Chapter II: King Arthur's Court

by Mark Twain

　　The moment I got a chance I slipped aside privatelyand touched an ancient common looking man onthe shoulder and said, in an insinuating, confidentialway:"Friend, do me a kindness. Do you belong to theasylum, or are you just on a visit or somethinglike that?"He looked me over stupidly, and said:"Marry, fair sir, me seemeth --""That will do," I said; "I reckon you are apatient."I moved away, cogitating, and at the same timekeeping an eye out for any chance passenger in hisright mind that might come along and give me somelight. I judged I had found one, presently; so Idrew him aside and said in his ear:"If I could see the head keeper a minute -- onlyjust 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 andcould not stop to gossip, though he would like itanother time; for it would comfort his very liver toknow where I got my clothes. As he started away hepointed and said yonder was one who was idle enoughfor my purpose, and was seeking me besides, nodoubt. This was an airy slim boy in shrimp-coloredtights that made him look like a forked carrot, therest of his gear was blue silk and dainty laces andruffles; and he had long yellow curls, and wore aplumed pink satin cap tilted complacently over hisear. By his look, he was good-natured; by his gait,he was satisfied with himself. He was pretty enoughto frame. He arrived, looked me over with a smilingand impudent curiosity; said he had come for me, andinformed 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 washurt. He began to talk and laugh, in happy, thoughtless, boyish fashion, as we walked along, and madehimself old friends with me at once; asked me all sortsof questions about myself and about my clothes, butnever waited for an answer -- always chattered straightahead, as if he didn't know he had asked a questionand wasn't expecting any reply, until at last he happened to mention that he was born in the beginning ofthe year 513.It made the cold chills creep over me! I stoppedand 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 ama stranger and friendless; be honest and honorablewith 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 placewhere they cure crazy people?"He said it wasn't."Well, then," I said, "either I am a lunatic, orsomething 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 wayhome, 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, neveragain. They will not be born for more than thirteenhundred 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 wasnatural. I didn't know how to go about satisfying it,because I knew that the testimony of men wouldn'tserve -- my reason would say they were lunatics, andthrow out their evidence. But all of a sudden I stumbled on the very thing, just by luck. I knew that theonly total eclipse of the sun in the first half of thesixth century occurred on the 21st of June, A. D. 528,O.S., and began at 3 minutes after 12 noon. I alsoknew that no total eclipse of the sun was due in whatto me was the present year -- i.e., 1879. So, if Icould keep my anxiety and curiosity from eating theheart out of me for forty-eight hours, I should thenfind out for certain whether this boy was telling me thetruth or not.Wherefore, being a practical Connecticut man, I nowshoved this whole problem clear out of my mind till itsappointed day and hour should come, in order that Imight turn all my attention to the circumstances of thepresent moment, and be alert and ready to make themost out of them that could be made. One thing at atime, is my motto -- and just play that thing for all itis worth, even if it's only two pair and a jack. I madeup my mind to two things: if it was still the nineteenthcentury and I was among lunatics and couldn't getaway, I would presently boss that asylum or know thereason why; and if, on the other hand, it was reallythe sixth century, all right, I didn't want any softerthing: I would boss the whole country inside of threemonths; for I judged I would have the start of thebest-educated man in the kingdom by a matter ofthirteen hundred years and upward. I'm not a manto waste time after my mind's made up and there'swork on hand; so I said to the page:"Now, Clarence, my boy -- if that might happen tobe your name -- I'll get you to post me up a little ifyou don't mind. What is the name of that apparitionthat brought me here?""My master and thine? That is the good knightand great lord Sir Kay the Seneschal, foster brother toour liege the king.""Very good; go on, tell me everything."He made a long story of it; but the part that hadimmediate interest for me was this: He said I was SirKay's prisoner, and that in the due course of customI would be flung into a dungeon and left there on scantcommons until my friends ransomed me -- unless Ichanced to rot, first. I saw that the last chance hadthe best show, but I didn't waste any bother aboutthat; time was too precious. The page said, further,that dinner was about ended in the great hall by thistime, and that as soon as the sociability and the heavydrinking should begin, Sir Kay would have me in andexhibit me before King Arthur and his illustriousknights seated at the Table Round, and would bragabout his exploit in capturing me, and would probablyexaggerate the facts a little, but it wouldn't be goodform for me to correct him, and not over safe, either;and when I was done being exhibited, then ho for thedungeon; but he, Clarence, would find a way to comeand see me every now and then, and cheer me up, andhelp me get word to my friends.Get word to my friends! I thanked him; I couldn'tdo less; and about this time a lackey came to say Iwas wanted; so Clarence led me in and took me off toone 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, verylofty; so lofty that the banners depending from thearched beams and girders away up there floated in asort of twilight; there was a stone-railed gallery ateach end, high up, with musicians in the one, andwomen, clothed in stunning colors, in the other. Thefloor was of big stone flags laid in black and whitesquares, rather battered by age and use, and needingrepair. As to ornament, there wasn't any, strictlyspeaking; though on the walls hung some huge tapestries which were probably taxed as works of art;battle-pieces, they were, with horses shaped like thosewhich children cut out of paper or create in gingerbread; with men on them in scale armor whose scalesare represented by round holes -- so that the man'scoat looks as if it had been done with a biscuit-punch.There was a fireplace big enough to camp in; and itsprojecting sides and hood, of carved and pillaredstonework, had the look of a cathedral door. Alongthe 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 publicsquare was an oaken table which they called the TableRound. It was as large as a circus ring; and aroundit sat a great company of men dressed in such variousand splendid colors that it hurt one's eyes to look atthem. They wore their plumed hats, right along, except that whenever one addressed himself directly tothe 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 beefbones. There was about an average of two dogs toone man; and these sat in expectant attitudes till aspent bone was flung to them, and then they went forit by brigades and divisions, with a rush, and thereensued a fight which filled the prospect with a tumultuous chaos of plunging heads and bodies and flashingtails, and the storm of howlings and barkings deafenedall speech for the time; but that was no matter, forthe dog-fight was always a bigger interest anyway; themen rose, sometimes, to observe it the better and beton 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 totime. In the end, the winning dog stretched himselfout comfortably with his bone between his paws, andproceeded to growl over it, and gnaw it, and greasethe 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 peoplewere gracious and courtly; and I noticed that theywere good and serious listeners when anybody was telling anything -- I mean in a dog-fightless interval. Andplainly, too, they were a childlike and innocent lot;telling lies of the stateliest pattern with a most gentleand winning naivety, and ready and willing to listen toanybody else's lie, and believe it, too. It was hard toassociate them with anything cruel or dreadful; andyet they dealt in tales of blood and suffering with aguileless relish that made me almost forget to shudder.I was not the only prisoner present. There weretwenty or more. Poor devils, many of them weremaimed, hacked, carved, in a frightful way; and theirhair, their faces, their clothing, were caked with blackand stiffened drenchings of blood. They were suffering sharp physical pain, of course; and weariness, andhunger and thirst, no doubt; and at least none hadgiven them the comfort of a wash, or even the poorcharity of a lotion for their wounds; yet you neverheard them utter a moan or a groan, or saw them showany 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 expectingany better treatment than this; so their philosophicalbearing is not an outcome of mental training, intellectual fortitude, reasoning; it is mere animal training;they are white Indians."