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A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
by Mark Twain

Chapter 4 - Sir Dinadan the Humorist
T
seemed to me that this quaint lie was most simply and beautifully told; but then I had
heard it only once, and that makes a difference; it was pleasant to the others when it was
fresh, no doubt.
Sir Dinadan the Humorist was the first to awake, and he soon roused
the rest with a practical joke of a sufficiently poor quality. He tied some metal mugs to
a dog's tail and turned him loose, and he tore around and around the place in a frenzy of
fright, with all the other dogs bellowing after him and battering and crashing against
everything that came in their way and making altogether a chaos of confusion and a most
deafening din and turmoil; at which every man and woman of the multitude laughed till the
tears flowed, and some fell out of their chairs and wallowed on the floor in ecstasy. It
was just like so many children. Sir Dinadan was so proud of his exploit that he could not
keep from telling over and over again, to weariness, how the immortal idea happened to
occur to him; and as is the way with humorists of his breed, he was still laughing at it
after everybody else had got through. He was so set up that he concluded to make a speech
-- of course a humorous speech. I think I never heard so many old played-out jokes strung
together in my life. He was worse than the minstrels, worse than the clown in the circus.
It seemed peculiarly sad to sit here, thirteen hundred years before I was born, and listen
again to poor, flat, worm-eaten jokes that had given me the dry gripes when I was a boy
thirteen hundred years afterwards. It about convinced me that there isn't any such thing
as a new joke possible. Everybody laughed at these antiquities -- but then they always do;
I had noticed that, centuries later. However, of course the scoffer didn't laugh -- I mean
the boy.
No, he scoffed; there wasn't
anything he wouldn't scoff at. He said the most of Sir Dinadan's jokes were rotten and the
rest were petrified. I said "petrified" was good; as I believed, myself, that
the only right way to classify the majestic ages of some of those jokes was by geologic
periods. But that neat idea hit the boy in a blank place, for geology hadn't been invented
yet. However, I made a note of the remark, and calculated to educate the commonwealth up
to it if I pulled through. It is no use to throw a good thing away merely because the
market isn't ripe yet.
Now Sir Kay arose and began to fire up on his history-mill with me for fuel. It was
time for me to feel serious, and I did. Sir Kay told how he had encountered me in a far
land of barbarians, who all wore the same ridiculous garb that I did -- a garb that was a
work of enchantment, and intended to make the wearer secure from hurt by human hands.
However he had nullified the force of the enchantment by prayer, and had killed my
thirteen knights in a three hours' battle, and taken me prisoner, sparing my life in order
that so strange a curiosity as I was might be exhibited to the wonder and admiration of
the king and the court. He spoke of me all the time, in the blandest way, as "this
prodigious giant," and "this horrible sky-towering
monster," and "this tusked and taloned man-devouring ogre", and everybody
took in all this bosh in the naivest way, and never smiled or seemed to notice that there
was any discrepancy between these watered statistics and me. He said that in trying to
escape from him I sprang into the top of a tree two hundred cubits high at a single bound,
but he dislodged me with a stone the size of a cow, which "all-to brast" the
most of my bones, and then swore me to appear at Arthur's court for sentence. He ended by
condemning me to die at noon on the 21st; and was so little concerned about it that he
stopped to yawn before he named the date.
I was in a dismal state by this time; indeed, I was hardly enough in my right mind to
keep the run of a dispute that sprung up as to how I had better be killed, the possibility
of the killing being doubted by some, because of the enchantment in my clothes. And yet it
was nothing but an ordinary suit of fifteen-dollar slopshops. Still, I was sane enough to
notice this detail, to wit: many of the terms used in the most matter-of-fact way by this
great assemblage of the first ladies and gentlemen in the land would have made a Comanche
blush. Indelicacy is too mild a term to convey the idea. However, I had read "Tom
Jones," and "Roderick Random," and other books of that kind, and knew that
the highest and first ladies and gentlemen in England had remained little or no cleaner in
their talk, and in the morals and conduct which such talk implies, clear up to a hundred
years ago; in fact clear into our own nineteenth century -- in which century, broadly
speaking, the earliest samples of the real lady and real gentleman discoverable in English
history -- or in European history, for that matter -- may be said to have made their
appearance. Suppose Sir Walter, instead of putting the conversations into the mouths of
his characters, had allowed the characters to speak for themselves? We should have had
talk from Rebecca and Ivanhoe and the soft lady Rowena which would embarrass a tramp in
our day. However, to the unconsciously indelicate all things are delicate. King Arthur's
people were not aware that they were indecent and I had presence of mind enough not to
mention it.
They were so troubled about my enchanted clothes that they were mightily
relieved, at last, when old Merlin swept the difficulty away for them with a common-sense
hint. He asked them why they were so dull -- why didn't it occur to them to strip me. In
half a minute I was as naked as a pair of tongs! And dear, dear, to think of it: I was the
only embarrassed person there. Everybody discussed me; and did it as unconcernedly as if I
had been a cabbage. Queen Guenever was as naively interested as the rest, and said she had
never seen anybody with legs just like mine before. It was the only compliment I got -- if
it was a compliment.
Finally I was carried off in one direction, and my perilous clothes in another. I was
shoved into a dark and narrow cell in a dungeon, with some scant remnants for dinner, some
moldy straw for a bed, and no end of rats for company.
  
The Celtic Hammer June 22, 1996
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