fair warning of his intention. You are no longer exposed to the paralysing influence of a constantly threatened attack, which destroys your liberty of action and judgment; you disconcert your adversary by leaving him in the dark as to the line in which he will encounter your blade; and you can choose your own time, when you are ready to attack or parry, to engage his blade with decision.’

“For my own part, I am quite satisfied that the system is a safe and sound defensive measure, which offers advantages that cannot be denied. Pressures, binds, beats and croisés, all those dangerous movements by which your opponent can bring the fort of his blade to bear on the faible of yours, are rendered very difficult to perform, and are much less likely to succeed. Surprise attacks are entirely or at least so nearly eliminated, that their occurrence is a rare event.

IV

“I have endeavoured to state as clearly as possible the advantages that a weak fencer may derive from this system, when he is opposed to a combatant more experienced and more skilful than himself; but further than that, I believe that the skilful and experienced fencer has also something to gain by adopting this much despised method. I have myself never been able to discover that it is incompatible with perfect ‘form,’ or that it tends to wild play. It opens a wider field, it shows the fallacy of certain ideas, which have been wrongly supposed to be unassailable, and it furnishes a whole range of new situations, another world to conquer.

“What ground is there, I would ask my critic, for your assertion that I must be fencing blindly, because my sword does not happen to be in constant touch with yours? Why do you say that mutual hits must occur more frequently? If you are talking of a pair of duffers, who charge each other blindly, you may trust them to commit every possible blunder, whether they join blades or not.

“But why should you exalt so highly what you call the faculty of touch, the power of judging the blade by touch, and be so ready to degrade that other sovereign principle, which may be called the faculty of sight, the power of judging the sword by eye? Can you deny the controlling influence of the eye, the authority that belongs to it? Do you believe that the eye cannot be trained to the same degree of nicety as the hand? Why, when you have these two forces at your disposal, are you content to let one of them do duty for both?

“You may keep your opponent at his distance by the menace of your nimble point, which flashes in his sight incessantly; while your watchful eye follows the movements of his sword and reads his thought, as well as if the blades were crossed and questioned each other by the language of the steel. Then, when it suits your convenience, when you see a favourable opportunity, when you have by a rapid calculation reckoned up the situation, weighed the chances, taken everything into account, then is the time to offer your sword, then is the time to engage your adversary, or by bold decided movements to get control of his blade.”

V

“But,” objected one of my hearers, “what if your adversary adopts the same tactics, and refuses the engagement?”

“That is where science and strength, skill and personal superiority tell. What is fencing if it is not the art of leading your opponent into a trap, the art of making him think that he will be attacked in one place, when you mean to hit him in another? the skill to outwit his calculations, to master his game, paralyse his action, outmanœuvre him, reduce him to impotence? – That is the sort of thing the accomplished fencer sets himself to do.

“Your adversary, you say, will not come to an engagement. Very good; then you must force him to it by feints, or by threatening to attack. Either he attempts to parry or he attempts to thrust. In either case you get command of his blade by a simple or by a double beat, as the case may be, and then you drive your attack home.

“It holds good with fencing, as it does with all warlike measures, whether on a large scale or small, that you must not wait for what you want to be brought to you; you must learn to help yourself; take no denial, but by force or fraud get possession.

“Now, I appeal to you all as critics, not on a technical question of fencing, on which no one can be expected to give an opinion without a thorough knowledge of the art, but on a simpler matter. I will contrast two assaults. Imagine that you are the spectators. The first is between two fencers of the classical school, to use the conventional phrase.

“The swords are crossed, and the two adversaries, both gifted with consummate skill, stand facing each other, foot to foot. Feint follows feint, and parry parry; a simple attack is delivered, it is succeeded by a combination. The attitudes of both are irreproachable; the body always upright; the quick hand with exquisite finesse manipulates the dancing point by subtle and accurate finger-play. You admire the exhibition; for a moment you follow the quick passage of the blades, but your sympathies are not aroused, you are not carried away, or enthralled in spite of yourself in a fever of anxious expectation.

“Now turn to the other assault. This also is fought by two skilful fencers, but they go to work on quite a different system.

“Look at the combatants. Instead of standing foot to foot, and blade to blade, they are out of distance, on the alert, ready to strike but cautious. Their eyes follow each other, and watch for the tell-tale movement. Suddenly they close, the blades cross, interlock, and break away. That was a searching thrust! But by a sudden retreat, a rapid movement, perhaps a leap backwards, the fencer evades the hit, and is ready on the instant to give back the point. This assault is a battle between two men, who mean hard fighting, keen swordsmen, dodgy, artful, and slippery, who bring to bear all their science, employ every trick they can think of, and throw themselves body and soul into the fight.

“Now let me ask you, which of these two assaults is the more interesting to follow?

VI

“I remember an assault, in M. Pons’s rooms, between one of my friends and a man who was generally considered and really was a strong fencer, although he insisted on clinging to that mischievous routine, which with some men is a superstition.

“They came on guard, and my friend, after crossing swords to show that he was ready to defend himself, quitted the engagement, attacked, and hit his opponent several times.

‘But, Sir,’ his opponent objected, ‘you do not join blades.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Unless you join blades, how am I to fence?’

‘That is your look-out.’

‘But you must join blades.’

‘Why must I? My only object, I assure you, is to endeavour, as well as I am able, to disconcert my opponent, and as I find that this plan disconcerts you considerably, I see all the more reason why I should continue to employ it.’

‘That may be,’ rejoined the other sticking to his point, ‘but if you do not join blades, it is not fencing.’

‘Well,’ said my friend, ‘let us try for a moment to discuss the matter. Tell me, are my hits improperly delivered?’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Did I stab, or come in with a round-arm?’

‘Certainly not’

‘Is there anything wrong with my parries? Are they too wide, or what? Is my hand too heavy, or do you complain of mutual hits?’

‘No, that is not the point.’

‘Then, what more do you want?’

‘I want you to join blades.’

‘To oblige you?’

‘No, I do not say that. But unless you join blades it is not fencing.’

“And say what one might, nothing would make him budge from his everlasting axiom.

“It is always so, whenever an attempt is made to interfere with the traditions of any art whatever. The man who tries to strike out a new line cannot fail to disturb the tranquil repose of ancient custom. The conservatives resist, they object to interference, they feel that their placid triumphs, their cherished habits are threatened. The regular routine, which has been drilled into them, till they know it like an old tune of which every turn and every note is familiar, will be unsettled. They have good reason to be annoyed, but that does not prove them to be right.