Large Fierce Mammal

“If your anger goes forth, withhold your sword; If your sword goes forth, withhold your anger.”
~ Swordsman’s axiom ~

“Better to do a little well, than a great deal badly.”
~ Socrates ~

In my studies of the Blade Arts I once encountered a Swordsman of the old school. A fencer of international status, he was, at the time I refer to, a man in his late 80’s; thin, straight, supple, and keen of eye, his age notwithstanding.

He observed a class of what today are called “high performance” fencers while they practiced the art of the épée as they knew it, one against the other, and after much exhortation, humbly deigned to cross blades with a few of the best and brightest among them.

Imagine the scene – here was the wizened ancient draped in an ill fitting fencing jacket and crowned by a battered mask supplied by the hosting club, standing en garde against bemedalled champions in the full flower of their youthful vigour, and soundly defeating them one by one. At first, each could be seen to attribute being so effortlessly bested as coming out of respect for the old fellow, and a desire to avoid doing him harm. Predictably, each escalated his approach only to find he was hit all the sooner by a man who seemed barely to move – indeed barely able to move. After action discussions brought forward theories that this man was somehow blessed with superhuman speed, for not a single attack had succeeded in striking him. Out of this came a valuable lesson.

In the chapter titled “The Sixth Evening” in his book Sentiments of the Sword, Victorian Master at Arms Sir Richard Francis Burton put it thus:

The sentiment du fer is that supreme art of digitation which is to the complete swordsman what the touch of the pulse is, or rather was, to the old physician who disclaims the newfangled thermometer. It begins to make itself felt as soon as the blades come into contact. Essential to the highest development of our art, it is the result of happy natural disposition, of long study, and of persevering attention. To the hand it gives lightness and that indescribable finesse which guide the cue of the billiard player; to the passes it communicates quickness directed by an appreciation of the case which can hardly be subjected to analysis. It is that mysterious résumé of delicate manipulation, of practised suppleness in wrist and forearm, and of precision in movement, which makes the adversary feel powerless before it, which startles at the same time that it commands him. No quality in a swordsman is more rarely found in any degree approaching perfection. To say that I have not the highest admiration of it would be to set myself down in the lowest ranks of materialism — as the world understands the word. But its very potency suggests the absolute necessity of providing against it when we find so rare a gift opposed to us.

What the modern young Turks described in my example were perceiving as speed on the part of their aged antagonist was, in truth, a combination of impeccable technique, long practiced and ingrained, coupled with tested confidence and its resultant sang-froid. The reality born of exactly the right move to exactly the right degree at exactly the right moment to accomplish the result desired. These are the actions of a man schooled in the art of delivering death, so that to him, even in a match to five “hits”, only the first hit counts, and every one must be treated as both the first and last hit. With no grasp of this, as each young athlete felt himself touched in spite of his best efforts, his ego inevitably drove him progressively further from the Truth with each blow received.

To many a modern fencer, the “weapon” in hand is no weapon at all, but an instrument of athleticism no different and more deserving of noble regard  than a tennis racquet. In discussion with one who openly brings concepts of martial artistry into fencing practice, even accomplished fencers routinely ridicule any such idea as archaic and obsolete, and continue to ply techniques grown from generations of teachings that are finely honed for the scoring of “points” by those who know the continuation of a life, possibly their own, no longer stands on their very next move.

As long as all participants embrace this mindset, something that only approximates the True Arte of Fence will be seen in Olympic style competitions, but an approximation is all it will ever be – one undeserving of any claim to being representative of a true evolution for such would imply improvement by Natural selection. What has actually happened is quite the contrary.

From this fencing lesson, much can be learned and applied to other areas of human endeavour.