FORWARD

“SHALL WE FENCE?”

Man was never as fleet of foot and certainly never as strong of fang and claw as the larger animals with which he had to contend as he fought his way up the ladder of physical and social evolution. However, he was superior in cunning, and, later, in pure intellect. Early, he sought means of equalizing the physical balance—first employing such crude clubs as could be broken from the forest trees, later improving these by the addition of a grass or skin bound lump of stone, and yet later discovering that blood-letting was superior to tissue crushing. This last discovery, which led to the development of the stone knife, was the first step in the evolution and perfection of the sword. First, the dagger was fastened to a staff to make a spear and, eventually, the sword appeared, although this probably did not come in its true form until the bronze age. Whatever its exact date, since the earliest historical records and monuments of man, the sword has been his companion and principal weapon of offence and defence. In fact, it was not until after the French Revolution that it disappeared as part of the formal dress of the gentleman, and not until after World War I that it ceased to be an important part of the equipment of the cavalryman.

And the sword was by no means a strictly utilitarian product. Not only was it frequently the object of the most painstaking and loving attention of both swordsmith and silversmith, but it was endowed with personality, in some of the most romantic songs and stories of the ages. King Arthur, at the head of his knights of the Round Table, did not wear just a sword. At his side rested Excalibur. When Roland died in the Vale of Roncesvalles, surrounded by the bodies of his Moorish foes, in his right hand was the good sword, Durandal. The Cid Campeador carried into battle the sword Tizona. Siegfried bore no nameless weapon. And so, in the romances of England, of France, of Spain, and of Germany, we find the swords of the heroes endowed with personalities. Therefore, we may proudly claim that our weapon has a history and a romance both as old as those of man. Also, it is interesting to realize that the sword has progressed with its bearer, varying in weight, in shape, and in general characteristics as he has visualized the uses to which it was to be put. In the so-called days of chivalry, the problem of the swordsman was not graceful play of sword against sword, but the cracking of a shell of armor so that he could reach the kernel of humanity within. With the passing of armor, the sword was lightened to the rapier—and, with the progressive lightening of the sword, its uses became more and more delicate and complicated, until, by the time of the appearance of the colichemarde and small sword, most of the refinements that we know today had been recognized and developed.

Today, there remains to us a game which employs the three weapons that have been derived from the rapier—the duelling sword which, except for larger guard and slightly larger blade, is an exact replica of the small sword; the foil, which was developed as a practice weapon for the small sword; and the saber which retains the use of both point and edge, as did the rapier, but is much lightened to permit greater speed and versatility of play. This game calls upon the physical forces as does any of our more severe athletic games. It requires the meticulous attention to technique that characterizes golf; the explosive energy of the sprint runner; the split-second decisions of the tennis player and boxer; and, above all and before all, it requires for its fullest achievement a power of analysis that is not equalled by any other game in the athletic group—much more nearly resembling chess in this characteristic. And it is this final attribute that charms and holds its devotees. After the passing of the super-abundant physical energy of youth which requires some outlet, even after the passing of that period when hard training will bring back speed and endurance, there remains the fascination of the game, where cunning of head and skill of hand may still more than balance the physical superiority of younger, but less skilled, heads. It is a game that can be followed for four or five decades, with the aging devotee still a dangerous competitor at the end of this time. It is a game where the 220 pounder has no advantage over the man half his size, and where the six footer possesses no insuperable advantage over the man a half foot shorter. It is a game of speed and coordination, of technical finesse and intellectual acuity, and offers full reward, both physical and mental, to those who will pursue its intricacies.