There are many things that distinguish Olympic and Classical
fencing from historical fencing, but one that’s surprised me is the place of
bouting with an instructor. It’s not that this doesn’t happen in Olympic or Classical
schools, but it happens differently when it does, and in my experience doesn’t
tend to raise the same questions.
I’ve not taken a poll, but I believe it’s common for instructors in historical circles to free fence with students. Not all do, but certainly many, and it’s easy to see why. Most “HEMA” clubs are grass-roots, that is, they start say with one or two people eager to explore extinct art X and they form a backyard study group. They start off, then, fencing one another. Many such clubs are so small that in order to have people to test techniques and plays against an instructor has to fence. That instructor often is only the instructor because they’ve spent more time with a text.
In Olympic and Classical schools normally instructors have been trained within those cultures—with long traditions of pedagogy, with established programs for training teachers, people entering these fencing spheres interact with instructors differently. New students, for example, take lessons from an instructor, but don’t fence them in free bouting. They may in time, but more often than not outside of teaching bouts new fencers fence against more advanced fencers. I’ve worked with four masters so far and only with the last have I enjoyed the privilege of free bouting. I had teaching bouts, sure, where I was restricted to specific things we’d been working on, just using them in real time, but not free bouting. Thus, my perspective as an instructor is largely shaped by these experiences.
The reason I’m exploring this here is that I’m always a bit shocked when someone asks me how they did or if I was holding back on them. These are honest questions, and I’m always happy to provide feedback, but it’s important I think to establish how one should think of any bout with an instructor. The caveat is that this is my view, one not shared by all within the historical community, but so far as the group I run goes this is how I look at it.
An instructor’s first duty is to teach. This should guide everything they do. This pertains not only to overseeing drill, but also to bouting. It’s especially important in bouting, because by its nature a combat between two people, even friendly, is a contest, it is competition, and few places are as prone to ego as this. Everyone likes to win, everyone wants to, but victory, even the small victory that comes in a single bout, isn’t the goal of an instructor in that match: their goal is to use that bout to build up the student. What does that mean?
First, it means that the instructor must balance pushing the student realistically enough that they respond correctly, but not so hard that they overwhelm that student. Second, it means that while the instructor is trying to land the touch, they’re not doing so at any cost—if landing the touch defeats the lesson, don’t land it. Start over, set it up for the student again. Third, it means holding back. This isn’t, by the way, being condescending toward that student, it’s honoring where they are skill-wise in that moment. Hitting them with every tool in your tool box, with all ferocity, is as useless and defeating as it is stupid. The instructor becomes a bully, the student is frustrated, embarrassed, and no one learns anything. The sala is not a place for the instructor to show off what they know, but to teach. If your self-worth requires you to seek these little wins, fine, but there are other venues for that. There is no glory in defeating your own students.
As an instructor, it’s your students who come first, not
you. When you bout with them, your goal is to increase their skill; yours will
improve in helping them.
It can be easy to get lost in the fun, so you must focus—limit yourself to those maneuvers that allow your students to see opportunities to use what they’ve learned, and set them up to do that. This doesn’t mean you’re handing it to them; one does with brand new fencers, but with more advanced students you need to sell it, make it real, otherwise you’re not helping them. Your job in these cases is to mimic what they’ll see on the strip or in the ring.
Instructors need good bouts too, and this is yet another
argument for continuing education. One should never stop being a student. If
you need bouts, find them, but go to the appropriate place—seek out better
fencers than yourself, enter a decent tourney, go to a master and take lessons.
It’s good for you, and, it’s good for your students.
This can be a
thorny topic. We talk a lot about safety, it sort of comes with the territory,
but ask any gathering of historical fencers what safe-practice means to them
and you’ll likely get more than one answer. People come to historical fencing
from different backgrounds, with different gear, safety protocols, and
expectations. This is an important point to keep in mind. It might be a window
into your instructor’s approach, but also it may explain why your training
partners have different attitudes toward safety in class.
In some respects, safety is a relative term. For example, I have friends and colleagues who generally wear only an unpadded canvas jacket. This is what they wore at the sala where they started out. The maestro who runs that school is classically trained and his program for Armizare, just as in his traditional fencing classes, inculcates an increasing amount of skill and control over time. Because his fencers have this control, and because they gradually build toward more intense drill, they can wear light jackets in relative safety. Not everyone starts this way—I see people from many backgrounds, classical, Olympic, MMA, Asian martial arts, and SCA. Each typically brings with them the safety protocols they are most familiar with, but naturally they don’t always meet up. Some are far more conservative, some downright dangerous. Combined with varying levels of skill differing ideas about safety can create a potential landmine.
In this clip, for example, my friend Mike Cherba, head instructor at Northwest Armizare, demonstrates that even a normal blow from a feder can wreck the typical fencing mask: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eW1Imv7yHig I know Mike well, and trust me, this is not his hardest cut—strong as he is, Mike’s level of control is equal to it and he’s one of the few people I feel I could fence with in longsword with a normal mask. If you’ve followed any HEMA tourney footage then you’ve seen people hit way, way harder. What constitutes a “hard blow” is relative too.
What can we
do to mitigate that? First, we need to be aware of these differences. It isn’t
necessarily something people think about it, but they need to. Not just the
instructor, everyone. Expectations
within any group or school should be explicit. This ensures that anyone new to
that school knows what the culture is, what gear requirements are, and armed
with that information can decide whether or not it’s the school for them.
people need to have a minimum of protective gear—just because they shouldn’t need it doesn’t mean they won’t. You have to plan for the lowest
common denominator with chance of injury, not the best case scenario. A mask is
a must, ditto a jacket, solid hand protection, and guards for groin and neck.
Chest protectors are not a bad idea for both sexes as well. It will only take
one broken rib to convince most people, but better they never get the broken
rib. I was never a big fan of the gorget, but I also recently heard about two
near-misses that convinced me that they’re a good idea (so that is me overcoming
my own background and bias).
instructor must cultivate, and enforce, a culture of safety. Despite some
excellent recent articles about the idiocy and dangers of the “go hard or
go home” mentality, there is still a disproportionately large number of
people who embrace the idea that only pain teaches. This is macho bullshit at
its worst. If that’s your thing, fine, find a club that caters to the
fight-club ethos, but it’s on you. If you’re young, just remember this—whatever
fun you have now, whatever injuries you incur, they come back to haunt you
later and will affect the quality of your life. I was never given to macho b.s.
much, but in my twenties I was certainly less cautious and had no mind for the
possible long-term effects of injury. Now, comfortably into my forties… I have
joint issues all along my right side—knee, hip, elbow, and shoulder—thanks to
over-training, fighting while injured, and a few unrelated accidents that compounded
these existing problems; I have scar tissue from a stab wound and broken
fingers that also compromise my ability to train and enjoy something I love. Be
smarter than I was.
curriculum, the instructor needs to assess the potential risk in each drill.
This might mean working with another instructor or one of the more advanced
students to test it out prior to class. Consulting with other, knowledgeable
instructors can help too; there is no reason to go it alone. Stand on the
shoulders of giants if you need to.
fencer must take responsibility for safety. They need to wear the right gear,
ensure that their friends do, keep an eye out of hazards, help maintain
weapons, and if they feel unsafe speak up. There’s no shame in that and it
might save someone a trip to the ER.
Most of all,
each fencer must work hard to become proficient enough that they have a basic
level of control. This does several things. It develops one’s ability to handle
the weapon, but in that process one also learns to read situations better; one
realizes faster if one’s own attack is going wrong as well as if one’s
partner’s is. Collectively this makes for a safer drilling and bouting
environment. Every fencer’s first defense is the Art, is good technique
well-applied—your gear is there, again, for when this fails.
Some basic guidelines everyone should follow:
Keep floors clean and gear out of the way
Wear your mask
When not engaged in a drill or bout, keep sword/weapon tips down, pointed at the floor
Maintain your weapons and safety gear; replace things when they wear out*
Refuse to play with anyone not as concerned about safety as you are—it’s not worth your eye
Don’t fence when too tired, angry, or otherwise distracted
Look out for your mates
Follow the rules, those of the sala and those provided with any drill or within a bout
of the sword-as-heirloom aside, yes, even swords must be replaced in time
Marcelli, Francesco. The Rules of Fencing.
Translated by Christopher A. Holzman. Wichita, KS: Lulu Press, 2019. Originally
published, Rome: The Press of Domenico Antonio Ercole, 1686. 520pp. ISBN
978-0-359-71908-2. HC $42; Pb $32.99.
Francesco Marcelli’s Regole della Scherma (Rules
of Fencing), published in 1686, is arguably one of the most important
fencing treatises in the Italian tradition. On the one hand, it’s one of the
core works on Neapolitan fencing, not only in terms of how thoroughly Marcelli
explains the particularities of the southern school, but also as a book which
retained its significance far after the author’s time. His influence is obvious
from Terracusa e Ventura’s True Neapolitan Fencing (1725) to Rosaroll
and Grisetti’s The Science of Fencing (1803), and even down to
Masiello’s Italian Fencing (1887).
Francesco Marcelli was one of several masters within this
tradition who codified the art of the Neapolitan school. There are differences
between these authors, and it’s clear there were serious rivalries.
Pallavicini, for example, refers to Francesco Mattei as a “modern” master, but
receives a few barbs from Marcelli in turn. Their differences notwithstanding
they have more in common than not and have long been considered proponents of the
same regional style.
In some ways Rules of Fencing bridges older models
of fencing manuals with those which came after—like earlier works, say by
Marozzo, Marcelli covers additional weapons of his time (rapier, smallsword,
dagger, and sabre), but the specificity and thoroughness of his system, while
often peppered with Classical allusions or extended metaphors, reads more like
works of the 19th and early 20th century. This holds true both in outline and
precision. Marcelli’s coverage even includes discussions of terrain, fighting
at night (with and without a lantern), and what it takes to be a good
Chris Holzman, as Tom Leoni, the author of the forward
and a distinguished translator in his own right, remarks, is ideally suited to
tackle the monumental task of translating Marcelli for an English audience.
Where his training and deep knowledge of Italian fencing opens up the material,
Chris’ language ability and sensitivity to nuances in Italian allow him to
unpack the author. Rules of Fencing is not an easy read. Marcelli
assumes a familiarity with Classical authors and fencing masters that few
contemporary readers possess. His prose is complex, it’s fancy, and much of it
expressed in a grammatical mood that doesn’t work well in English.
Chris’ approach here, as indeed in all of his
translations, seeks to provide as much of the author’s ideas, language, and
expression as possible. Keeping as best he can to what the original writer
wrote is difficult, and can ring a little oddly in modern ears, but the
advantage of Chris’ method is that he gives the reader a closer approximation
of the original, and, with far less chance of the translator’s ideas creeping
in. It is always clear if and when Chris’ voice interjects—this is important
for anyone keen to keep clear what is Marcelli, and what is not. To assist us
further there are notes, a short overview of the context in which Marcelli
wrote, and brief explanations of the guard positions, Marcelli’s take on
targeting lines (e.g. what he means by inside line), and less common terms such
as the “scommosa.”
As important as Marcelli’s Rules of Fencing is for
students of Italian fencing, it is equally important for any fencer
truly interested in the concepts of the Art. Devotees of rapier will have more
to chew on than most, but any fencer, Olympic or Classical, historical or
SCAdian, will appreciate the degree of specificity, the completeness of
Marcelli’s presentation, and the author’s use of illustrations. The connection
between Neapolitan and Sicilian fencing with that of Spain is here, as it is in
Pallavicini, everywhere evident, so students of destreza have yet
another work to consider that touches on their own focus. Marcelli cites a
number of earlier and contemporary Italian masters as well, opening a valuable
window into how early modern masters looked back at their own, and other,
fencing traditions and sources.
Perhaps one of the most valuable features of the Rules
of Fencing is the way in which Marcelli breaks down complex ideas. As a
quick example, in Ch. VI of Book I, Marcelli treats tempo. He starts with a
short statement about when a student should learn it and why, then explores
what other authors have said, from de Carranza to Alfieri, and finally provides
his own insights into this core universal of fencing. There is a lot there to
consider, and this is as true of Marcelli’s notions of universals (timing,
distance, judgment) as it is in his explorations of particular techniques,
their application, and the various contingencies that arise between fencers of
different temperament and skill.
If you buy one book on rapier, or one book on Italian
fencing, or even one book on fencing theory and application, let it be this
one. One can and will return to it again and again, for there is more to mine
here, to consider, to attempt within one’s own training than in most other
works. You needn’t be a rapier fencer to benefit—there is something here, a lot
of somethings, for every fencer.
Drill is a mainstay of fencing. We do footwork. We practice point control. We make molinelli in the air and at a target. We (should) be doing a lot of drill. In historical fencing we sometimes devise or find ourselves doing drills that are new, concocted out of our source material, and it’s a fair question to ask what might be signs that a drill isn’t up to par or might even be dangerous? What does it take for a drill to be “safe” when we’re talking about hitting people with weapons? Different types of partner drills require different levels of complexity, intensity, and safety-gear. The instructor has primary responsibility for introducing safe drills and monitoring how fighters are managing safety, but there’s an equally heavy burden on fencers performing the drill. They need to exhibit proper control and courtesy or they’ll injure their comrades and injured comrades mean fewer people to fence with.
On the instructor side, it’s often a balance between imparting what a particular skill or play requires and safety. Teaching longsword and sabre, for example, requires modulating what safety means. If one is teaching Fiore dei Liberi’s Armizare, a combat system designed to main and murder people, either in the lists or in the field, then one must be more vigilant in some ways than when teaching sabre. Most if not all of Fiore’s techniques must be modified to make them safe and some of them one can never do at full speed save perhaps in armor (and sometimes not even then). Teaching a sabre class, in comparison, makes for an easier balance of technique and safety. The relative weight, flex, and delivery of the thrust in sabre, though deadly with sharps and in earnest, is likely to do little more than bruise someone, especially if they’re wearing proper protective gear. With a stout jacket, one is rarely marked at all. This is often not the case when thrusting with a longsword—there is more power generation, more mass, and more surface area to the weapon. One thrust against the mask with either weapon will demonstrate the difference. Each weapon was meant to do harm in different ways, in different contexts. Assuming the exact same safety requirements is dangerous–fencing masks, good as they are, were not designed for longsword.
An instructor must understand the dangers inherent in a drill and modify it when and as necessary. This is the first step. The second is monitoring a class to make sure that fencers aren’t doing anything to nullify that modification. There’s no room for leniency with this—if any fencer is acting in an unsafe way they either fix it or one pulls them out of the drill. In some cases the drill itself needs further refining. Safety gear, good as it is, is only a fail-safe, an additional layer after one’s technique fails. No mask, jacket, glove, or pad will make you invincible and it’s stupid to proceed as if they will.
The same heavy burden for safety is shared by the fencers executing the drill. Drills can be complicated and applying sufficient oomph to the play with the control required to ensure no one is hurt is a tough skill to learn. Not everyone, in fact, learns it. I’ve seen experienced fencers fail to exercise control in drills; I’ve seen them fail to pull a blow that had clearly gone wrong. No one should have to “Fence for Two”—it’s the responsibility of both drill partners to proceed in such a way that both fencers are as safe as they can be.
There are several attitudes and skills one needs to cultivate to be the sort of person people want to drill with:
Courtesy: It’s important to be a courteous partner, not just in the sense of polite salutes, hand-shakes, or the blade-smack to the butt or thigh a la American football, but most importantly in the sense of the Golden Rule. Do you want to be injured? Do you want to be fearful of working with someone? Of course not, no one does. Work to be a safe partner and you help everyone, yourself included.
Control: Control is the marriage of skill and awareness. It takes a long time to develop. It means having a full understanding of each move, its direction, intensity, and target, as well as the ability to modulate any of the three at will. It’s a hard-won but crucial skill that requires hours, weeks, months, and years of hard work, drill, and patience to develop. Never stop working to achieve it. Control is not fool-proof, however, as everyone can and will misjudge from time to time. However, once you have it, people will want to drill with you because they know you’re safe and can help them learn whatever technique it is you’re all working on. You will learn more too because you’re both comfortable.
Competence: A certain degree of skill, of the ability to use the weapon, is always to be desired. For beginners naturally this is not necessarily there, but it will develop over time and provided one puts in the time. Within historical fencing there is, unfortunately, this general sense that one can just “dive in” and become proficient. This is not true. Being aggressive and suicidal doesn’t make one a good fighter—have the patience and smarts to do it right first, to put in the time, to learn enough to make actual bouts worth your time. The truth is that those who just jump in do so because it’s fun, and it is, there is no arguing with that, but too often the goal is simply to win, not to learn, and bouts—like drills—are another learning opportunity. As ever, if your ego is driving you, if you’re relying on speed, strength, brutality, etc. alone, you’re never going to get very far, and moreover a lot of good people, better fencers who could help you improve, will avoid you. At my age, I don’t have time for macho b.s. and have no qualms refusing to fight people who don’t have the requisite skill or control. I have old injuries enough to deal with and I don’t care for more.
Consistency: Emerson’s ideas of a foolish consistency being the hobgoblin of little minds holds in fencing as elsewhere, so it’s important to be consistent in the right ways. First, developing the ability to perform the same action correctly and pretty much the same way each time is important. Likewise, the capacity to perform the same action in the same tempo or from a standard distance is helpful. Much of this comes down to practice, but a lot comes down to focus and awareness too. Staying zeroed in on the drill, its purpose, what you need to do to do it successfully seems obvious, but a lot of people sort of go through the motions, especially if it’s a drill they’ve done multiple times. Even the oldest, most basic drill remains useful if approached correctly.
These attitudes and skills work best where there is sufficient trust. When it comes to safety and a successful drill trust is at the very heart of it. Some time ago, in an Armizare practice, I saw a student, one with considerable skill for someone her age, break a drill out of fear. She knew how to do the drill; she knew what the instructor wanted her and her partner to do; but she didn’t trust her partner. In this drill, when she made a mandritto fendente as the initial attack, the defender was to counter by striking into it with bicornu—done right bicornu effectively takes the center-line and breaks the attack.
What she did was modulate her attack—if her opponent was likely to break her cut, she pulled and beat instead so as not to get spiked in the face. I spoke with her afterward during a break and it was clear she felt awful; in her mind she had messed up. I told her that, actually, she had demonstrated considerable skill in reading her opponent and adjusting things to keep herself safe. These are not bad things. She was just fencing for two because she didn’t want to get hurt. However, it also meant that the drill had failed. There are multiple sadnesses there: first, this dedicated, hard-working student learned less than she might have, as did her partner; second, this drill was a good one, but like anything it required trust to succeed; and lastly, a capable, skilled student left that drill feeling she had failed, when in fact, she had not. Trust is everything. Without it, nothing works or at least it won’t work as well.
Actively cultivating courtesy, control, competence, and consistency will do a lot to dispel fear, because on the one hand it helps train one to do things more effectively, but on the other it also alerts one’s classmates that one is a team-player, that they have your best interest at heart. It helps build trust, and when you’re playing with swords, even blunt ones, you need that. Students who don’t feel safe, who in fact aren’t safe, aren’t going to stay long, and that is a net loss for all of us.
First image, “Parry in Seconde,” from The Badminton Library of Sports and Pastimes, Walter H. Pollock, E. B. Michell, and Walter Armstrong, London: 1893.
Second image, sword in two hands, zogho largo/wide play, play of the first master, Pisani-Dossi MS 19b-b.
This past Sunday’s tourney, a small, experimental invitational sabre event, was a success despite a rocky start. We didn’t have internet, so the scoring program had to be used from a phone with hot-spot; the ring we had planned to use was in Canada; but we made do. Our rule-set lists a piste as well as a ring and so we went with that. It was honestly more comfortable for most people there, and sure made judging easier.
We learned a lot this year and will update the rule-set accordingly. There is also talk of putting together a beginner’s tournament, so a lot going on. Below are a few photos from the tourney.
Our finalists: (L to R) Patrick Bratton, winner of the Technical Award for Best Exhibiting the Art; Will Richmond, gold; Don Uy, silver; and Tim Duefrane, bronze.
Tim Duefrane (in black) vs. Patrick Bratton (in white); directing, Dennis Le, judges Richard Lowrey (grey knickers), Patrick Ma (black pants), and not pictured Vincent Chiu and Morgan Blackmore.
With a small event it’s easy to end early, so why not keep fencing?! Post-event pick-up bouts. In the foreground, Christopher Bigelow vs. Patrick Bratton; in the middle, Callie Jones-Esquire vs. Richard Lowrey.
More pick up bouts–here Hannah M. Switzer (green) and Vincent Chiu (white) square off. Patrick Ma waits in the background.
One question I’m
asked about drills is to what degree they’re artificial, how they might set up
ideal or unlikely scenarios. A related question concerns whether or not there’s
a danger in having partners take turns making actions poorly, say in a stop-cut
drill. Taking this last question first the answer is “no” if an
instructor is on their game. Students, especially in their early training,
shouldn’t be drilling poor actions. Conventional wisdom and practice
demonstrate that the instructor should be the one exposing their arm for
stop-cuts, holding a poor guard, or making any other action defectively. The question
about artificiality, however, requires a longer answer.
and historical fencing our concern is to fence as if the blades are sharp, to
hit and not be hit, and so when a drill brings in maneuvers or plays that seem
to defy this ethos it’s only natural to wonder about their value. Students
often have assumptions about the nature of drill that informs this perspective,
and some of those assumptions are incorrect.
different kinds of drills. Some we do solo, such as footwork drills or cutting
against a pell, mask, or fencing Oscar.[i]
Some we do with a partner. Others we do with an entire class. While “don’t
be hit” and “hit and don’t be hit” are our guiding principles,
applying these notions to every sort of drill, and each aspect of it, is
reductionist and can blind students to the value of a drill. All study, drill
included, should result in a style and method of fighting that illustrates this
guiding principle. However, not every drill or part of a drill need conform to
this absolutely all the time.
For a quick
example from sabre, let’s examine two maneuvers, the first being a common
compound attack, feint-cut head, draw the opponent’s parry of 5th,
and cut flank or chest; the second being the riposte to the flank from 5th.
Looking at the feint attack first, for it to work each partner has to act a
certain way. The attacker must simultaneously work a key offensive action, the
feint-cut, with a ton of technical movements designed to make that same attack effectively.
The instructor or partner on the receiving end, the defender, must do the same;
they must recognize and defeat the feint, and parry.[ii]
In the case
of the instructor, and you often see this in their posture, they’re not
necessarily mirroring exactly what an opponent would do, but performing those
parts that will help the attacker succeed in the drill. If the feint is
unconvincing, for instance, the instructor won’t parry and might counter
depending on what they’re working and how advanced the student is. Judging a
student’s readiness to go beyond a simple drill to a more complex version is
one of the more difficult tasks an instructor faces—so much depends upon
to the instructor, the case of the partner is more complex. On the one hand,
they need to help the attacker, just as the attacker will help them when they
switch roles, but on the other they shouldn’t be fencing in such a way that the
result is poor technique or tactically dubious choices.
Ideally, each partner is doing their best to make their half, offense or defense, work. The defending partner should use this opportunity to work on parries, specifically reacting to the cut to the head. For the basic set-up, this might be the goal in addition to gauging measure, working the feet, and maintaining the correct posture and hand/arm positions. One step deeper, however, the defender might have other options—they might for example, attempt to parry the actual cut after defeating the feint and then riposte. Drills usually start simply and develop into these more complex, multiple action versions as students advance in skill.
So far none
of this is “artificial,” but one thing students have asked me about
is the danger inherent in making that flank cut after the feint. Having drawn
the defender’s arm up into 5th, the defender’s arm is then poised
over the attacker making it possible to cut down onto the head. Isn’t that dangerous,
they ask. In a word, no, because the defender should be worried about the fact that they’re about to be cut in
the flank. Many fencers, because there is no actual danger decide to attempt a
counter as, or just after, they’ve been hit rather than parry. This brings up
an important aspect of fencing too deep to go into here, namely the priority of
the touch, but for our purposes here is making this kind of attack artificial?
Is it safe to assume that the defender will just accept the touch and not
If one is
fencing as if they’re sharp, then one should never assume anything, but at all
times attempt to cover oneself. One solution is to add a side-step with the cut
to the flank. Assuming a right-hander, the attacker can extend the arm to make
the final cut and lunge a bit to the left by extending the back leg out and to
the left after or as the front foot lands. This does two things: first, it
removes one’s head from being just under the opponent’s weapon, and two, it
gives one just enough measure to cover in 5th or 1st
after the cut in case of counter-attack. This makes more sense after making the
feint to head first, because from 5th the defender may still be able
to retreat and make a molinello to
On the other
hand, for the fencer riposting from 5th to the head, our second
example, things change a little—the riposte, having been parried, has lost its
momentum, so the fencer riposting to the flank has less to fear from the blade
over them. The fencer whose head cut failed now has a choice before them—they can
drop the blade on their opponent’s head, which remember has no momentum, or,
they can consider that fully developed cut speeding its way to their flank.
This is a simple choice if we apply the “fence as if they’re sharp”
rubric—the partner with the unsuccessful cut to the head should be considering
how they are going to parry that incoming cut. Whatever damage dropping the
blade on the attacker’s head might do, it’s likely going to be much less than a
fully developed cut to the flank.
The greatest danger of artificiality here is not in failing to account for that blade poised above one’s head, but in forgetting to behave as if both blades are sharp. When we forget that, we too often make actions we would never make (one hopes) were we fighting in earnest. But, if we cultivate the notion that the blades are “sharp,” then we’re more likely to make better decisions; in the example above, as the defender we’re more likely to worry about not getting hit and thus parry rather than go for a counter that will only mean both fencers are hit.
only “artificial” aspect of drill should be our cultivated sense of
danger. No drill is worth the name which trains poor technique or tactics. This
is especially true with partner drills. There is an inherent argument here,
namely that instructors ought to be the only ones to present examples of poor
technique. However, this is no less dangerous for them, so it behooves every
instructor to continue to take lessons, to remain a student, so that they may
not include pedagogical tools like an open line or exposed arm in their own
[i] This is what we called
them, but there are probably other names—an “Oscar” is a mock
opponent, often set up on a wooden frame, covered with jacket or similar
material, a mask, and often with an adjustable arm to shift a blade to
[ii] This will vary with the
level of the fencer. An instructor or senior student might not defend as
effectively if focusing on a newer student learning this attack.
[iii] In his Fencing Illustrated (1670), Ch. XIV, Giuseppe
Morsicato Pallavicini discusses this very issue. The first bout a student has
should be with the instructor. Even when assigning a new student to work with a
more experienced one Pallavicini tells us that the instructor must supervise them.
See Giuseppe Moriscato Pallavicini, Fencing
Illustrated, Trans. by Christopher A. Holzman, Wichita, KS: Lulu Press,
fencing community is increasingly fascinated with and implementing cutting
exercises. This is a good thing. Cutting is a common adjunct to the study of
the sword, but increasingly it’s used by some as a method of measuring readiness
for fighting with steel in tournaments. There are problems with this, and in
fact there are problems generally with the understanding, approach, and use of cutting,
but these less often come up in discussion. First, the assumption behind test-cutting
as proof of one’s ability to wield steel safely and with sufficient control in
tourneys is flawed.[i]
Second, the notion that a hewing blow was or is the ideal attack doesn’t hold
up well in light of the sources or historical accounts. Hewing blows are there,
yes, but among other options and hardly chief among them. Lastly, a lot of
fencers are only concerned with cutting through the mat, not in doing so according to recorded, historical mechanics; many
claiming to study “western” fencing are in fact using Japanese
mechanics in making their cuts. If cutting is intended to be a part of
historical fencing practice, then it should be in line with the techniques and
mechanics of whatever specific branch of fencing one is doing, be it KdF or 19th
Begging the Question
as a test for tourney-readiness with steel is akin to judging a car mechanic’s
ability to change a transmission by how well they use a screwdriver. They’re both
important skills, both relate to making the car work, but there’s a lot more
that goes into replacing the transmission. It’s the same with tournaments. The
ability to cut a tatami or similar target well might demonstrate a fencer’s
edge-alignment, but it’s a poor measure for many other critical aspects that make up a good, safe tourney fighter.
for one, is different against a moving target than a static one—tatami not only
doesn’t hit back, it doesn’t move. An opponent does. The nerves and excitement
that are often present in fighters are generally different than they are when
cutting a target. Tournaments also require one to operate within a defined
space and according to a host of rules, there’s noise, there are time constraints,
and there is stress and exhaustion, never mind two people trying to hit one
one is not making the same sort of cut against an opponent that one does
against a cutting-target: no one in the ring is trying to cut through anyone
(hopefully), and so power-generation is by definition restricted. Newer fencers
might hit hard, macho a-holes do too, but where the former is excusable because
they’re still developing control, the latter has no excuse. For all the blather
about “martial” blows few people who recite that mantra have really
considered what it means, or, how and whether it should apply in a tournament
Extant Sources and the Hewing Blow
sources rarely encourage the fencer to deliver hewing blows with each strike. If one thinks about it, it
would be silly to do so, because it requires more energy to do and thus is more
taxing; it means the possibility of over-extension and thus exposure to
counters; and lastly it isn’t necessary—the human body is pretty easily cut by
less of a blow than one uses trying to fell a tree or that a headsman uses at
brevity, here are two examples, one medieval the other Victorian, in other
words, one from each pole as it were of the span of extant historical fencing sources.
First, the fendente or downward
strike of Fiore dei Liberi is instructive. He was active ca. 1409 CE and was an
experienced solider, policeman, mercenary, and fencing master. The four known
texts detailing his Armizare or
“art of arms” reveal a system that is uncompromising and brutal. The
intention is to maim or kill, precisely the skills that his audience,
professional fighting men, required in the field and in the lists. In the Getty
(Ms. Ludwig XV 13), Fiore says:
We are the cuts named fendenti (cleaving blows). In this art, our trade is to part the opponent’s teeth and to reach all the way down to his knee. We can easily transition from a guard to another, through a low guard. We also craftily break the opponent’s guards, while our strikes leave a trail of blood. We fendenti are not slow to strike, and recover in guard with each step.[ii]
Fiore mean that each time one made this cut that one was trying to cut a person
in half, or, did he mean that this is the angle one should make in performing that
cut? Which is more likely? Such a cut, against a static target, might divide a
person from the jaw to the opposite knee, but it’s hard to imagine any fighter
attempting a cut that powerful each time they swing. Fiore also says “our
strikes leave a trail of blood.” The line reading either “trail of
blood” or “sign of blood” (it varies by translation) looks to
the same two words, sangue segno.
Sangue, or “blood” is cognate with our “sanguine” and
“sanguinary” and is pretty clear, but segno… that is trickier. If you look up the Italian today segno can mean “a sign; a mark; a
scratch; a sign or indication;” it can also meaning “shooting
target.” The word it comes from, Latin signum,
means much the same (e.g. sign), but took on some more abstract meanings during
the Middle Ages, such as “miracle,” “statue,” and even a
specific type of medieval bell-tower. Yet, several of these translations used
“trail” for segno. Trails
suggests more of a slicing wound, a deep cut, not the severing of a thorax.
context—context is everything—Fiore is saying the fendenti are downward strikes made at a sharp angle, roughly jaw to
opposite knee, and depending upon how hard and at what distance one hits it
might cut deep or leave a really nasty slice. The images accompanying this show
two men out of armor. To cut through linen, cotton, or wool one doesn’t need to
hew the same way one does straw or wood. Significantly, in the armored portions
of his work Fiore discusses the longsword in its guise as short pole-arm,
something for thrusting, not cutting.
Fiore, thus, advocates a blow that is likely to hit something given the angle,
that can cut deep or tear someone up nicely, but taken together is not meant to
hew limbs each time.
second, much later example comes from the Radaellian sabre tradition. Giuseppe
Radaelli’s major innovation was to implement the elbow rather than the wrist as
the axis of rotation for cuts. Another Radaellian fencer, Maestro Ferdinando
Masiello, related in a letter to Lt. Gen. Achille Angelini that Radaelli, having
seen how ineffective wrist-generated blows were from the saddle, decided to substitute
the elbow as axis. This produces a more powerful cut, but one still under
Looking at the corpus of works on Radaellian sabre, from Del Frate (1868/1873) to
Pecoraro and Pessina (1912), nowhere does anyone advocate trying to cut anyone
in half; nowhere does one master suggest that a hewing blow is the goal.[iv]
An argument from silence isn’t worth much, but additional evidence supplies information
that does much to fill in the picture.
One such example comes from the same Lt.
Angelini mentioned above. In his work on dueling, the Italian
published in 1883, he states that if something was important enough to fight
about, then the duel over it should result in a serious wound or death.
Anything less was a mockery. Angelini
In the duel with the sabre neither the thrust, nor the cut to the head may be excluded. Duels with such exclusions, other than being ridiculous, are harmful, since the number of duels instead of decreasing would increase when a dandy could play the braggart with only the risk of getting a scratch of little consequence.[v]
Of note here, the choice of potentially less lethal targets, such
as the arm, are not bad choices, but ones less likely to keep to the serious
tone Angelini advocates. A cut to the arm would not necessarily end the fight. Significantly,
the arm doesn’t need to be severed to make it useless; a nasty cut across the
right ligaments, or which lacerates an artery, or that hits bone, can render
that fencer hors de combat. Even a
good bruise can. The arm was thus often wrapped to prevent this from prematurely
ending the fight. The arm was and is a primary target in sabre and with good
reason: take out the arm and the opponent can no longer fight.
The take away lesson here is that in the context of the duel in
late 19th century Italy, a context in which truly nasty wounds were
positively encouraged!, no one advocated a hewing blow. Even with powerful molinelli from the elbow the emphasis
wasn’t lopping off limbs or cutting people in half—it would have been too
dangerous for any duelist to so commit and expose himself.
concern is the goal in cutting—what is it exactly? Is it merely to sever the
mat, or, to sever it according to the sources of one’s preferred tradition?
This is an important question. There are many ways to cut a mat, but if one is
performing this exercise as part of studying a specific sword system, then
ideally one is doing all one can to use the mechanics advocated within that system to the best of their ability.
Anything else is, well, sort of pointless. Call it fun, call it cutting, but if
divorced from the techniques of one’s tradition, then it isn’t really informing
that practice. Used correctly, cutting can actually be a good measure of what
is possible within a tradition if not exactly what say Fiore or even Radaelli would
have done. One young fencer I know, her first time cutting, easily sliced a
tatami using the mechanic she had learned from her instructor, one she had used
in drill and in bouts for years. Is her success proof of exactly what Fiore
intended? No, but it suggests that the interpretation of the cutting mechanic
at that school is a valid one given both the evidence from Fiore’s works and
her success with that cut. It’s valuable feedback.
There is a lot of video out there of cutting, and if you’re just watching for
the mat to slide off its base after the cut, it’s easy to miss red flags like
fencers leading off with the legs, with elbows, or pushing their hands out
before the blade. There is also heavy influence from Japanese practice, some
better than others, and it shows in stance, in execution, even in the number,
sequence, and direction of cuts. Will this cut a mat? Sure, and there are
people making their reputations on this, medaling, etc., but that doesn’t
automatically mean they’re in line with the traditions they claim to represent.
Maybe that doesn’t matter, but it might if you are trying to cut according to
the rhymes of the “Zettel” or Liechtenauer glosses and you’re using
the wrong techniques.
you’re going to include cutting in your practice, do so honestly, do so in
accordance with the dictates of your tradition as best you can. It’s a lot of
fun to do, and it can be good practice, but it should be about more than just
whether you cut the mat or bamboo. It should be about how you do so.
[i] In origin the tameshigiri from Japanese
swordsmanship—where this practice in HEMA originated—was not intended to test so much the swordsman as the sword. It is arguably better for that
than as a test for one’s ability to use steel, though many Japanese schools
have competitions for test-cutting in their own right which are about cutting
ability, not the sword, so the carry-over into HEMA is understandable. For
more on tameshigiri, see for example Victor
Harris, “Japanese Swords,” in Swords
and Hilt Weapons, ed. Michael D. Coe, et al., New York, NY: Barnes and
Noble Books, 1993, 148-171, see especially 168; Kazuhiro Sakaue, “A Case
Report of Human Skeletal Remains Performed ‘Tameshi-giri (test cutting with a
Japanese Sword),” in Bulletin of the National Museum of
Nature and Science, Series D, 36 (Dec. 2010): 27-36; John
M. Yumoto, The Samurai Sword: A Handbook,
Rutland, VT: Charles E. Tuttle Company, 1978, 74, 81-82.
Liberi’s Fior di Battaglia, Fiore’s 1409 Martial Arts Treatise from the
Getty Manuscript, rev. 4, Trans. Tom Leoni [Ludwig XV 13]. For the manuscripts,
their history, and relation, Tom Leoni’s translation of Fiore de’ Liberi, Fior di Battaglia, 2nd Ed.,
Wheaton, IL: Freelance Academy Press, 2012, is a standard work; it can be had,
minus illustrations, via Lulu Press. Work continues on a new examination by Tom
Leoni and Ken Mondshein, Flowers of
Battle: The Complete Martial Works of Fiore dei Liberi, A Master of Arms and at
the Turn of the Fifteenth Century, 4 Vols., Wheaton, IL: Freelance Academy
Press, two of which have been published. Vol. 1 covers the Getty, Vol. 3 The
Florius or “Paris.” Some translations and transcriptions are
available online at Wiktnenauer, http://wiktenauer.com/wiki/Fiore_de%27i_Liberi
, though caution is required with this site. A far more useful and reliable
digital resource is “Pocket Armizare” available for Android. See also
Robert N. Charrette, Fiore Dei Liberi’s
Armizare: The Chivalric Martial Arts System of Il Fior di Battaglia,
Wheaton, IL: Freelance Academy Press, 2011; Ken Mondschein, The Knightly Art of Battle, Los Angeles,
CA: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2011; Guy Windsor, The Medieval Longsword, Mastering the Art of Arms Vol. 2, The School of European Swordsmanship, 2014.
[iii] See Christopher A. Holzman, The Art of the Dueling Sabre, Staten
Island, NY: SKA Swordplay Books, 2011, xxvi.
[iv] In addition to Del Frate (n. iii), see for example Luigi Barbasetti, The Art of the Sabre and Epee, New York, NY: E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc., 1936 [an English translation of his original 1899 edition in German]; Lieut. J. Betts, The Sword and How to Use It, London: Gale & Polden, LTD, 1908; Ferdinando Masiello, La Scherma Italiana di Spada e di Sicabola, Firenze, IT: Stabilimento Tipografico G. Civelli, 1887; Masiello, Sabre Fencing on Horseback, Firenze: G. Civelli Establishment, 1891, Translated by Christopher A. Holzman, 2015; Salvatore Pecoraro, and Carlo Pessina, Sabre Fencing: Includes Spada Fencing: Play on the Ground, 1910, Translated by Christopher A. Holzman, Lulu Press, 2016; Giordano Rossi, Scherma di Spada e Sciabola, Manuale Teorico-Pratico, Milano, IT: Fratelli Dumolard Editori, 1885.
[v] Lt. Gen. Achille Angelini, “Of the Duel with the
Sword or Sabre,” Italian Chivalric Code,
XI: 2; trans. Holzman, 2016.
With our tourney coming up—an invitational sabre match—I’m always conscious of how difficult these things are to do. I’ve either fenced in or judged a lot of tournaments, both Olympic and HEMA, and with each new historical tourney I’m struck by a disturbing fact—pound for pound, a tournament in HEMA and one in Olympic circles are not so very different. In both, too many fighters are playing the system, and worse, too many have zero regard for being hit. In both tournament worlds there is also a tendency to take medaling as the litmus test for excellence. Placing well can correlate with skill, but it’s not a sure thing. There are a number of reasons why this is so.
Everyone likes to
win. Emerging the victor in a bout, or better still a tournament, is a nice
feeling. It’s validating. It is important, however, to put any such victory in
context and remember that however well one does, victory on its own does not
mean mastery. There are several reasons for this and if you’re serious about
your development as a fencer you need to know this. You ignore it at your
peril, at the risk of further improvement, and it can easily lead to a false
sense of ability with all the ego problems that creates.
There is always someone out there better than
you are. This is just true.
Theoretically, out there somewhere, there is one fencer who truly is better than
everyone else, but see point two 😉 A
prime example of this is a close friend of mine—we’ll call him
“Dennis.” He’s a beautiful fencer, tactically brilliant, graceful,
powerful, the kind of fighter who makes you look even better than you are when
you fight him and he’s destroying you. Yes, that good. In the early 00’s, he
entered an epee event open only to fencers ranked B or higher; most everyone
there was an A-rated fencer. As this was epee, that ranking actually meant
something too–epee is the only weapon of the three to have retained much of
its martial ethos. No one there knew Dennis, and they expected to clean the
floor with him. He beat every single one of them, badly, and they were really
ticked when they realized that this was just something he did for fun, that he
wasn’t a “normal” tournament guy; he fenced enough to keep his
rating, but otherwise he’d just as soon be working on other hobbies. Dennis is
a good example of the unknown ego-check, of the truly gifted fencer out there
who is, quite literally, better than you or me.
Great fencers have bad days; poor fencers
good days. No matter how
good someone might be, even the best fencers have an off day. If this day
happens to be on a tournament day, chances are good they may not clear the
pools. In like guise, the poorest noob may end up taking the day. It just
depends. Maybe they just had more fire and the better fencers either
underestimated them or misapplied their skill. Maybe the directing was crap.
Maybe it was a combination. One can’t take anything for granted.
Tournament victory is only as good as the
quality of the pools. Not
all gold medals are the same. Medaling in a minor tournament with twenty
fencers of basic skill is not the same as medaling in a tournament where half
or more of the fifty competitors are truly skilled. Herein is one major problem
for WMA—what defines skill? Many people equate tournament victory with it, but that’s
a false equivalency, one only embraced by people who don’t know better or who
benefit from the fallacy. This is hard to combat because the same egos that
benefit from this, who derive their value from it, are quick to say any naysayer
is suffering sour grapes. Sort of makes discussing and fixing that,
demonstrating the problem, difficult.
Skill vs. Attribute Fencing One of the elephants in the ring is the issue of attribute fencing versus a more comprehensive skill-set well-applied. To be fair, most attribute-fencers have skill, but often this is a specific set of skills that exploit their reach, speed, etc. to the exclusion of a more comprehensive game. The thing is it works. If you’re fast, if you have reach, if you hit harder and intimidate people, it will take you pretty far. People medal and win tournaments all the time armed only with a few tricks that they have optimized. The confidence that comes with that cannot be underestimated. The test though, for those fencers, is what happens when they run into someone whose skill-set is broader, whose experience is deeper, and who knows how to nullify the advantages their opponent’s attributes offer. If attribute fencers are lucky, they’ll meet that opponent; if they’re smart, they’ll learn something from it.
Gaming the Tourney is another major issue. This isn’t new and
it’s not confined to WMA, but a major problem for Olympic fencing as well other
sports. There are advantages to winning, and so, some people are willing to do
whatever it takes to make it happen. For just a few examples, be wary of anyone
hosting a tournament that only enlists directors and/or judges from their
school or who stack staffing in their favor.[i]
Related tactics include attempting to intimidate officials and other
competitors, arguing for rule changes that favor one’s approach and fencers,
and hard-hitting. These kids don’t play with others, and worse, can give a
tournament, even a region, a bad rep. You don’t want that.
I’m not saying don’t fence in tourneys—you should if you want, they’re
fun, but, you should go into them with your eyes open and for the right
reasons. Not to wax too Miyagi, but primarily a tourney is a place to test, in
real-time, your skills and tactics; it’s a lesson, a chance to learn, an
opportunity to see what works and what doesn’t. It should also be fun. The
illusion of mastery, and especially of tourney gold as evidence of it, is a
problem for any fencer who truly wishes to improve. Mastery is less a
destination than it is a goal which pushes our training, which keeps us honest,
which keeps us striving.[ii]
This doesn’t mean don’t do your best, that you’re not trying to win—you
can’t test what you know if you’re going through the motions. The pressure, the
chance to think on your feet, to adapt, and all within seconds is a fantastic
way to see how well we apply what we’ve learned. If it all works, and you grab
that trophy, great! It is healthy, maybe after celebratory beers, to reflect on
the nature of the competition, to weight that against the heft of the medal
around your neck. That awareness shouldn’t detract from victory, but merely
inform it, and, better prepare you for the next one.
[i] This isn’t universally true of course. In small tournaments, especially where there is no one else to staff, one has little choice but to use who is on hand. Whenever possible, SdTS tries to enlist friends from other salas to help direct–our judges are pulled from the competitors.
A black belt in TKD, for example, has
demonstrated that they are now ready to begin to study in earnest; a fencing master,
in a slightly different way, isn’t necessary the best fighter, but a teacher,
someone who has command of a particular pedagogical approach and is capable of
teaching other teachers.
[NB: My friend Jay Maas, a student of and instructor in Insular Broadsword, suggested I make a few things more clear than I did. His advice is sound and so I have made a few changes. It was never my intention to denigrate the British/Insular school; I merely chose texts from it as an example because like the Italians they have a rich source collection, the texts vary considerably, and because I know it best after Italian. I thought it was clear from my discussion below of the House of Angelo and its fame, as well as my comments about Roworth, that I know and acknowledge that there was a fully developed system in place and taught in 18th/19th cen. Britain, but it doesn’t hurt to make that more explicit. May 16, 2019]
There’s considerable misunderstanding and a lot of misleading information out there about “dueling” and “military” sabre and how they relate. Some students ask me if what we’ll be doing is military sabre as opposed to “dueling” sabre, but this is a false dichotomy—they’re making a distinction based more on perception than fact, on specific application vs. body of technique. In large part both camps (not to mention sport fencing ultimately) draw upon the same material, the same sources, so how are they different? To what degree the same? It comes down, in part, to how we define each term. The quick answer is that there is no difference in technique, only in amount and purpose. Moreover, the duelist normally follows rules, a soldier normally operates in a theater without them.
When someone says “dueling” sabre what they mean, by and large, is “classical” sabre, that is, sabre as defined and intended for the dueling ground, and which in time led to the modern sport. Defining classical sabre, however, is as easy a task as defining classical fencing. A few examples. Columbia Classical Fencing, LLC‘s website, for example, defines classical fencing as “fencing as it was practiced in the West during roughly the late 1700s and into the 1800s.” [i]
Salle Green LLC in Virginia has a lot more to say, and suggests that classical fencing is:
fencing for sport or the duel, conducted in the manner of fencing in the years between 1880 and 1939, as reflected in the rich variety of fencing manuals in English, Spanish, Italian, and French that survive from this period. It is defined by the transition from a common set of weapons for civil and military use to a distinct set of weapons for primarily sporting and civil use, and ends with the development of the sports factory approach to training and the conversion to electrical scoring after World War II. The classical period is important in the history of fencing as it makes the transition to the set of weapons we still use in modern fencing and establishes the form of footwork and blade technique that is the foundation for modern fencing skills.[ii]
These both situate classical fencing within a largely late 18th and 19th century context, though Green would push this, rightly in my opinion, into the first half of the 20th century. What’s missing in Maestro Green’s definition is what comprises “fencing manuals” in this period. Significantly, at least up until the 20th century (and indeed after 1900), many of these sources for sabre were military sources or written by military men.[iii] Often they were writing for a military audience, and in some cases, producing official government manuals on fencing. There are, of course, many exceptions, but if one looks at some of the more popular works per tradition the connection between military manuals and what tends to comprise classical fencing stands out starkly.
The supposed dichotomy between “military” and “dueling” (or “classical”) sabre is an issue more within the historical community than the classical. Many fencers within WMA/HEMA have desired to differentiate what they do from anything remotely resembling sport fencing. For them, classical fencing is too close to sport, and thus automatically suspect. Many within the classical camp use the same weapons as sport fencers, only with modified rules, and rather than address technique and purpose, which would show how much historical and classical fencers have in common, these same historical fencers reject them out of hand for using foils or S2000 sabre blades. The fact that the modern game derives from Italian and French fencing, that classical technique developed in these two lands, tends also to produce a quick reaction against things classical, especially given the popularity of English infantry manuals in HEMA. This is all guilt by association and ignores the salient fact: the classical tradition, especially for sabre, derives more from military than from civilian sources.[iv]
This bias, however understandable, is misguided. Ultimately it can be limiting too. Some proponents, for example, of English broadsword/sabre, often seem at pains to distinguish what they do as somehow more “military” than sport or classical, but here as elsewhere it comes down to definitions and how one applies them. What they fence is certainly closer to what an infantry private learned with his regiment, but it’s a far cry from what the officer in charge of that regiment likely learned. The texts of C. Roworth and Henry Angelo, for example, are no more military than those by Giordano Rossi and Ferdinando Masiello.[v] These English texts give us a window into sabre intended for the infantry between say 1800 and 1850, but while Roworth includes a comprehensive examination for sabre/broadsword, Angelo does not. Unlike Roworth or his Italian counterparts, Angelo’s sword exercise is hardly representative of the entire system he taught at his own sala. Henry Angelo, author of the Infantry Manual of 1845, was the grandson of Domenico Angelo Malevolti Tremamondo, author of the exquisite L’Ecole des Armes or The School of Fencing (1763). Very little of the sophistication the Angelo’s were famous for, and which is illustrated so wonderfully in Domenico’s book, made it into the 1845 Infantry Manual. It did not need to be there. It is almost as if some fans of Angelo and Co. find it more legitimate because the infantry manual is so bare-bones, so devoid of the sophisticated maneuvers they associate with artful, sport fencing. This is not to say it wasn’t there, that it didn’t exist, but to remind the reader that they won’t see much of it in that source.
The context for these various texts is on its own instructive. If, for example, one compares the works of Settimo Del Frate and Henry Angelo, the former contains a lot more instruction. Angelo’s goal was to provide a minimum of basic instruction, not a complete program. By and large the key Italian works present much of the state of the knowledge at the time, not just the fundamentals. One reason for this is that in the newly formed Republic of Italy, military fencing masters were vying for preference and position, so their works intended for the army were not just drill manuals, but books intended in part to reveal the author’s expertise over that of his fellows.[vi] Taken together, the corpus for Italian sabre is thus more exhaustive and sophisticated. This reflects a difference in context, in purpose for many of these treatises, and as students we need to keep that in mind.
The difference in context explains a lot, everything from why say Del Frate or Masiello’s works are longer and full of details, even lesson plans, and, why Angelo’s pamphlet on infantry sabre is so rudimentary. The rank and file did not need a complete course in swordsmanship. [vii] After the volley their next step was the bayonet. If the fighting came down to sabres, something had likely gone very, very wrong. They needed enough to be effective in the context of war, not thoroughly tutored in all the options required for combat mano a mano. The requirements of an infantry private are different from those of the duelist. That private, because of his rank, will not be fighting duels, and thus has little need for more than basic instruction, good as it might be. The duelist, on the other hand, only benefits from possessing a larger selection of options even if, and this is critical, they never use them. They must be able to recognize them, and, undermine them. In short, a duelist needs more than an infantry soldier.
The duel is a critical consideration in understanding why some sources are more detailed than others. While it had all but disappeared in England, dueling culture was still alive and well in Italy at the time these works were written. Though illegal, as it was in England, provisions were made within the military and several military men, most notably Achille Angelini and Giordano Rossi, wrote dueling codes.[viii] Many within historical circles thus equate “classical” and “dueling,” and this isn’t wrong, but they misspeak in saying that these are somehow separate from “military” sabre. They are one in the same, just presented in different ways for different audiences, for different purposes. Because the officer ranks were the only ones allowed to duel, in so much as anyone was, it is little wonder that the officers writing these manuals included more within their work, that is, included those maneuvers that any one of them might have occasion to call upon should he find himself called out. It should be noted that British officers, like their brothers most everywhere else in Europe, typically contracted a master for more complete, advanced training.
For students interested in military sabre, some notion of this historical context must be taken into consideration. This should go without saying, but for all the discussion of the “H” in HEMA, too often it is ignored. Many new fencers learn about military sabre from Youtube videos or social media, and if they see that one school of sabre uses the term “military” more often than others then perhaps it’s more understandable that they fail to see how other national texts on sabre were also largely codifications of military systems. It is also one reason they think that dueling and military sabre are different animals—few people ever talk about the connection between them.
Students of sabre should pay some attention to the wider corpus. Regardless of the tradition they favor, even a basic acquaintance with other national military programs, not to mention different applications for the same body of technique, can only benefit them. This is true for those interesting in “dueling” and those interested in “military” sabre—these are just different applications of the same material. At the very least it may prevent them from grossly misunderstanding what it is they are studying.
[iii] A master I worked with
in Portland, Oregon, the late Maitre Delmar Calvert, was trained in the French
army (he was a Foreign Legionnaire) at a time when they were still using the
revised Règlementd’escrimeissued to the
French army in 1908. For more on Calvert’s early training and military
career, see Bernard Coliat, Vercors 1944
des GI dans le Maquis, Imprimerie Jalin à Bourg-Les-Valence, 2003. See also http://usfencinghalloffame.com/wp/calvert-delmar/
[iv] As a quick example, Italian works from ca. 1850 on were
largely produced by military men for a military audience, from Del Frate in
1868 to Pecoraro and Pessina in 1912. The French Reglement (1877), likewise, codified fencing for the French
military. This is not to say that works dedicated to sport were not beginning
to appear, but that even these, ultimately, looked back to these military
[v] In fairness, Roworth’s 1804 treatise is a thorough work, providing more than Angelo’s later infantry manual. He entitled it a “complete” system for broadsword for a reason, and one examination will demonstrate why. Not only did Roworth lay out his approach to the use of the weapon, but he also covered defense against smallsword, spadroon, and bayonet.
[vi] For a good
discussion of the competition between military masters in the newly unified
Italy, see William M. Gaugler, The
History of Fencing: Foundations of Modern European Swordplay, Bangor, ME:
Laureate Press, 1998, 166-167; 216-217. A more recent, complete examination,
and some of the key documents, can be found in several of the translations of
Chris Holzman. See especially his The Art
of the Dueling Sabre, xxv-xxxii; in The
Roman-Neapolitan School of Fencing, Holzman includes some discussion of the
Northern and Southern Italian rivalry (xxi-xxii) as well as the report of the
Hon. Paulo Fambri to the commission dedicated to choosing which manual, and
thus which region North or South, would define the official military program
(xxxiii, ff.); for some sense of the vehement opposition to Parise and the
Southern school by Radaellian devotees much can be gleaned from the
observations about Masiello’s strong feelings in Holzman’s translation of Sabre Fencing on Horseback (1891),
[vii] Masiello’s manual for cavalry, for example, is not a complete work on sabre, just sabre as applicable for fighting from the saddle.
[viii] See Lt. Gen. Achille Angelini, Italian Chivalric Code, Firezne: 1883, translated by Christopher A. Holzman, 2016; Giordano Rossi, “Concerning the Duel,” In Capt. Settimo Del Frate, Instruction in Fencing with the Sabre and the Sword, 1873, translated by Christopher A. Holzman (2011), 222-230 [this is a chapter from Rossi’s Scherma di Spada e Sciabola, Manuale Teorico-Pratico con Cenni Storici Sulle Armi e Sulla Scherma e Principale Norme pel Duello, Milano: Fratelli Dumolard Editori, 1885]. See also Masaniello Parise, “Fencing on the Ground (1904),” In The Roman-Neapolitan School of Fencing: The Collected Works of Masaniello Parise, Maestro di Scherma, translated by Christopher A. Holzman, 2015, 295-319 [revised in Carlo Pessina and Salvatore Pecoraro’s “Spada Fencing: Play on the Ground (1910),” In Sabre Fencing, 1912, translated by Christopher A. Holzman, 2016, 175-197.] It is important to note that McBane, who wrote works on smallsword and broadsword, was not only a fencing master and soldier, but a duelist.
Our first meeting in the new space will be Sunday, May 19th, 11am. We are not an open sala, so if you are interested please contact Jim Emmons (cf. our contact form on this website). Fencers already enrolled, please remember to send Jim your contact information (preferred phone, email address).
Remember to bring a pair of shoes with you, a pair you’ve not worn on the street–we’re excited by the partnership with CVDA and want to keep the studio clean and the dancers happy! See you then!
In anticipation of our 2nd Annual Sabre Invitational (June 9th), we will use the second practice (5-26-19) as a review of the rule-set and how we are implementing ROW (“right of way”). This is a rule-set we devised for classical/historical fencing and makes use of ROW a bit differently than our Olympic colleagues.
If you are competing, then you are also a judge, so it behooves you to attend if you can make it.