A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
Chapter 8 - The BossO be vested with enormous authority is a fine thing; but to have the on-looking world consent to it is a finer. The tower episode solidified my power, and made it impregnable. If any were perchance disposed to be jealous and critical before that, they experienced a change of heart, now. There was not any one in the kingdom who would have considered it good judgment to meddle with my matters.
I was fast getting adjusted to my situation and circumstances. For a time, I used to wake up, mornings, and smile at my "dream," and listen for the Colt's factory whistle; but that sort of thing played itself out, gradually, and at last I was fully able to realize that I was actually living in the sixth century, and in Arthur's court, not a lunatic asylum. After that, I was just as much at home in that century as I could have been in any other; and as for preference, I wouldn't have traded it for the twentieth. Look at the opportunities here for a man of knowledge, brains, pluck, and enterprise to sail in and grow up with the country. The grandest field that ever was; and all my own; not a competitor; not a man who wasn't a baby to me in acquirements and capacities; whereas, what would I amount to in the twentieth century? I should be foreman of a factory, that is about all; and could drag a seine down street any day and catch a hundred better men than myself.
What a jump I had made! I couldn't keep from thinking about it, and contemplating it, just as one does who has struck oil. There was nothing back of me that could approach it, unless it might be Joseph's case; and Joseph's only approached it, it didn't equal it, quite. For it stands to reason that as Joseph's splendid financial ingenuities advantaged nobody but the king, the general public must have regarded him with a good deal of disfavor, whereas I had done my entire public a kindness in sparing the sun, and was popular by reason of it.
I was no shadow of a king; I was the substance; the king himself was the shadow. My power was colossal; and it was not a mere name, as such things have generally been, it was the genuine article. I stood here, at the very spring and source of the second great period of the world's history; and could see the trickling stream of that history gather and deepen and broaden, and roll its mighty tides down the far centuries; and I could note the upspringing of adventurers like myself in the shelter of its long array of thrones: De Montforts, Gavestons, Mortimers, Villierses; the war-making, campaign-directing wantons of France, and Charles the Second's scepter-wielding drabs; but nowhere in the procession was my fullsized fellow visible. I was a Unique; and glad to know that that fact could not be dislodged or challenged for thirteen centuries and a half, for sure. Yes, in power I was equal to the king. At the same time there was another power that was a trifle stronger than both of us put together. That was the Church. I do not wish to disguise that fact. I couldn't, if I wanted to. But never mind about that, now; it will show up, in its proper place, later on. It didn't cause me any trouble in the beginning -- at least any of consequence.
Well, it was a curious country, and full of interest. And the people! They were the quaintest and simplest and trustingest race; why, they were nothing but rabbits. It was pitiful for a person born in a wholesome free atmosphere to listen to their humble and hearty outpourings of loyalty toward their king and Church and nobility; as if they had any more occasion to love and honor king and Church and noble than a slave has to love and honor the lash, or a dog has to love and honor the stranger that kicks him! Why, dear me,ANY kind of royalty, howsoever modified, ANY kind of aristocracy, howsoever pruned, is rightly an insult; but if you are born and brought up under that sort of arrangement you probably never find it out for yourself, and don't believe it when somebody else tells you. It is enough to make a body ashamed of his race to think of the sort of froth that has always occupied its thrones without shadow of right or reason, and the seventh-rate people that have always figured as its aristocracies -- a company of monarchs and nobles who, as a rule, would have achieved only poverty and obscurity if left, like their betters, to their own exertions.
The most of King Arthur's British nation were slaves, pure and simple, and bore that name, and wore the iron collar on their necks; and the rest were slaves in fact, but without the name; they imagined themselves men and freemen, and called themselves so. The truth was, the nation as a body was in the world for one object, and one only: to grovel before king and Church and noble; to slave for them, sweat blood for them, starve that they might be fed, work that they might play, drink misery to the dregs that they might be happy, go naked that they might wear silks and jewels, pay taxes that they might be spared from paying them, be familiar all their lives with the degrading language and postures of adulation that they might walk in pride and think themselves the gods of this world. And for all this, the thanks they got were cuffs and contempt; and so poor-spirited were they that they took even this sort of attention as an honor.
ideas are a curious thing, and interesting to observe and examine. I had mine, the king
and his people had theirs. In both cases they flowed in ruts worn deep by time and habit,
and the man who should have proposed to divert them by reason and argument would have had
a long contract on his hands. For instance, those people had inherited the idea that all
men without title and a long pedigree, whether they had great natural gifts and
acquirements or hadn't, were creatures of no more consideration than so many animals,
bugs, insects; whereas I had inherited the idea that human daws who can consent to
masquerade in the peacock-shams of inherited dignities and unearned titles, are of no good
but to be laughed at. The way I was looked upon was odd, but it was natural. You know how
the keeper and the public regard the elephant in the menagerie: well, that is the idea.
They are full of admiration of his vast bulk and his prodigious strength; they speak with
pride of the fact that he can do a hundred marvels which are far and away beyond their own
powers; and they speak with the same pride of the fact that in his wrath he is able to
drive a thousand men before him. But does that make him one of THEM? No; the raggedest
tramp in the pit would smile at the idea. He couldn't comprehend it; couldn't take it in;
couldn't in any remote way conceive of it. Well, to the king, the nobles, and all the
nation, down to the very slaves and tramps, I was just that kind of an elephant, and
nothing more. I was admired, also feared; but it was as an animal is admired and feared.
The animal is not reverenced, neither was I; I was not even respected. I had no pedigree,
no inherited title; so in the king's and nobles' eyes I was mere dirt; the people regarded
me with wonder and awe, but there was no reverence mixed with it; through the force of
inherited ideas they were not able to conceive of anything being entitled to that except
pedigree and lordship. There you see the hand of that awful power, the Roman Catholic
Church. In two or three little centuries it had converted a nation of men to a nation of
worms. Before the day of the Church's supremacy in the world, men were men, and held their
heads up, and had a man's pride and spirit and independence; and what of greatness and
position a person got, he got mainly by achievement, not by birth. But then the Church
came to the front, with an axe to grind; and she was wise, subtle, and knew more than one
way to skin a cat -- or a nation; she invented "divine right of
kings," and propped it all around, brick by brick, with the Beatitudes -- wrenching
them from their good purpose to make them fortify an evil one; she preached (to the
commoner) humility, obedience to superiors, the beauty of self-sacrifice; she preached (to
the commoner) meekness under insult; preached (still to the commoner, always to the
commoner) patience, meanness of spirit, non-resistance under oppression; and she
introduced heritable ranks and aristocracies, and taught all the Christian populations of
the earth to bow down to them and worship them. Even down to my birth-century that poison
was still in the blood of Christendom, and the best of English commoners was still content
to see his inferiors impudently continuing to hold a number of positions, such as
lordships and the throne, to which the grotesque laws of his country did not allow him to
aspire; in fact, he was not merely contented with this strange condition of things, he was
even able to persuade himself that he was proud of it. It seems to show that there isn't
anything you can't stand, if you are only born and bred to it. Of course that taint, that
reverence for rank and title, had been in our American blood, too -- I know that; but when
I left America it had disappeared -- at least to all intents and purposes. The remnant of
it was restricted to the dudes and dudesses. When a disease has worked its way down to
that level, it may fairly be said to be out of the system.
Well, I liked the king, and as king I respected him -- respected the office; at least respected it as much as I was capable of respecting any unearned supremacy; but as MEN I looked down upon him and his nobles -- privately. And he and they liked me, and respected my office; but as an animal, without birth or sham title, they looked down upon me -- and were not particularly private about it, either. I didn't charge for my opinion about them, and they didn't charge for their opinion about me: the account was square, the books balanced, everybody was satisfied.