A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
by Mark Twain
Chapter 22 - The Holy Fountain
THE pilgrims were human beings. Otherwise they would have acted
differently. They had come a long and difficult journey, and now when the journey was
nearly finished, and they learned that the main thing they had come for had ceased to
exist, they didn't do as horses or cats or angle-worms would probably have done -- turn
back and get at something profitable -- no, anxious as they had before been to see the
miraculous fountain, they were as much as forty times as anxious now to see the place
where it had used to be. There is no accounting for human beings.
We made good time;
and a couple of hours before sunset we stood upon the high confines of the Valley of
Holiness, and our eyes swept it from end to end and noted its features. That is, its large
features. These were the three masses of buildings. They were distant and isolated
temporalities shrunken to toy constructions in the lonely waste of what seemed a desert --
and was. Such a scene is always mournful, it is so impressively still, and looks so
steeped in death. But there was a sound here which interrupted the stillness only to add
to its mournfulness; this was the faint far sound of tolling bells which floated fitfully
to us on the passing breeze, and so faintly, so softly, that we hardly knew whether we
heard it with our ears or with our spirits.
We reached the monastery before dark, and there the males were given lodging, but the
women were sent over to the nunnery. The bells were close at hand now, and their solemn
booming smote upon the ear like a message of doom. A superstitious despair possessed the
heart of every monk and published itself in his ghastly face. Everywhere, these
black-robed, soft-sandaled, tallow-visaged specters appeared, flitted about and
disappeared, noiseless as the creatures of a troubled dream, and as uncanny.
The old abbot's joy to see me was pathetic. Even to tears; but he did the shedding
himself. He said:
"Delay not, son, but get to thy saving work. An we bring not the water back again,
and soon, we are ruined, and the good work of two hundred years must end. And see thou do
it with enchantments that be holy, for the Church will not endure that work in her cause
be done by devil's magic."
"When I work, Father, be sure there will be no devil's work connected with it. I
shall use no arts that come of the devil, and no elements not created by the hand of God.
But is Merlin working strictly on pious lines?"
"Ah, he said he would, my son, he said he would, and took oath to make his promise
"Well, in that case, let him proceed."
"But surely you will not sit idle by, but help?"
"It will not answer to mix methods, Father; neither would it be professional
courtesy. Two of a trade must not underbid each other. We might as well cut rates and be
done with it; it would arrive at that in the end. Merlin has the contract; no other
magician can touch it till he throws it up."
"But I will take it from him; it is a terrible emergency and the act is thereby
justified. And if it were not so, who will give law to the Church? The Church giveth law
to all; and what she wills to do, that she may do, hurt whom it may. I will take it from
him; you shall begin upon the moment."
"It may not be, Father. No doubt, as you say, where power is supreme, one can do
as one likes and suffer no injury; but we poor magicians are not so situated. Merlin is a
very good magician in a small way, and has quite a neat provincial reputation. He is
struggling along, doing the best he can, and it would not be etiquette for me to take his
job until he himself abandons it."
The abbot's face lighted.
"Ah, that is simple. There are ways to persuade him to abandon it."
"No-no, Father, it skills not, as these people say. If he were persuaded against
his will, he would load that well with a malicious enchantment which would balk me until I
found out its secret. It might take a month. I could set up a little enchantment of mine
which I call the telephone, and he could not find out its secret in a hundred years. Yes,
you perceive, he might block me for a month. Would you like to risk a month in a dry time
"A month! The mere thought of it maketh me to shudder. Have it thy way, my son.
But my heart is heavy with this disappointment. Leave me, and let me wear my spirit with
weariness and waiting, even as I have done these ten long days, counterfeiting thus the
thing that is called rest, the prone body making outward sign of repose where inwardly is
Of course, it would have been best, all round, for Merlin to waive etiquette and quit
and call it half a day, since he would never be able to start that water, for he was a
true magician of the time; which is to say, the big miracles, the ones that gave him his
reputation, always had the luck to be performed when nobody but Merlin was present; he
couldn't start this well with all this crowd around to see; a crowd was as bad for a
magician's miracle in that day as it was for a spiritualist's miracle in mine; there was
sure to be some skeptic on hand to turn up the gas at the crucial moment and spoil
everything. But I did not want Merlin to retire from the job until I was ready to take
hold of it effectively myself; and I could not do that until I got my things from Camelot,
and that would take two or three days.
My presence gave the monks hope, and cheered them up a good deal; insomuch that they
ate a square meal that night for the first time in ten days. As soon as their stomachs had
been properly reinforced with food, their spirits began to rise fast; when the mead began
to go round they rose faster. By the time everybody was half-seas over, the holy community
was in good shape to make a night of it; so we stayed by the board and put it through on
that line. Matters got to be very jolly. Good old questionable stories were told that made
the tears run down and cavernous mouths stand wide and the round bellies shake with
laughter; and questionable songs were bellowed out in a mighty chorus that drowned the
boom of the tolling bells.
At last I ventured a story myself; and vast was the success of it. Not right off, of
course, for the native of those islands does not, as a rule, dissolve upon the early
applications of a humorous thing; but the fifth time I told it, they began to crack in
places; the eight time I told it, they began to crumble; at the twelfth repetition they
fell apart in chunks; and at the fifteenth they disintegrated, and I got a broom and swept
them up. This language is figurative. Those islanders -- well, they are slow pay at first,
in the matter of return for your investment of effort, but in the end they make the pay of
all other nations poor and small by contrast.
I was at the well next day betimes. Merlin was there, enchanting away like a beaver,
but not raising the moisture. He was not in a pleasant humor; and every time I hinted that
perhaps this contract was a shade too hefty for a novice he unlimbered his tongue and
cursed like a bishop -- French bishop of the Regency days, I mean.
Matters were about as I expected to find them. The "fountain" was an ordinary
well, it had been dug in the ordinary way, and stoned up in the ordinary way. There was no
miracle about it. Even the lie that had created its reputation was not miraculous; I could
have told it myself, with one hand tied behind me. The well was in a dark chamber which
stood in the center of a cut-stone chapel, whose walls were hung with pious pictures of a
workmanship that would have made a chromo feel good; pictures historically commemorative
of curative miracles which had been achieved by the waters when nobody was looking. That
is, nobody but angels; they are always on deck when there is a miracle to the fore -- so
as to get put in the picture, perhaps. Angels are as fond of that as a fire company; look
at the old masters.
The well-chamber was dimly lighted by lamps; the water was drawn with a windlass and
chain by monks, and poured into troughs which delivered it into stone reservoirs outside
in the chapel -- when there was water to draw, I mean -- and none but monks could enter
the well-chamber. I entered it, for I had temporary authority to do so, by courtesy of my
professional brother and subordinate. But he hadn't entered it himself. He did everything
by incantations; he never worked his intellect. If he had stepped in there and used his
eyes, instead of his disordered mind, he could have cured the well by natural means, and
then turned it into a miracle in the customary way; but no, he was an old numskull, a
magician who believed in his own magic; and no magician can thrive who is handicapped with
a superstition like that.
I had an idea that the well had sprung a leak; that some of the wall stones near the
bottom had fallen and exposed fissures that allowed the water to escape. I measured the
chain -- 98 feet. Then I called in couple of monks, locked the door, took a candle, and
made them lower me in the bucket. When the chain was all paid out, the candle confirmed my
suspicion; a considerable section of the wall was gone, exposing a good big fissure.
I almost regretted that my theory about the well's trouble was correct, because I had
another one that had a showy point or two about it for a miracle. I remembered that in
America, many centuries later, when an oil well ceased to flow, they used to blast it out
with a dynamite torpedo. If I should find this well dry and no explanation of it, I could
astonish these people most nobly by having a person of no especial value drop a dynamite
bomb into it. It was my idea to appoint Merlin. However, it was plain that there was no
occasion for the bomb. One cannot have everything the way he would like it. A man has no
business to be depressed by a disappointment, anyway; he ought to make up his mind to get
even. That is what I did. I said to myself, I am in no hurry, I can wait; that bomb will
come good yet. And it did, too.
When I was above ground again, I turned out the monks, and let down a fish-line; the
well was a hundred and fifty feet deep, and there was forty-one feet of water in it I I
called in a monk and asked:
"How deep is the well?"
"That, sir, I wit not, having never been told."
"How does the water usually stand in it?"
"Near to the top, these two centuries, as the testimony goeth, brought down to us
through our predecessors."
It was true -- as to recent times at least -- for there was witness to it, and better
witness than a monk; only about twenty or thirty feet of the chain showed wear and use,
the rest of it was unworn and rusty. What had happened when the well gave out that other
time? Without doubt some practical person had come along and mended the leak, and then had
come up and told the abbot he had discovered by divination that if the sinful bath were
destroyed the well would flow again. The leak had befallen again now, and these children
would have prayed, and processioned, and tolled their bells for heavenly succor till they
all dried up and blew away, and no innocent of them all would ever have thought to drop a
fish-line into the well or go down in it and find out what was really the matter. Old
habit of mind is one of the toughest things to get away from in the world. It transmits
itself like physical form and feature; and for a man, in those days, to have had an idea
that his ancestors hadn't had, would have brought him under suspicion of being
illegitimate. I said to the monk:
"It is a difficult miracle to restore water in a dry well, but we will try, if my
brother Merlin fails. Brother Merlin is a very passable artist, but only in the
parlor-magic line, and he may not succeed; in fact, is not likely to succeed. But that
should be nothing to his discredit; the man that can do THIS kind of miracle knows enough
to keep hotel."
"Hotel? I mind not to have heard --"
"Of hotel? It's what you call hostel. The man that can do this miracle can keep
hostel. I can do this miracle; I shall do this miracle; yet I do not try to conceal from
you that it is a miracle to tax the occult powers to the last strain."
"None knoweth that truth better than the brotherhood, indeed; for it is of record
that aforetime it was parlous difficult and took a year. Natheless, God send you good
success, and to that end will we pray."
As a matter of business it was a good idea to get the notion around that the thing was
difficult. Many a small thing has been made large by the right kind of advertising. That
monk was filled up with the difficulty of this enterprise; he would fill up the others. In
two days the solicitude would be booming.
On my way home at noon, I met Sandy. She had been sampling the hermits. I said:
"I would like to do that myself. This is Wednesday. Is there a matinee?"
"A which, please you, sir?"
"Matinee. Do they keep open afternoons?"
"The hermits, of course."
"Yes, keep open. Isn't that plain enough? Do they knock off at noon?"
"Knock off? -- yes, knock off. What is the matter with knock off? I never saw such
a dunderhead; can't you understand anything at all? In plain terms, do they shut up shop,
draw the game, bank the fires --"
"Shut up shop, draw --"
"There, never mind, let it go; you make me tired. You can't seem to understand the
I would I might please thee, sir, and it is to me dole and sorrow that I fail, albeit
sith I am but a simple damsel and taught of none, being from the cradle unbaptized in
those deep waters of learning that do anoint with a sovereignty him that partaketh of that
most noble sacrament, investing him with reverend state to the mental eye of the humble
mortal who, by bar and lack of that great consecration seeth in his own unlearned estate
but a symbol of that other sort of lack and loss which men do publish to the pitying eye
with sackcloth trappings whereon the ashes of grief do lie bepowdered and bestrewn, and
so, when such shall in the darkness of his mind encounter these golden phrases of high
mystery, these shut-up-shops, and draw-the-game, and bank-the-fires, it is but by the
grace of God that he burst not for envy of the mind that can beget, and tongue that can
deliver so great and mellow-sounding miracles of speech, and if there do ensue confusion
in that humbler mind, and failure to divine the meanings of these wonders, then if so be
this miscomprehension is not vain but sooth and true, wit ye well it is the very substance
of worshipful dear homage and may not lightly be misprized, nor had been, an ye had noted
this complexion of mood and mind and understood that that I would I could not, and that I
could not I might not, nor yet nor might NOR could, nor might-not nor could-not, might be
by advantage turned to the desired WOULD, and so I pray you mercy of my fault, and that ye
will of your kindness and your charity forgive it, good my master and most dear
I couldn't make it all out -- that is, the details -- but I got the general idea; and
enough of it, too, to be ashamed. It was not fair to spring those nineteenth century
technicalities upon the untutored infant of the sixth and then rail at her because she
couldn't get their drift; and when she was making the honest best drive at it she could,
too, and no fault of hers that she couldn't fetch the home plate; and so I apologized.
Then we meandered pleasantly away toward the hermit holes in sociable converse together,
and better friends than ever.
I was gradually coming to have a mysterious and shuddery reverence for this girl;
nowadays whenever she pulled out from the station and got her train fairly started on one
of those horizonless transcontinental sentences of hers, it was borne in upon me that I
was standing in the awful presence of the Mother of the German Language. I was so
impressed with this, that sometimes when she began to empty one of these sentences on me I
unconsciously took the very attitude of reverence, and stood uncovered; and if words had
been water, I had been drowned, sure. She had exactly the German way; whatever was in her
mind to be delivered, whether a mere remark, or a sermon, or a cyclopedia, or the history
of a war, she would get it into a single sentence or die. Whenever the literary German
dives into a sentence, that is the last you are going to see of him till he emerges on the
other side of his Atlantic with his verb in his mouth.
We drifted from hermit to hermit all the afternoon. It was a most strange menagerie.
The chief emulation among them seemed to be, to see which could manage to be the
uncleanest and most prosperous with vermin. Their manner and attitudes were the last
expression of complacent self-righteousness. It was one anchorite's pride to lie naked in
the mud and let the insects bite him and blister him unmolested; it was another's to lean
against a rock, all day long, conspicuous to the admiration of the throng of pilgrims and
pray; it was another's to go naked and crawl around on all fours; it was another's to drag
about with him, year in and year out, eighty pounds of iron; it was another's to never lie
down when he slept, but to stand among the thorn-bushes and snore when there were pilgrims
around to look; a woman, who had the white hair of age, and no other apparel, was black
from crown to heel with forty-seven years of holy abstinence from water. Groups of gazing
pilgrims stood around all and every of these strange objects, lost in reverent wonder, and
envious of the fleckless sanctity which these pious austerities had won for them from an
By and by we went to see one of the supremely great ones. He was a mighty celebrity;
his fame had penetrated all Christendom; the noble and the renowned journeyed from the
remotest lands on the globe to pay him reverence. His stand was in the center of the
widest part of the valley; and it took all that space to hold his crowds.
His stand was a pillar sixty feet high, with a broad platform on the top of it. He was
now doing what he had been doing every day for twenty years up there -- bowing his body
ceaselessly and rapidly almost to his feet. It was his way of praying. I timed him with a
stop watch, and he made 1,244 revolutions in 24 minutes and 46 seconds. It seemed a pity
to have all this power going to waste. It was one of the most useful motions in mechanics,
the pedal movement; so I made a note in my memorandum book, purposing some day to apply a
system of elastic cords to him and run a sewing machine with it. I afterward carried out
that scheme, and got five years' good service out of him; in which time he turned out
upward of eighteen thousand first-rate tow-linen shirts, which was ten a day. I worked him
Sundays and all; he was going, Sundays, the same as week days, and it was no use to waste
the power. These shirts cost me nothing but just the mere trifle for the materials -- I
furnished those myself, it would not have been right to make him do that -- and they sold
like smoke to pilgrims at a dollar and a half apiece, which was the price of fifty cows or
a blooded race horse in Arthurdom. They were regarded as a perfect protection against sin,
and advertised as such by my knights everywhere, with the paint-pot and stencil-plate;
insomuch that there was not a cliff or a bowlder or a dead wall in England but you could
read on it at a mile distance:
"Buy the only genuine St. Stylite; patronized by the Nobility. Patent applied
There was more money in the business than one knew what to do with. As it extended, I
brought out a line of goods suitable for kings, and a nobby thing for duchesses and that
sort, with ruffles down the forehatch and the running-gear clewed up with a featherstitch
to leeward and then hauled aft with a back-stay and triced up with a half-turn in the
standing rigging forward of the weather-gaskets. Yes, it was a daisy.
But about that time I noticed that the motive power had taken to standing on one leg,
and I found that there was something the matter with the other one; so I stocked the
business and unloaded, taking Sir Bors de Ganis into camp financially along with certain
of his friends; for the works stopped within a year, and the good saint got him to his
rest. But he had earned it. I can say that for him.
When I saw him that first time -- however, his personal condition will not quite bear
description here. You can read it in the Lives of the Saints. *
[* All the details concerning the hermits, in this chapter, are from Lecky -- but
greatly modified. This book not being a history but only a tale, the majority of the
historian's frank details were too strong for reproduction in it. - EDITOR]
The Celtic Hammer June 22, 1996