Tag: HEMA & Realism

Yes, yes, very Nice, but… HOW? Cultivating Defense

Joshua and Noah, two of CEHF’s “Death Needle Cultists,” drilling 29 Oct. 2023. The drill was “foil tag”

This past weekend, while mixing with some of my favorite fellow Death Needle Cultists at Capitale Escrime in Salem, Oregon, one of our number informed me that they had started reading my last two posts. [1] Not going to lie, any time someone tells me they read anything I write it’s nice to hear, but given that the handful of people who do are—for the most part—not in North America it’s a double treat when I encounter a person who reads these posts and lives Stateside. He related that he found what I had to say in re defense over offense in historical fencing appealing, but wanted to know just how one can better cultivate that preference. Damn good question.

What follows are a few suggestions for ways to incorporate the notion of “don’t get hit” into both lessons and partner drills. For the former, this is advice to fellow instructors, and it will read a little differently than the recommendations for students. It’s not that a teacher’s perspective won’t help students, because it should, but that it falls to instructors to make what we call “purposeful mistakes” in order to train fencers. No fencer, least as I see it, should be drilling poor actions. That may be my former competitive experience speaking, but I think it makes sense and holds as a general principle.

Start at the Beginning

The first and most important thing one can do is assess their current thinking and approach, honestly, and see where it may fall short of the “don’t be hit” rubric. How often does one choose to parry over counterattacking, and, how often is one hit when they do so? How often does one double? At what distance is one in most bouts? Does one use measure or jump in and slog it out? How often is one hit when attacking?

The answers to these questions, importantly, cut both ways. As I attempted to point out in the last post, we don’t fence alone and what our partners in the ring or on piste are doing matters too. If, for example, one selects the right time to attack, at the right measure, and makes a decent action, but is continually hit as they do so, it may be that one’s opponent is making the mistake. They may be counterattacking rather than parrying, for example, and though one is “hit,” the fact is that the opponent should have defended. There is considerable static around this issue for most of us—in the quest to be honest we can easily gaslight ourselves into thinking we just aren’t doing something right when in fact we are, or, arrogantly, we can assume we are doing it right and that everyone else is making errors. Both poles present problems. Objective, well-trained third parties can do much to reduce the static.

One’s instructor (provided they have the necessary training) or one’s skilled colleagues can assist in assessing where the faults are. One caveat: we have to be open to criticism for this to work, and, those providing the insights succeed best when these evaluations are shared with compassion and in the spirit of collective improvement. If these keen eyes discover critical mistakes, say an arm too open on the attack, the body moving before hand and weapon, or that one is always in close measure, then these are good places to start corrections. This is a strong argument for teaching fencers how to analyze actions and bouts.

Mindfulness & Defense

I chose “mindfulness” purposefully and not in the sense of tired suburban affirmative wall art. [2] I mean it literally—we have to focus on defense consciously. We should anyway, but because we fence with friends and are thus not fighting for our lives, and because we wear safety gear and are thus unlikely to be injured, it’s super easy not to think about defense. We assume it without realizing that we are assuming only actual injury, not the theoretical injury we incur when making poor decisions in a bout. Consider, for example, how many times we are hit in the average practice. We get used to it and lose the fear we often have just starting out. To combat this, we must actively think about defense.

To do this with any success means emphasizing defense in every aspect of our practice. We have to create a culture of it. I try to reinforce this a few ways, but perhaps the most important is in always treating the weapon as if it’s sharp and all actions as if one might be hurt should they be struck. For example, I often discuss the extension of the weapon as projecting “the sharp thing” toward one’s opponent. In demonstrating and explaining a particular action, in evaluating an exchange in a bout, in answering questions, in any and every way I can I treat and attempt to project a sense that we are training as if we were going to need these skills. It’s artificial, but I’ve seen firsthand how it changes the way people fence.

scarto, from Masiello

The same language and attitude permeate all instruction. For example, in teaching Radaellian molinelli and the scarto, I explain why the latter is critical in certain actions. The molinelli are large cuts, made by rotating at the elbow, and thus can expose the arm if one is in measure. The scarto, because it means we start the cut leaning back (so just out of distance) and let the cut pull us forward reduces the chance of a stop-cut as we attack. Often, a student will ask what to do if someone counterattacks anyway. It’s a good question, but also an opportunity to reinforce the reality of the sharp thing—assuming one made the molinelli at the right time, from the right distance, then the opponent—if they’re smart—should have only one thought: stopping that giant cut. In “HEMA,” sadly, more often than not people choose to race to strike and arrive first, but wholly ignore the theoretical reality behind this choice. Defense is conservative—given a choice between a chancy stop-cut and the security of a parry, the parry is the better option.

Practice like The Blades are Sharp

Announcing that everyone should treat the blades as if real at the start of class or lesson is not enough. We have to create and maintain that attitude throughout practice. Here are a few ideas that emphasize different aspects of fencing defensively.

Mask Tag/Foil Tag: this is a drill that reduces everything to two options. The purpose is to get people moving and to consider how measure not only helps them reach target, but also avoid being one. In the sabre version, Mask Tag, students can only make a cut to the top of the head. That’s it. They cannot parry, only use their feet to evade. I remind them that it’s best to attack when someone is in negative balance or occupied, when they are about to step or make an action, when they are recovering into guard. Much of the game then consists of attempting to lure someone in to take advantage of the opponent’s initial action, or, luring them in to attack so that they fall just short of target and then strike them as they recover. For smallsword and rapier, the drill is the same only the attack is restricted either to the forward target or torso (thrusts only). One variation on this is to then allow each fencer a single parry-riposte in their bout; this means having to select the ideal time to use it.

Only Parries: in this style of bout, one can attack or defend, but cannot make any sort of counterattack. The goal is to focus on defense, and, condition fencers to the choice to parry over attempting attacks into tempo. When first introducing it, fencers often realize just how often they are reacting with counters automatically, a key first step to converting what is automatic to what is chosen.

In Drill: no matter what partner drill I have students do, no matter what weapon, from the initial demonstration and explanation to feedback as I circulate through the pairs, emphasis is on making the actions the way one would were the weapons sharp. It is easy to get lazy in drills, to go through the motions, especially if the drill is familiar. Part of my job is keeping everyone vigilant, reminding them that the glizade in tierce must successfully create opposition as it goes to target, that the beat in sabre must shift the opposing steel from the line and not just make contact to work, and that counterattacks work best if there is time both to strike in tempo and parry riposte.

In Bouting: it’s not always possible to provide a director for each bout, so I put the onus on students. In their bouts, I encourage them yet again to proceed as if it getting hit would send them to the hospital or the dirt. When I can direct them, at the halt I’ll have them analyze the action, provide some feedback, and then we collectively check what happened against the “don’t get hit” rule.

Instructors and Cultivating “Realism”

Though a strong advocate for collaborative learning, much of the culture of a club is set or directed by its instructors. We tend to attract, or at least retain, those with a similar outlook or who come to adopt our perspective. It is easiest for us to inculcate a sense of realism in individual lessons; they’re just more focused since we’re only working with one student.

Everything above holds in individual lessons as well, but in this context we can do something our students shouldn’t do on their own—present them with poor actions to exploit. In terms of pushing better approaches or correcting ones already in play, time spent one-on-one supporting or rebuilding a student’s particular skills can do much to improve their overall performance and understanding.

For example, often as a warm-up or cool-down, I have students work counterattacks. For smallsword and rapier this is typically an arrest drill; for sabre this is usually a stop-cut drill. I see this as not only good eye-hand-foot coordination exercises, but as ways to hone the way they should be viewing counterattacks. To reiterate I’m not against counterattacks, they have their place, but I am against overuse of them and want them made correctly.

Arrest/Parry-Riposte: I approach this the way my masters did it and how they taught me, that is, I chase the student by walking forward with a poor attack. In smallsword and rapier (or foil and epee, whatever you’re using), this means attacking from third or sixth with the inside of my arm more exposed, then the outside, then the underside. The student takes measure (a critical step) and makes the arrest to the exposed target, but importantly then adjusts again in order to parry my attack and riposte. What I do is simulate an attack that doesn’t stop, though when the arrest is made really well it will, quite literally, arrest my arm.

It might help to visualize it this way. To make the counter, the student reaches out to strike as they begin the initial retreat; they either land it or miss and then immediately take another small or half step back to parry and riposte.

Stop-cut/Parry-Riposte: the sabre version is exactly the same only I substitute cuts for the thrusts to the inside, outside, and underside of my arm. For more advanced students, I will have them make stop-thrusts as well. In Radaellian sabre our preferred guard is 2nd, and thrusts from 2nd, followed by parries in 1st, 2nd, or 5th (sometimes referred to as the “first triangle” of parries) are quick to perform.

Perhaps the greatest value in drilling counterattacks this way is that it conditions fencers to make counterattacks at the right time and from the right distance. So often in HEMA counters are just knee-jerk reactions to motion toward one, whether threatening or not. Critical in this drill is the instructor’s follow through—unless the arrest or stop-cut actually stops the arm, the instructor should not break off the attack. The student should be forced to consider defense and parry or at the very least, if the arrest was successful, break measure to remain safe. With period weight weapons this is easier to do, but regardless the student must face in drill what they will realistically experience in the assault.

The Right Atmos

If we fight as we drill (I think we do), then reproducing as faithfully as we can actual conditions, that is conditions that assume the sharp point and edge, we’ll only help our students realize and achieve a more thoughtful, accurate, and sensible bout. For coaches, whether taking some drill from synoptic tables, a treatise, or devising them oneself, be sure to ask how realistic the drill is, and, what steps one needs to take in order to support students in making combat-logical decisions. [3] For students, conceiving of drills not only as skill-building exercises, but also as opportunities to reflect upon the originally deadly purpose of what we do, can do much to make us more effective fighters, as well as help us appreciate just how beautiful and well-designed past fight systems could truly be.

NB: obviously this post addresses those who are more concerned with achieving some semblance of realism in historical fencing. Not everyone cares so much, and that’s fine. It’s important to me, because I don’t really understand the point of historical fencing otherwise, but I recognize that there are different points of view, that we get into this stuff for different reasons. It is not my intent to disparage other points of view—I may not agree with them, but I see no reason to put others down for the choices that make them happy. You be you.

NOTES:

[1] Though we have not settled on it yet, there is a fair chance that Capitale Escrime will either change the name to “Death Needle Cultists” or incorporate it say as a tag-line, e.g. “Home of the Death Needle Cultists.” It’s catchy and might attract more to the cause.

[2] There is nothing wrong with mindfulness, save when used by snake-oil gurus, but this said I typically have some of the lyrics from Jonathan Bree’s “You’re so Cool” in my head whenever I see the word. Cf. https://youtu.be/gxRq23qVE8A?si=VdbPsGIi4bwR0I9U [3] By combat-logical decisions I mean those one might make should the blades be sharp. With older works, those from a time when the sword was still a reality in war or personal quarrels and/or self-defense, drills more likely reflect the concerns of those who relied on instruction to preserve their lives. This is not, however, universally true. Many late 18th and 19th century works geared more for academic foil play rather than smallsword can include actions that would be unwise on the ground. To name one example, the extremely high hand in lunging that one sees in works like that we see in La Boëssière (1818) is extreme. Earlier works recommend a hand-height generally between the mouth and nose. Cf. https://saladellatrespade.com/2022/11/11/reach-for-the-sky-hand-height-in-the-smallsword-lunge/

Suicidal Tendencies—“All I wanted was a Parry…”

This post is a follow-up to the last [“They Doth Cut too Much,” Methinks, 19 Oct. 2023] and takes up, again…, the issue of how we make a touch. This issue has been on my mind a lot in part because of teaching, but also because my current book project requires me to explain the challenge of hitting without being hit as simply and clearly as possible. While I’ve discussed this often, which is to say like the drone of a bagpipe in a particularly long air, it’s one of these critical issues that we can never really emphasize enough. The proper mindset determines everything we do.

In brief, rather than focusing on making the touch, we should focus on trying not to be hit. It’s easy to say, but far harder to put into practice. The old adage “nothing ventured, nothing gained” might work in dating, but it’s rubbish as a maxim for self-defense. We focus too much on offense. While the same conservatism would help Olympic fencers, it’s less necessary for those in foil or sabre thanks to the conventions of right-of-way (ROW); epee fencers, on the other hand, would certainly benefit. If the entire point of historical fencing is to approach as best we can how swords might have been used in the past, then fencing in ways that run counter to that ethos is nonsensical.

“HEMA,” the popular expression of historical fencing, has been around long enough that it’s likely that many newer fencers, because they have not had to face the issues that helped create the movement, may be wholly unaware of the place that attempting realism had/has in shaping “HEMA.” To enter this world now is, for the most part, to enter a sword-based sport similar to Olympic fencing, only without the pedagogy, organization, and recognition. This means that many fencers in “HEMA” are, in good faith, learning to approach things more concerned with competitive rule-sets than the logic of the sharp point. So ingrained is the competitive outlook that even those not actively competing often adopt the same methods and mentality. Social media, YouTube, and a few of the organizations, such as the HEMA Alliance, present a seemingly unified mode of play and purpose.

As a caveat, there’s nothing wrong with competition—despite all the bitching I’ve done here about problems with it, the fact is I like competition and have enjoyed it myself. The longer I look at these problems, the more convinced I am that many of them, such as doubles, obsession with the afterblow, etc., all might be remedied by better attention to defense rather than making the touch.

The Logic of the Sharp Point

At the risk of sounding reductionist or like yet another would-be western Zen guru, in the end there is nothing but the sharp point. It is all that matters. The entire purpose of fencing is defense—it’s in the name. “Fencing” derives from Middle Engligh fens, a shorter version of defens, a word used to denote defense, resistance, even fortification (the ME term ultimately comes down via medieval Latin defensum). Italian scherma and French escrime both derive, originally, from a Frankish word, skirmjan, “to protect or defend.” [1] While the denotation of words over time often change, it is worth noting the consistency in the meaning of the terms for fencing, and, how the source tradition reflects the same concern behind what these words mean. Sure, we read a lot about offense, but no master I can recall suggests rushing into the fray minus concern for personal safety or suggesting that winning a contest via afterblow is legitimate.

Maestro Nick Evangelista, so far as I know, is the origin for this phrase, the logic of the sharp point, but what he describes is, and should be, self-evident. [2] Every action we make, every decision, should reflect this logic. Having watched Olympic sabre tank in the 1990s, and having the misfortune to watch HEMA make many of the same mistakes ever since, I believe that this same logic should be present in competition. When it is absent, we see a lot of, to put it bluntly, stupid actions.

It is human nature to game systems, to find ways to work around them. We love loopholes. I’ve not stayed current on the latest trends in bio-social-anthropology or evolutionary psychology, but the studies that emerged when I did were sobering. Put briefly, if people believe they can get away with something, they’ll go for it. [3] As great a tragedy as that can be, when our rule-sets then follow suit and make the loophole canon, it’s a far greater calamity. Now a source of authority enshrines the mistake. Given the value most in HEMA place on competitive success (despite all the flaws in that assumption), to argue anything counter to established practice is treated like heresy. This is true no matter how well-supported the supposition might be. Emotion and identity typically beat out reason and evidence. Concurrently, the opinion of some “name” or “HEMA celebrity” trumps most arguments, however sound.

There is little one can do about human nature, and thus, little one can do to fix the cognitive bias that affects HEMA. Moreover, the increasing distrust of experts, in most any field, compounds the problem. The best we can probably do, following Voltaire, is tend our own garden. [4]

Fencing with the Logic of the Sharp Point

What follows is a quick summary of my approach. I’ll use smallsword and rapier as an example as these are the weapons I teach most (I follow the same methodology for sabre). Nothing here is new or uniquely mine—as I see it this is just doing what we should be doing IF the swords were sharp. Fencing this way requires far more concentration on the imagined danger than it does anything else. After all, we do this for fun and wear safety gear, and thus outside the lunatic fringe should have nothing to worry about. [5]

The first rule is “don’t get hit.” If there is a choice between making the touch and being hit, and avoiding the hit, I encourage students to choose the latter. Even if this means losing the opportunity to riposte, better that than be hit. Defense should govern all, and so I teach them to defend unless they are certain that an attack has some chance of reaching target without danger to themselves. For rapier and smallsword especially this means selecting those actions which provide opposition and which allow them to recover either behind the point, with a parry, or with a beat. This conservatism also means choosing the extended or advanced target over the body. The hand, wrist, and forearm allow one to strike a vital target—were the weapons sharp such a blow might end the fight—and at the same time allow one to stay farther away and better able to defend (there is textual support for attention to the forward target). [6] In order to defend well students must develop a keen sense of measure, tempo, and judgment, three of the most important universals in fencing. Attendant to observing these principles they must be able to move well, quickly, effectively, efficiently, and with balance. They must possess excellent point control. They must be able to read the opponent quickly.

It takes time to develop these skills, a lot of time. There is no royal road to skill acquisition. This said, regular practice, proper drill, and the right attitude can do more than one might think. It goes without saying that proper instruction is everything.

Institutionalized Suicidal Tendencies

My horrific GenX puns aside, HEMA is quickly institutionalizing (if it hasn’t already) an approach to fencing that would get most people killed were the weapons real. [7] The number of students I talk to who experience a peculiar gaslighting in bouts grows all the time. For example, one of the students I see, and who fences at another club as well, has been frustrated by the lack of concern colleagues at the latter seem to possess in bouts. Even when he has the initiative and launches a good thrust, one they should parry, they’re as likely to make some counterattack with a feeble cut than anything else. They have zero awareness of the problem, but my friend does because he fences as best he can to the logic of the sharp point. It is far harder to see this clearly when everyone around us sees it another way. We’ve chatted at length about it, and I’ve assured him that from what I’ve seen of him fencing, what I’ve experienced bouting with him, and from what I know of other clubs, he’s doing everything right, but, can’t and shouldn’t expect others to know that.

This is an uncomfortable place to be. This same friend wants his mates to improve too, but they won’t so long as they continue to fence like they’re playing a game of tag. Our bouts shouldn’t be about who hit first, but who hit and was not hit. I’d be at a loss for why this is even an issue, because it seems so obvious, but the truth is before us: the people playing tag think they are doing it right.

Earlier I mentioned the problem of cognitive bias: this is the best explanation for what my friend, what so many of us experience fighting in genpop HEMA. [8] The people making that ridiculous cut in rapier against a thrust they should be parrying believe they are acting correctly. It matches what they see in tournament footage, what their clubmates do, and so, ergo, it must be right. So, how do we overcome this problem? Can we overcome it?

I’d suggest as a first step entertaining the possibility that we might have something wrong. With historical fencing, we have copious sources against which to compare what we’re doing, and, in some cases, some pretty decent scholarship about it. All of us have to do this, as painful as it can be sometimes, because no one is infallible. We must consider the context of what we’re learning and place that next to our context which, for the most part, is very different. We should also compare notes, which here means visiting other clubs, taking lessons with people at other schools, and fencing with as many different people as we can (the more skilled, the better). If we do these things and are able to step back from it all, and analyze it, we are more likely to see the patterns, and within those patterns, any deviation. Maybe that deviation is correct, maybe not, but it can no more be taken on faith as anything else.

Let’s use my posts as an example—if you read them, thank you, but please go look up these topics and see what others say. Check my facts. I do my best to fact-check and support everything, but I goof up too. It’s one reason I leave comments on and a contact feature on this website—so I can make corrections when people share them with me. Watch footage on YouTube and look for suicidal fencing; look for more defensive fencing. Read. Chat with people. Collect all this stuff and then compare it. I’m not the betting sort, but I’d wager that if you do, and accept the universal principles outlined in so many works on fencing, you may notice the same set of problems. The more of us who do, the more likely we might effect any change for the better in HEMA.

NOTES:

[1] Cf. “escrime” at Trésor de la Langue Française informatisé,

http://stella.atilf.fr/Dendien/scripts/tlfiv5/visusel.exe?35;s=1403805600;b=13;r=1;nat=assiste; see also, “escrimer,: https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/escrimer

[2] See Nick Evangelista, “When Classical Fencing Goes Bad,” The Evangelista School of Fencing, 20 April 2014, https://www.evangelistafencing.com/blog/2014/4/20/9swnz7n7n709uvg9cko2hkh5a1h3n5

[3] In the 1990s, early 2000s, two scholars at my alma mater (Leda Cosmides and Joh Tooby) produced some excellent work on this topic. See Leda Cosmides, et al., “Detecting Cheaters,” in Trends in Cognitive Sciences 9: 11 (2005): 508-510; a wonderful, but likely dated book on the topic is The Adapted Mind: Evolutionary Psychology and the Generation of Culture, Jerome H. Barkow, Leda Cosmides, and John Tooby, eds., New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 1992; Jens Van Lier, et al., “Detecting Cheaters without Thinking: Testing the Automaticity of the Cheater Detection Module,” in PloS One 8: 1 (20-13): https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3547066/

[4] “Cela est bien dit, répondit Candide, mais il faut cultiver notre Jardin.” Online, Project Gutenberg has both the French and English editions. For the French, see Voltaire, Candide, ou, L’ Optimisme, Chapitre XXX, 1759, https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/4650/pg4650-images.html; Voltaire, Candide, Chapter XXX, 1759, https://www.gutenberg.org/files/19942/19942-h/19942-h.htm

I’m no prophet, but the divisions we see within HEMA will likely formalize in time—this is a pity, but understandable. Many of us, myself included, already believe our approach to be different enough that it no longer qualifies as “HEMA” (as typically defined and expressed). It’s one reason I prefer “historical fencing” or “historical martial arts” over the usual acronym. I’ve covered this too often to regurgitate it here, so will leave it at that (see for one examples, “Disparate Places, Liminal Spaces,” https://saladellatrespade.com/2021/06/15/disparate-places-liminal-spaces/ ).

[5] I hit these notes as often as the others, but again, it bears repeating. There is a weird fetishizing of injury in HEMA that I don’t understand. Whenever someone shares some fb post of some smiling fencer sporting their latest battle-wound I hear the words of Bismarck to a young German cadet. I forget where I read it (still trying to find the citation), but supposedly the young man thought to impress the chancellor with his scars. The latter supposedly remarked “In my day we parried with the blade, not our faces.” Von Bismarck was a redoubtable schlager and fought over seventy duels as a student.

[6] I’m not a fan of self-aggrandizement, but since I put a lot of time into this topic, may I suggest an article I wrote, “The Curious Case of the Forward Target in Rapier and Small Sword,” April 2023, available here: https://saladellatrespade.com/instructors/research-media/

[7] The title of this piece is a nod to the 1983 hit “Institutionalized” by Suicidal Tendencies, a band out of Venice, California, and one of the first punk/thrash hits to get much radio attention. See https://youtu.be/LoF_a0-7xVQ?si=c37NGGbWWPi1k6hn

[8] For a clear, user-friendly definition, see “Cognitive Bias 101: What It Is and How to Overcome It,” 2 May 2023, Cleveland Clinic, https://health.clevelandclinic.org/cognitive-bias/

Old Wine in New Bottles: Fencing Theory and Interpretation

passing attack from _The Art of Fencing_ 1730

The much-maligned maestro, Nick Evangelista, turned a phrase that I have long used, “the logic of the sharp point.” [1] For anyone interested in fencing as more than an elaborate game of tag in unfortunate polyester uniforms, the logic of the sharp point should guide all they do. In short, this logic boils down to one idea:

If attacked, defend

When we don’t envision that point as sharp, we make poor choices—most doubles and the obsession with the after-blow stem from misunderstanding or misapplication of this logic. Why is it that in historical fencing, supposedly keen for fostering “realism,” we see such a gap between theory and practice? In short, the divergence stems from failure to learn and apply the most basic tenets of fencing theory. The reason for that is simple: too many historical fencers refuse to examine what modern fencing has to teach them.

This is a topic I’ve spent a lot of time on, but when a problem persists, we keep at it or quit. One fact I must accept, however, is that no matter how much time I or anyone spend on this, no matter how much evidence or analysis we throw at things, it won’t matter to most people in “HEMA.” There is daily proof of this, but there is also precedent: similar issues plagued the Olympic fencing world in the 1990s and early 2000s and then as now most people didn’t care. That doesn’t make them right. Their discomfort with a truth in no way changes the fact of that truth. I will argue until I’m worm-food that one should extend on a thrust, that the flat of the sabre shouldn’t score, and that off-target is, ultimately, illogical.

In like manner, not to avail oneself of modern fencing theory is to hobble our efforts at understanding fencing of the past. Modern theory was not created in a vacuum—it is the product of quite literally centuries of work. As always, one must distinguish between theory and how that theory is applied or misapplied. They are separate things.

For a quick example, applying right of way (ROW) to sabre, in theory, is sensible. ROW, in its way, attempts to enforce the logic of the sharp point, but being a game, a sport, this rule is less doctrinaire than it is for historical fencers. Historical fencers balk that ROW allows consideration of off target, and that one may win the point but still be hit. However, despite those aspects, despite the tyranny of electric scoring, the rule states that an attack should be dealt with, not just reacted to via counterattack out of time. One should defend if attacked—that is basic logic, the point, really, of fencing, defense. Thus, the ruling idea is sound, but how that rule is abused and interpreted is a mess.

Case Study: Passing Attacks

In one of the most recent and unfortunate fracases on social media, over a specific type of attack [see the post 13 August 2023, “Shadows in Caves,” https://saladellatrespade.com/2023/08/13/shadows-in-caves/], we have another example of the perils of interpretation. As I stated in an earlier post, part of it vested interest in maintaining a perceived status within the community, part of the problem was vocabulary, and partly it was a failure to understand how the sources and modern theory intersect. I’m fed to the teeth criticizing the all-consuming horror that ego plays in all this, so this post will instead focus on terms and misapplication of theory.

One mistake that people are making is equating a modern version of a species of attack for one of the same class from the past. It might help to illustrate how the terms relate. “Passing attacks” comprise a category of attacks where the rear foot passes the lead foot. Just how one does this changes. The terms and description vary as well. For two examples, we have the lunge made on the pass in de la Touche (1670), his “thrust of the pass” (l’estocade de passe), his “the finished pass” (la passe finie), and the modern flèche. [2]

de la Touche, 1670; the fencer on the right is making a thrust of the pass

No one in de la Touche’s time called any passing attack I’m aware of a “flèche.” Those quick to decry the use of a “flèche” in a recent Canadian tournament cite the use of a passing attack as modern and anachronistic, and thus out of keeping with period practice. It’s important to break down the attack, and criticism, to see if this criticism holds.

I’ve selected de la Touche in part because detractors have cited him for proof, but also because de la Touche did a fantastic job of explaining many aspects of technique. He was not the only one to include thrusts of the pass, but he is a good example. [3] The section on his thrust of the pass is long, thorough, and informative. In speaking of thrusts generally, de la Touche reminds us that one should be careful to aim for the most uncovered section of target, and, that one must thrust with conviction, that one should let oneself “go and extend as much as you can, so that the action has more force and swiftness of reach.” [4] I note this because swiftness, speed, is a critical consideration, one detractors downplay.

The master observes that one’s reach is longer with the thrust of the pass, and thus that the measure is larger so it requires more time to make. This is a crucial point. If one can hit with a thrust of the firm foot, then one shouldn’t use the thrust of the pass, unless one was initially aiming for the arm and decides to go for the body. It is particularly useful if the opponent is breaking measure (retreating) and if one wishes to surprise the adversary. Most importantly, one must accustom oneself to “execute the thrust of the pass with great swiftness, in order to compensate for the length of the action by the promptness of the execution.” [5]

Important to note, and a point in favor of the critics, de la Touche’s thrust of the pass assumes that the lead foot does not move. One advances the weapon, arm, body, and rear foot, but the front foot remains in place. [98] However, in the next section, De la Passe finie, “Of the Finished Pass,” de la Touche remarks that

The finished pass is an action by which, commanding the weak of the enemy’s sword with the forte of one’s own, one advances the foot which is behind the other in order to take the enemy in the body or to seize the sword to strike or snatch it.

La Passe finie es une action, par laquelle en dominant le foible de l’Espee de l’ennemy du fort de la vostre, on avance le pied qui se trouve derriere devant l’autre, a dessin deprendre l’ennemy au corps, ou de luy faisir l’Espee pour le frapper, ou pour luy arracher. [6]

De la Touche discusses this action, of moving the rear foot past the front, within the context of weapon-seizures. Such seizures are, as he observes, incredibly dangerous and chancy, especially if attempted when attacking (he is less uncomfortable with such seizures when defending). [7] One question arising from this is whether or not the master recommended this passing step only for weapon seizures. In answering this question one must interpret since de la Touche is not specific. How best to do that?

First, we must examine the action in the context in which the master shares it. It makes sense to include this passing step in a section relating to seizing the weapon as the distance one must travel is, arguably, longer than it is when lunging or lunging on the pass. Of note, this step is more connected to attempting a seizure when attacking than defending, as ostensibly the opponent is either standing firm-footed or breaking measure to defend.

Second, we must compare the advice in this passage with the rest of his work, with the general timbre of his approach. This is, granted, where we enter the world of conjecture. Thus, it is all the more important to work from the text, not just one passage or section. We must apply logic to any such comparison; it is, really, the only way to avoid the more obvious pitfalls, such as selecting only what supports our point of view or cherry-picking.

Whenever evidence works against us, we must deal with it honestly. In this case, the thrust of the pass itself does not appear to include moving the front foot from its place. De la Touche makes this clear. Those unhappy with the attack my friend and colleague made at An Cruinneachadh this past month are not incorrect about that. [8] However, I believe they are on far less firm ground if they suggest that the finished pass, that is a pass where both feet move, is only advisable when attempting a weapon seizure. Yes, that is the section in which it appears, but on its own that doesn’t make for a strong case. De la Touche covers the lunge in one section too, but one assumes that he wants one to use it whenever applicable.

Herein lies the crux of the problem—applicability. What follows is my take, my interpretation of de la Touche, and I will be the first to admit it is more spirit than letter of the law. I have reasons for that—we do our best to conform to what a text says, but we must remember the purpose of a source. De la Touche was concerned first and foremost with effective fencing. The goal, quite literally, was to strike and hopefully not be struck as one did so, because failure meant injury or death. If that was the goal, then slavish attention to any action makes little sense. Put another way, if one attempts a thrust of the pass, but the opponent retreats slightly more, one can either break off the attack, or, continue it (assuming the same elements of surprise and safety) by moving that immobile front foot. Fencers make different choices depending on the situation; technique, ultimately, backs up tactics, not the other way around. The attacker is at risk regardless—should they continue an already long attack, they increase the chance of failure, but should they recover needlessly just to follow the letter of the law they may create an opportunity for the adversary to attack in their turn.

In my reading, what Jay used in that match follows the logic of the finished pass and the thrust of the pass. Both fencers were working measure, but Jay launched his attack (about :07/:08 seconds in the video on fb) as his opponent (the chap in green) was in negative balance, as he was just about to initiate an action. Jay threw his arm and body forward, a la the thrust of the pass, but then crossed his feet a la finished pass in order to reach his now retreating opponent. Nothing in this action is out of keeping with what we read in de la Touche.

In fact, Jay used the proper speed to execute this attack successfully, an aspect de la Touche was quick to point out. Judging by both video of their fencing and from what I have observed on my own in person, many of Jay’s detractors do not employ speed in their own fencing, and one fears that they may not realize its importance. No attack made from just out of distance will succeed without it.

But his Fleche!

Now, what is the modern, well, 20th century flèche? It depends upon how one defines it. Generally, in French fencing, the fleche is a “running attack,” but in this can be further explained as Gaugler put it, as “a running attack executed following a loss of balance by an exaggerated forward displacement of the center of gravity.” [9] Maitre Robert Handleman provides a fuller description:

Flèche: an accelerating offensive footwork progression that may start from on guard with a rapid extension of the arm and back leg which causes the body to lean forward and become unbalanced. The front leg then releases like a coiled spring causing the fencer to leap or run forward. The rear leg comes forward to land first, in a running-like movement; the hit should arrive as the legs cross or before. The flèche is used in foil and epee and may be delivered at any distance but is most effective as a surprise in shorter or medium distance. Another variation includes bringing the front foot towards the rear to shift the balance forward and then a rapid extension of the arm in the attack and a forward drive off the front leg. [10]

Handleman’s work was published in 2014, the flèche outlawed for sabre in 1994, but older works discuss the use of the attack in all three weapons. The flèche is still legal in modern foil and epee competitions.

So, did Jay flèche? Yes and no. Yes, he made a running attack, and going by just one definition, Gaugler’s above, we can call it a flèche. However, nothing in that action was out of keeping with what de la Touche, among others, described in their coverage of passing attacks. So where does that leave us?

Old Bottles, New Wine

Often in historical examinations we employ the simple tools of comparison and contrast. Examining patterns of what is similar, what different, we can unpack a source and see relationships, connections, and with further analysis, reach conclusions about what we are studying. In some cases, one type of comparison may reveal more to us. As a related example, from the study of myth, Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces does a great job of finding cross-cultural similarities in what he called the “monomyth,” but his study is only so useful because he did not, and did not intend, to examine the differences in how this motif was or is used. A hero’s motivations, for example, may be vastly different even if the narrative construct is similar; those differences will be far more revealing about cultural values than similarities.

In contrast, the situation here is one where similarities should help make sense of the sources, but which do not thanks to bias. Prejudice against the “new wine” of modern fencing, an outgrowth of the reactionary period in which modern historical fencing was born, has persisted and continues to affect how those suffering this bias view the “old bottles” that are period sources. The flèche as they see it is an artifact of modern, 20th century fencing, not that particular century’s version of an old and time-worn attack. Why? Because in their view nothing modern is legitimate.

In fairness to his critics, if one places a photo from mid-century where a fencer is nearly horizontal in the air as they flèche, and then a plate from de la Touche side by side, then the differences are obvious. It’s clear these are not exactly the same, but they’re not the same in execution, and it should be easy to see why: the contexts are different.

pass in seconde, de Liancour, 1696

This has been obvious to other scholars of fencing. Morton’s A-Z of Fencing contains a lengthy entry on the flèche as well as one for the pass which, so Morton states, was an older method of movement, and, one in which the lead foot might, if necessary, move as well. [11] As a last example, Nick Evangelista, in defining the flèche, echoes the same cautions as de la Touche, reminds the reader it is best used sparingly and as a surprise, and most importantly, that “the pass on avant of the eighteenth century is considered the forerunner of the flèche as it is practiced in modern times.” [12] These writers see continuity as well as change, versus change alone, and with good reason. No aspect of modern theory was created ex nihil—all of it is built on precedent.

De la Touche on more than one occasion is at pains to warn the reader against actions that will get them hurt, because in 1670 people were using swords and intended harm with them. No one of sound mind is fencing in that context today—realistic as we may wish to be, we do this for fun, not because our lives may depend on it; we fence with friends, not people keen to kill us; we use safer trainers and wear safety equipment, not a simple shirt or the lack of one. In contrast, fencers using the flèche in Olympic fencing, and especially in sabre in the late 1990s, not only had no fear since they were going for points, but especially in the case of the latter could stretch the action to ridiculous lengths to game the system. Indeed, so abused was the flèche that they outlawed crossing the legs in sabre.

Wine is Wine, Old Bottle or New

In the sitcom “Schitt’s Creek,” one of the main characters, David Rose, explains his sexual outlook to Stevie, a woman who works at the hotel where he is staying, and with whom he had hooked up:

Stevie Budd : So, just to be clear, um… I’m a red wine drinker.

David Rose : That’s fine.

Stevie Budd : Okay, cool. But, uh, I only drink red wine.

David Rose : Okay.

Stevie Budd : And up until last night, I was under the impression that you too only drank red wine. But I guess I was wrong?

David Rose : [nods knowingly]  I see where you’re going with this. Um… I do drink red wine. But I also drink white wine.

Stevie Budd : Oh.

David Rose : And I’ve been known to sample the occasional rosé. And a couple summers back, I tried a merlot that used to be a chardonnay…

Stevie Budd : Uh… okay.

David Rose : …which got a bit complicated.

Stevie Budd : Yeah, so… you’re just really open to all wines.

David Rose : I like the wine and not the label. Does that make sense?

Stevie Budd : [smiles]  Yes. That does. [13]

In addition to being a wonderful way to explain pansexuality, I see an analogy in re fencing theory. Fencing is, ultimately, fencing, and it is either effective or not. Contexts, purposes, equipment, and ethos all change, but should one lay out the better modern works on fencing side by side with those from the past the kinship becomes absolutely clear. Yes, there are differences, and in historical fencing in particular to ignore those differences makes what we do ridiculous. However, it’s double-edged—to ignore what modern theory provides any fencer, especially those attempting to interpret past sources for the Art, is to handicap one so terribly that the interpretation too easily becomes something other than what it should be, fencing. A prime example, which I’ve covered in other contexts, is the abject devotion to the images in the Bolognese corpus which produce versions of fencing more graceful than effective. [14] The desire to make “sidesword” different obscures the fact it was a cut and thrust weapon, and, that cut and thrust weapons existed before and after the 15th century. If pose becomes more important than purpose, one has lost one’s way.

The logic of the criticism used against the passing attack Jay used at An Cruinneachadh is faulty. The operating assumption is that anything that looks like a flèche, or indeed may be one, is automatically illegitimate and anachronistic. That doesn’t follow. One can make a fair case that the passing attack Jay employed abided all the cautions and guidelines that masters like de la Touche put forth, and as such, should not be classified as some aberration. [15]

NOTES:

[1] Nick Evangelista, “When Classical Fencing Goes Bad,” The Evangelista School of Fencing, 20 April 2014, https://www.evangelistafencing.com/blog/2014/4/20/9swnz7n7n709uvg9cko2hkh5a1h3n5

[2] Philibert, Sieur de la Touche, Les vrais principes de l’Espée seule, 1670, 66 (plate just before page 65); see also Reinier van Noort and Antoine Coudre, The True Principles of the Single Sword, Glasgow, UK: Fallen Rook Publishing, 2016, 88ff.

[3] For other examples, among others, see de Liancour’s passes to the inside and outside p. 24ff in Le maître des armes (1696), Girard’s pass of quarte p. 71ff Traité des armes (1740), and Angelo’s pass in carte over the arm p. 62 The School of Fencing (1787). Of note, many works cover passing steps in connection with weapon-seizures.

[4] Van Noort and Coudre, The True Principles of the Single Sword, 90.

[5] Ibid., 100.

[6] de la Touche, Les vrais principes de l’Espée seule, 75; cf. Van Noort and Coudre, The True Principles of the Single Sword, 108. I translated this passage myself, so it differs from that of van Noort and Coudre.

[7] de la Touche, Les vrais principes de l’Espée seule, 75-78; cf. Van Noort and Coudre, The True Principles of the Single Sword, 108-109.

[8] For the bout in question, see https://www.facebook.com/groups/261251458841817/permalink/835017504798540/?ref=share&mibextid=NSMWBT

[9] Willam M. Gaugler, A Dictionary of Universally used Fencing Terminology, Bangore, ME: Laureate Press, 1997, 34.

[10] Rob Handelman and Connie Louie, Fencing Foil: A Practical Training Guide for Coaches, Parents and Young Athletes, San Francisco, CA: Pattinando Publishing, 2014, 444.

[11] E.D. Morton, Martini A-Z of Fencing, London, UK: Antler Books, 1990, 67; for the pass, see 132-133.

[12] Nick Evangelista, The Encyclopedia of the Sword, Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1995. 250. Queen City Classical Fencing’s glossary, supplies

passe avant [Fr., “pass forward”]: a step in which, from the en garde position, the fencer places his rear foot in front of the lead foot and the latter is immediately replaced forward, returning the fencer to the en garde position. [https://queencityclassicalfencing.com/fencing-terms/#p]

Important to note, the terms for passing attacks varied. Hope, for example, referred to the “true-pass” and the “half-pass:”

According to the Rules, a True-Pass is a running Motion, which a Man makes bye his Adversary’s Right-Side, in the time he is performing his Thrust against him; whereas a Thrust is commonly delivered with a close and fixed Left-foot. ‘Tis true, both of them terminat in a Thrust; but there is this Difference, that in all Thrusts wherein the different Lessons terminat, the Left-Foot is generally kept fixed; whereas Passing is performed, as I said, but a running Motion, the Body stooping forewards and the Thrust delivered, just as a Man is passing bye his Adversary’s Right-Side.

[Sir William Hope, A New, Short, and Easy Method of Fencing, Edinburgh, 1707, 136-138]

[13] This quotation was obtained from IMDB, https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3653932/characters/nm2391794

[14] 10 June: Lecture Transcript: “Prance or Pounce? Interpreting Images in Bolognese Treatises,” Northwest Armizare Weekly Online Meetup, https://saladellatrespade.com/instructors/research-media/

[15] Jay’s fencing is effective and he is doing well in competition, so it is possible that maybe that is the real issue: envy.

Jay, like me, like others, approaches past sources with the tools and theory that they bequeathed to modern fencing, and he is an effective fencer. Those aping the plates devoid of actual understanding are not doing as well, because their study is incomplete. When one is absolutely convinced that one’s point of view is correct, and especially when that stance is backed by those believed to wield authority (however true or untrue), then one is not only losing matches but forced to confront an even harder possibility: their training, however long, however passionate and dedicated, has been flawed. This is extremely painful and unpleasant, and my heart goes out to them. At the same time, it is something one can fix. Jay, in fact, can speak to this better than I can, as it happened to him. He didn’t quit, but put his disappointment and regret aside and started over with a better training regimen.

Addendum, Shadows in Caves

It’s never my intention to be mean or divisive. To the best of my ability, I try to focus on the material and evaluate both arguments and support. The more directly and clearly one does that, the better, but directness, especially online, can read differently to people. It’s easy to take any criticism personally even when it’s not intended. [1]

I didn’t pull any punches in my last post, but no blow was aimed at people as people—my intent was to target interpretations, argumentation, and issues of authority either widely acknowledged as problematic, such as “HEMA” lacking any real oversight, or, concerned with questions about credentials that have long been under discussion. [2] It’s important.

As an instructor and historian I have a responsibility to my students and everyone else to be honest about my training, how I arrive at the interpretations I do or why I use those by someone else, and to be as transparent as I can. When I get things wrong (and I do), I owe it to all involved to own it, correct it, and give credit where credit is due.

Few things are harder than declaring, publicly, that one made a mistake, but it’s one of the most important things we can do. First, it’s honest—everyone screws up. Second, owning mistakes and trying to correct them argues for one’s credibility. Third, because our interpretations are shared, we owe it to those who use them to keep them in the know. My own experience with this has demonstrated to me that not everyone will appreciate it, but it’s the right thing to do regardless of reception. Thus, whenever someone offers us valid criticism, it’s on us to consider it and if necessary adjust our conclusions.

Working remotely in a tiny corner of the world, and rarely able to travel to events, conferences, or seminars (though I try), I know of, but do not know, most of the people engaged in the current debate within smallsword circles. I know them only via their work or participation in the community. Even if I did know them, I should not judge them as people (provided they’re not bigots or overly arrogant) but evaluate their work. I expect people to do the same with anything I might share of my work. That is how research works, well, how it’s supposed to work. [3]

All of this is to say that if you are hurt reading my critique, please remember I see you as a colleague in a difficult endeavor; that we, all of us, owe it to all using our work to do right by them and produce the best work we can. Good research is a collective pursuit—we rely on others for support, for correction, and for making our work better. In like vein, we also owe it to our students and one another to be honest, frank, and ready to back up any credentials we claim. The study of martial arts, any branch, relies on trust, and we establish that trust more in action than words.

Notes:

[1] Even in person it can be hard to face criticism, but it’s part of the job. Online communication is notorious for confusion; lacking facial cues, body language, etc., we have to work harder to be clear in what we write and be sensitive to how things might read.

[2] The burden of proof for one’s credentials is on the individual. Normally, it’s easy enough to prove should one question things—maestri, for example, are handed a diploma produced by the organization that granted it and that displays the signatures of those masters that evaluated the candidate. There shouldn’t be any mystery around it.

[3] Work in research long enough and you will see the best and worst in people when it comes to using or evaluating one’s work. For every instance of helpful, well-intended help, there are a legion of people who fail to read it completely, or worse, misconstrue and misrepresent our work. For example, one reviewer of a book I wrote failed to read the preface; had he done so he would have realized that his major criticism, that the book was less monograph than he expected, was targeted towards undergraduates. For a more serious example, a dissertation from 2014, and which mentioned my dissertation from 2002, not only resorted to insulting language, but also misrepresented my work (how her dissertation committee let that go is anyone’s guess—mine would have read me the riot act for such a breach of professionalism).

Shadows in Caves

One of the benefits of not having to suffer the tempests in teapots that boil over on social media is that I only hear of them second-hand. I’ve heard a lot in the past few days about an unfortunate debate on one of facebook’s smallsword pages concerned with a particular action. Controversies like this have a way of forcing people to show their colors, and this latest hullabaloo is no exception.

The lines, as I understand it, are drawn between those upset by the inclusion of a passing attack, a collection of enthusiasts including a number of English fencers, at least one sword-maker, and a few vocal students, largely American. Their opposition consists of an assortment of historical fencers who have argued for this attack based on the sources. If one is familiar with my posts here it will not be difficult to determine where I land in this debate (not that what I think will matter to many participants). However, as an instructor and historian I feel a duty to those I work with to say something.

False Equivalencies & the Fleche

The action in question is a rapid attack meant to surprise an opponent and one made by passing the back foot in front of the lead foot. To work, one chooses the right measure and tempo, and then applies the right speed and weapon angle to close the line. Whatever the name, these are the component features. It is, in truth, a dangerous action, especially if made poorly or at the wrong time or distance, but the fact that it shows up in so many works means it is worth study.

The criticism aimed at the passing-step proponents centers upon this action being too “sporty,” too “modern,” and since that first generation of classical and historical fencers arose in large part because of the excesses in the sport, anything remotely whiffing of the modern piste is immediately suspect. I  know because I was there, and like these poor folks, once over-compensated and over-corrected. This was easy to do in the 1990s and early 2000s for several reasons. The  complete lack of concern and disdain from fellow fencers about over-use of the fleche, of the flick in foil, of duck and cover, or any of the other aberrations was hard to understand and unpleasant to face. Second, and in ways that echo in the current debate, none of the evidence–and there was plenty–proving that these were departures from the point of fencing and ahistorical made the slightest dent in their resolve. On the one hand, older fencers unaffected by much of this failed to see the danger. On the other, many newer fencers, having made their reputations on these dubious actions were loath to condemn them; to do so would be to condemn themselves, to call into question their own position. 

Ego drove much of this, and, ego drives the anti-passing step side now. Combined with misunderstanding of the problem the anti-passing step faction has taken the suggestion that a move like the fleche is viable as a personal affront. Ironically, they decry the action despite the evidence from the very sources they claim to use. Ego is the first barrier: an inflated sense of self and one’s importance tends to blind one to reason. The second barrier is mistaking issues with a particular action for the action itself. Memories of fleche after fleche in the late 1990s and all the daft measures the FIE took have made any attack like it, never mind the fleche itself, anathema.

Of note, the pro-fleche camp, for lack of a better term, has not argued that the passing attack in Vadi or L’Abat is exactly the same as the flying leap sabreurs so took advantage of in the 1990s. Contexts are different, the weapons different. This said, the idea of a rapid, surprise attack made by throwing the weapon forward and passing the rear leg past the lead one is present in our sources. Whether one chooses to use it or not is another question. Whether one makes the attack well is another matter. Whether a master advocated it or merely included it is an additional consideration. Some masters specified that they didn’t care for an action, or, that it was dangerous outside the salle, but often we don’t know where they stood on its effectiveness or safety for actual fighting. [1] There is ample precedent for fleche-like actions on the record, so to poo poo the use of an effective passing attack in modern historical competitions, which we do for fun, is about turf and ego, not the sources.

Why the one faction should stubbornly argue against the evidence of the sources should make one pause. For smallsword works alone, the inclusion of the passing-step attack is common. It should be little wonder as to why. Given the place of cross-steps forward and back in earlier works (de Liancour, 1686, is a good example), adding speed to the same method of advancing follows logically. The same attack, however, appears earlier in the sources, from Vadi to many rapier treatises. What separates historical fencing from other branches is, supposedly, reliance on the sources, so to ignore the basis for interpretation, particularly when we can trace this action over time and across masters, is odd. If the source tradition isn’t their basis for support, then what is?

The Problem of Authority

One of the bugbears within “HEMA” is a blind appeal to assumed authority. In this case, a number of early researchers and their fan-base appeal to the early success and acclaim these luminaries enjoyed in the belief that it’s as valid now as it was in the early 2000s. That is, sadly, not often the case. Research has not stopped since their time, yet many of these same people stick to outdated theories and flawed interpretations.[2] Their argument, thus, is not made from evidence and analysis, but from ego, from fear of losing the status they depend upon from their acolytes. They fear being eclipsed. The last has already happened as this latest fracas, one skirmish of many in the past twenty to thirty years, demonstrates.

Time-in is another supposed source of authority. It can lend one credibility, but depends on other factors. On its own time-in means absolutely nothing. If one has been in “HEMA” for thirty years and has not only been working from poor theories, but also continues to argue that they were correct despite the evidence, then time-in means very little. This happens a lot–I’ve met many people who have wasted years with charlatans or in glorified fight-clubs or working from once key interpretations that have been superseded.

Complicating the stagnation is an often surprising lack of understanding of fundamental actions and concepts. For example, a well-known fencer recently quoted de Bazancourt with respect to rushing in, which not only demonstrates a failure to understand the intended use of the action, but also serves to corroborate the fact they are basing their view on misuse of the action. Preparation is everything in fencing, and attacks like the passing step and even its much abused 1990s version (ideally…) relied on setting an opponent up for it. The sabreurs who flung themselves stupidly at “allez!” and who never varied the game are a different animal. In the footage I’ve seen from a recent Canadian event, the fencer employing the “fleche” used it wisely, and, as intended: as a surprise against an unprepared opponent. I am a fan of much of de Bazancourt’s wisdom, but the quotation supplied is misapplied. Used at the appropriate time and in the right setting, the passing step or fleche is no more dangerous than a lunge. Both put one at risk. Every form of attack potentially does.

Another issue plaguing “HEMA” is the echo-chamber effect. Adherents to this idea or that group focus increasingly only on what those within their section of the community teach, believe, and use. Their views become myopic, limited, and prone to precisely the ego-driven arguing we see in this current example, because for them the debate is less about sources than it is their reputations as “authorities.” They view the shadows cast on the wall by the tiny flame in their hands or in those of their heroes and take those shadows for reality. It seems real and legitimate to them because they refuse to consider any other well-made argument. In like vein, if any light is cast from someone they don’t know or who fails to pass the anemic view of authority they employ, they ignore it, or, call them heretics.

Proof is in the Teaching

Perhaps it is the Hollywood notion of 18th century manners, of high style, and the romance around the waning influence and power of European aristocracy, but many of the interpretations from the anti-passing-step camp are wooden, slow, and lacking in vigor. They present more like demonstrations or dance than a fight. It’s form over function. For all the formality and etiquette that people of the past attempted to apply to personal conflict, in the end it was a sword fight. The intent was bodily harm or semi-acceptable ritual murder, and no evidence we possess suggests that two people, potentially angry and emotional, fighting fear, and terrified of public opinion, were more likely to square off and fight as if dancing. All evidence is to the contrary. Surviving footage of late period duels is no exception, and many of those were first-blood affairs, not to the death. For all the blather about “realism” few in “HEMA” spend much time if any pondering what that means, or, what it should mean in our context. [3]

The flaccid yet florid approach these fighters take to fencing reveals too much concern for aping the elegant plates within the treatises rather than what those treatises were meant to help teach: fighting. I am not the only one cautioning fencers about over-reliance on images, but time and again many in the community gravitate to the images because they don’t understand the text. [4] While language and diction are often challenging, the deeper issue is that these same fencers lack sufficient understanding to read the text. The one place they might go for help, a solid Olympic or traditional fencing program, is anathema among them, and so, they do their best to adopt what they see in the illustrations and produce pretty bouts largely devoid of any intent.

In the footage of their bouts, in their instructional videos, and especially in their attempts to shout down opponents, the shallowness of their understanding and skill emerge vividly. The inability to fence beyond a snail’s pace, the poor use of measure, and the more choreographed timing are red flags. No one fought in slow motion. It’s hard not to conclude that this is one reason that the clubs and cliques against passing step attacks avoid bouting anyone outside their little world. Against fencers with legitimate training and armed with sufficient knowledge they come up short. Such defeats should suggest to these fencers that maybe there is more to learn or better ways to learn it. In fairness to the newer students among them, hearing from their clubs that these defeats don’t count because others are wrong or too dangerous etc. is easier to accept within their echo chamber, when the only voices they hear are all part of the same program. [5]

Make the Bold Move

It takes courage to accept new ideas, even when well-presented and argued, but it remains the right choice if one wishes to retain any respectability. Lacking any official organization to manage these things, we are left only with each faction’s arguments and how to evaluate them. The best approach is to evaluate the respective arguments in light of the evidence, and, against what the purpose of fencing used to be. The masters who wrote these works, many of them anyway, meant for their books to help teach students how to fight. Sure, some, especially later, were more concerned with salle play than with duels, but for those clearly self-defense oriented, like many mentioned in the debate over the passing attack, the goal was effectiveness first and foremost. There was ample attention to deportment and conducting oneself with grace in many works, but this was, outside a fencing hall, a secondary goal. No master stayed employed long if their students died or were maimed for life. [6]

Those quick to condemn historical fencers using the passing step attack should take their example from other members of the older guard, people like Paul Wagner, Stephen Hand, and Dave Rawlings, all of whom have continued to learn, adapt, and alter their thinking based on new and better information. Though well-known, they have remained humble and thus open to learning, and between these factors and being gracious opponents, they have stayed relevant. They have not been eclipsed. 

When it comes to past fight systems, no one has a monopoly on the truth. Every interpretation must be tested and compared against the sources, and when new and better ideas make sense, when they follow from the sources, then they’re worth consideration however much that may disappoint one. At such times, hard as it is, once those shadows on the cave wall have been revealed for what they are, it’s time to do the hard thing and turn around. When one does, one sees better and grows, and often, one finds that those they have perceived as enemies turn out to be staunch allies.

Notes:

[1] De Liancour, for example, believed counter-attacks better suited for salle play than affairs on the ground (Le maitre d’armes/The Master of Arms, 1692, 13 in the pdf, 29; in Lynch’s translation, 36); Capt. John Godfrey, in his A Treatise upon the Useful Science of Defense, 1747, 12-13, expresses his dislike of the flanconade.

[2] A prime example is the demi-pointe lunge. See my papers related to this topic in the “Research” section found at the bottom of the Instructor page.

[3] I’ve spent a lot time on this in previous points, so here I’ll only add that while we strive to be historically accurate and as “realistic” as possible, the fact remains that we do this for fun, wear protective gear, and have no real need for this skillset in our own time and cultures.

[4] See my pieces on using and misusing images in historical fencing under “Research” in the Instructors section.

[5] Most fencing schools, most of the better martial arts programs, include working with and/or competing against those outside one’s own school. It’s critical for growth. It is never a good sign when instructors fear this or actively preach against it.

[6] Even in self-proclaimed self-defense works we see concern for deportment. In James Underwood, The Art of Fencing, Dublin, 1798, p. 7, he explains that he doesn’t like the off-hand arm forward because “I think the beauty of the figure is strangely disfigured by it, and that all fencers will allow that they cannot help being pleased with a symmetrical posture.”

Curricula, Completeness, & Choice

The Noviciate of a Macaroni. Ranelagh. 1772. Colonial Williamsburg Museum

One of the best things about fencing are the interesting people one meets along the way. Say what one will about “nerds” and niche interests, rarely are they boring, and in some cases it’s precisely their eccentricity that bridges the gap between niche-folk and those just other side the creative wall. For example, a few years ago a writer contacted me with questions about sabre for a project he had in hand. Over the course of our many conversations, we became friends. In a discussion this morning, he asked me for my take on the issue of true teachers versus the McDojo sort who just out to make a buck.

One point I made was that there is often, sadly, a gulf between what we can actually use in martial arts, should we need it, and what a school or teacher makes their focus. For example, in one ruleset for competitive Tae Kwon Do, one can kick at the head, but not punch. [1] If one is studying at a school adhering to this ruleset, they may be doing themselves a disservice if the goal is training to keep themselves and others safe. This is not to say that competitively focused schools are inherently bad, they can be fun and build one’s confidence, etc., but one should not mistake them for what they’re not, either.

As we continued to chat, I brought in a few examples from historical fencing, and this raised a related set of questions. Do we try to share all aspects of a particular treatise? Should we? What if an action is dangerous? What if it’s safe to do in our context, but would be dangerous were the blades real? My short answer is “it depends.” There are sometimes reasons to teach dangerous maneuvers, but any time one does considerations of safety must come first.

Not all Masters Agreed; Not all were Equal

One of the most “medieval” aspects of historical martial arts, and “HEMA” in particular, is an almost blind faith in written words of the past. Textual authority, given that it is 90% of our evidence, makes sense, but reason must still be applied. Modern doctors do not rely on ancient Greek medicine for guidance in obstetrics, and it would be both unethical and criminal if they did. [2] Not everything written in the past was good.

An Englishman and his Fencing Master, British Museum

It can be difficult to assess the worth of an old fight manual. Our distance in time, methods of conducting violence, notion of law, everything is different. This said, there are times when we get help from within the texts themselves. For example, in de Liancour’s Le maitre d’armes/The Master of Arms, 1692, he says of the counter attack that

C’est une chose si difficile à prendre que les Temps, l’Epée à la main, que je ne conseille personne de s’y trop hasarder. J’estime mieux une bonne parade, ou un bon battement sec & tiré droit le long de l’Epée ennemie, sans oster la sienne de devant soy…

Je m’étendrois beaucoup sur ce Chapitre, mais comme j’ay résolu de ne parler que des choses essentielles, je dirary seulement que c’est in jeu de Salle, où ces coups se pratiquent allez souvent, mais fort rarement l’Epée à la main.

It is such a difficult thing to take on the Times, sword in hand, that I do not recommend anyone to risk it too much. I consider a good parry better, or a good dry/sharp beat & thrust along the enemy’s sword without removing his from your own.

I would dwell long on this Chapter, but as I have resolved to speak only of essential things, I will only say that it is a Salle game, where these blows are often practiced, not often sword in hand. [13 in the pdf of 1692; Lynch, 36] [3]

Here is a master pointing out the inherent danger in choosing a counter-attack over a solid defense. It’s an important point, and one I am quick to mention when I cover counter-attacks, but I still teach it. For one, though we aspire towards realism, the fact is we do this for fun and no one is in danger of actual injury. Second, and more importantly, though I advise students not to select a counter-attack save under specific circumstances, they need to know how to recognize them and practice defeating counter-attacks when this action is used against themselves.

For another example, Capt. John Godfrey, in his A Treatise upon the Useful Science of Defense, 1747, rails against an action common to most small sword works, the flanconade:

That Thrust called the Flanconade, I pronounce an Anathema upon, as being easily proved to be the most lewd and vile Debaucher of the Art, the Dignity of which consists chiefly in its generous Allowance of a proportionable Chance to the weak man. The other Thrusts depend upon a timely Swiftness mostly: Though to say, that equal Knowledge with more Strength has not the Advantage, would be preposterous, as certainly the greater the Velocity is, the greater the giving Strength must be… [12ff]

Godfrey’s argument is that a weaker person will be less likely to pull off the flanconade than a strong person. He was correct. His pro-English and anti-French bias, given his background, are not surprising but likely informed his position as well. He published, after all, during the War of the Austrian Succession (1744-1748), where the two nations were in conflict over territory in North America (among other theaters). One example should suffice:

The Art we had from the French; no Flaconade was thought of for some Time; but upon finding us very apt Scholars, and being willing to be our distinguished Masters, they brought the Flanconade and many tawdry Embroideries, which they are as famous for inventing, as, I am sorry to say, we are degenerate enough to imitate, and even mimick. Pity! that we should be so fond of imitating a Nation, who have always been deceiving us. Rouse then, though noble British Spirit! (for sure no Time more calling than the present) lift up they brave fronted Head above these dandling Actions, and become thy wonted self! Love thy King, love the Country; stay they Heart his these, and thou art safe.

            Thus I take my hearty farwel[sic] of the Flanconade. [13] [4]

The Flanconade, Domenico Angelo, The School of Fencing, 1763/1787

Tin-foil tri-corn hats aside… the flanconade is a relatively difficult action to learn at first, but easier with practice. It does require, as Godfrey points out too, that the off-hand must come into play to stay the opposing blade after parrying in order that one doesn’t double as they go to target. [5] I teach this action too, and as with counter-attacks, because while difficult one must still know how to defend against it.

For a last example, this time in re position, James Underwood’s The Art of Fencing or the Use of the Small Sword, 1798, is instructive. In many, maybe most treatises the author advises one to be back-weighted while on guard. Underwood, however, disagreed:

I am of opinion, that the distribution of the duty laid upon each leg ought to be equal, and the more equally they share in the weight, I will venture to say the body will be so much more supported. But let us examine into the consequential practice, by the disadvantage of laying a greater stress upon one leg than the other, or the advantage to be expected from the strength accruing from the proper weight given to both. If too great a stress lie upon the left leg, your retreat must be obviously the more unsteady, and weaker; if upon the right, you are crimped and checked in your advancing. If the greater share of weight lie upon the right, the left leg must take that share off, before you can advance, and so, vice versa, the right must act for the left in the retreat. But then this is the loss of your time, upon which every thing depends; whereas by equilibrial weight upon the legs, that time is saved. Here your body will be equally supported, therefore stronger and steadier; but by recovering and shifting in the other way, the motion of the body must be so much greater, that your arm is more likely to be thrown out of line. [4-5]

Many fencers are taught this way today, that is, instructed to distribute their weight equally. It works fine. However, the rear-weighted stance was common and works equally well provided one distributes one’s weight properly. I had doubts about it myself, but in discussion with Russ Mitchell, and especially after his how-to-lunge class, I finally understood how it is supposed to work. [6] I teach students both. First, I show them what a majority of the texts advocate and why—our en garde position, and the lunge especially, are compromises between proximity to target and removal of our own target. Next, I show them the equi-weighted stance. Purists may balk, but I focus on the goal of our stances, not the letter of the law—bodies are different and so supplied with a few principles, I advise students to find a position that is comfortable and yet still meets the critical aspects. The front foot should be straight ahead, their bodies turned about 3/4, and fist and weapon just outside the body if on guard in tierce. If the rear heel is not precisely on the line of direction and in line with the front, no matter—are they stable, balanced, and can they move in any direction required? That’s what’s important.

Selective Reading & Teaching

When using a fencing treatise, I read it all and more than once, but I do not necessarily include all I read in class. I am selective in what I use—not in what I read. I read page to page, because I need to see the author’s approach in toto, and, compare it to other, related works—but not everything is equally important. I rely on Girard’s Traité des arms/Treatise on Arms, 1740, for much of my small sword curriculum, but I have no plan to include his short section on defense against grain flails. I use Domenico Angelo’s L’École des armes/School of Fencing, 1763/1787, as well, but spend very little time if any on weapon seizures outside demonstrations. They are, again to quote dance master Les Kendall in “Strictly Ballroom,” largely “flashy, crowd pleasing steps,” and less secure than a firm grounding in parry-riposte and thrusts made in opposition.

There are things I include for reasons of completeness or because it explains or aids core material. For example, there is good reason to believe that prime in small sword derives from broadsword practice. Angelo says as much, and this guard and parry are redolent of the hanging species of guard often used in sabre and broadsword, but I share that fact, if I do, because someone asked or because of some similar prompt. Girard covers the use of multiple feints, actions like the 1-2-3, but rarely does one need to resort to three feints in an actual bout. Complicated maneuvers like this are what we call “medicine for the hand:” we drill a triple feint because it will, we hope, make our single feint that much sharper and crisp. Have I seen anyone use a triple feint in a bout? Yes, among high level foilists thirty years ago, but in historical fencing circles? No. We still have to contend with people who believe feints are not “martial” enough (despite how often they pop up in the military sources…).

My goal is two-fold in most lessons and classes. First, I want to present and teach as accurately as I can either the tradition I was taught, or, those from the past I have studied. For the latter I always provide the caveat that we can never recreate these extinct fight systems perfectly, but we can, hopefully, get a good idea of how they might have worked. Second, I want what students learn to be both reflective of its sources and useful—I see no reason to teach anyone actions that are more likely to get them hit than not, so when I teach counter-attacks, when I teach the flanconade, I do so at the appropriate time and with the necessary warnings.

Curriculum building is selective, personal, and should be subject to revision as new insights, ideas, and flaws in the existing approach appear. Historical fencing is a research and experimental archaeology driven field. Unlike colleagues in the Olympic world, who are not uncovering hitherto unknown material or inventing new actions, our understanding changes with newly discovered texts and better interpretations. [7] If we are not open to new, better information, our programs become moribund and stagnate. Moreover, what we choose to teach and how is everything, but it depends on what our goals are. Unless we wish to produce graceful puppets, we should know not only what to teach, but why. What one selects is up to the individual instructor, but have a reason and be able to explain your choice.

NOTES:

[1] See for example https://olympics.com/en/news/know-your-sport-taekwondo-rules-scoring-equipment, “Scoring,” and “Penalties and Prohibited Acts.”

[2] To name only one example, the Hippocratic school concluded that most illness women faced was due to the uterus. From a very large sample, see Lesley Dean-Jones, Women’s Bodies in Classical Greek Science, New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 1994; Rebecca Flemming, “Women, Writing, and Medicine in the Classical World,” In The Classical Quarterly 57: 1 (2007): 257–79; Helen King, Hippocrates’ Woman: Reading the Female Body in Ancient Greece, New York, NY: Routledge, 1998; Vivan Nutton, Ancient Medicine, New York, NY: Routledge, 2005; Soranus, 1927.Gynecology. Edited by Ioannes Ilberg, Corpus Medicorum Graecorum/Latinorum, Berlin, DE: Teubner, 1927. [what, historians gonna history 😉 ]

[3] French speakers I ask your apologies for my loose translation. M.P. Lynch put out an edition in English (2021), which is useful, but which also has some translation choices that one might find less ideal, e.g. p. 110 where he uses “snafu;” for the original passage, see Ch. 17, p. 64:

Je répons que si l’on étoit affeuré que ce fùt un veritable coup tiré de droite ligne, sans feint, on pourroir y parer en opposant la main gauche, comme je l’ay fait voir dans mes autres Planches. Mais l’on peut étre trompé par des feintes, ou par des demy coups, & étant surprise, cette parade de cercle enveloppera tous ces coups qui pourroient vous étre poussez, & même fera perdre tous les desseins de vostre ennemy.  

[4] American sentiment, which has long baffled me given our long friendship with France, tends to back the English view on everything from the Hundred Years War to the colonial contests of the 18th and 19th centuries. Had it not been for French support, we may well have lost our rebellion against England. More recent history makes this all the odder given that England and France were allies, as were we with both nations, in the world wars. Just something to think about.

[5] The flanconade, often called a “high-low” attack in modern epee, is effected by parrying a thrust in the high line in fourth, then dropping the point to the outside over the opponent’s weapon. One then thrusts to the outside low line. Many earlier works advocate using the off-hand to secure the opposing steel after beginning the thrust to avoid a double. For a useful modern example, my go-to is professionescherma.org’s channel on Youtube: https://youtu.be/4G63pNHS90M

[6] See Russ Mitchell, Basic Body Mechanics for Martial Artists, 2018.

[7] One outcome of the unfortunate merger between the USFCA (the US Fencing Coaches Assoc.) and the USFA (US Fencing Association, the body that governs the sport; the US branch of the FIE), is that instructors are encouraged to “renew” their certifications yearly, much as someone say in a profession like pharmacy might with CEs (continuing education courses). While admirable that the organization(s) are interested in ensuring a higher degree of ability among instructors, there are issues with this decision. For one, this is expensive and assumes—as ever—full-time coaches with some manner of decent pay. That is not true for most coaches. Second, unlike pharmacy, no one is inventing new ideas or actions that we must learn to stay current. It’s difficult not to see this measure as a money-grab.

Alex Spreier on Engaging Sources

Alex is a close friend and colleague, and one of the best students of the Art I know. I’ve learned a lot from him. In this post, he tackles the questions of when and how to question our sources.

Here is the link: https://www.highdesertarmizare.com/2023/04/05/questioning-the-masters/

The Importance of Measure

“Success!” 1881 Samuel Waller 1850-1903 Presented by Sir Henry Tate 1894 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/N01551

A number of dueling histories record the horrific duel between Colonel Barbier-Dufai and a young Captain, Raoul de Vere. According to most versions, the older adherent to Napoleon attempted to pick a fight with this member of the Royal Guard, but was initially unsuccessful. Barbier-Dufai, frustrated in finding the young man so unflappable, finally remarked that he was not insulting him, but his cockade, and after a heated exchange challenged the captain. However, when asked to select a weapon the captain replied that he had insufficient training in all of them. The colonel said he would not fight a child, a comment that irked de Vere and led him to slap the older man. A duel was now inevitable. In the ensuing sword fight, Barbier-Dufai disarmed his opponent several times. Finally, in frustration, the colonel suggested they hop into a carriage, arm themselves with daggers, tie their left arms to one another, and take two turns about the Place du Carousel. The young de Vere agreed and they set off in their mobile piste. When their seconds opened the carriage, blood was everywhere, Raoul clearly dead, and the colonel next to death. Both men died and honor was apparently satisfied. [1]

I share this story because it highlights the pure idiocy of fighting in close measure. There are times when it is unavoidable, but generally—unless one is in a confined space—there are means by which to extricate oneself from such proximity. One of the chief faults I see in both the wider community and among some of my own students is mismanagement of measure. Usually in my own classes, the culprit is a mix of well-intentioned aggression and fun—so intent on making the touch, some students neglect their own safety. I never want to chip away at the fun they’re having, especially among the younger students, because having fun is one reason people fence, but at the same time I need to ensure that they learn properly.

There are a few things we can do to ensure that our students have a proper notion of measure, and that can help them remember to use distance well in their bouts.

Teach them What Measure Is

First and foremost, from the off we need to teach them the various measures appropriate to their weapon or tradition. Regardless of the weapon or era my students study, I introduce them to the traditional breakdown of measure into three main categories:

  • Out of measure
  • In measure
  • Close measure

Out of measure, what Giordano Rossi calls “double measure” and Luigi Barbasetti refers to as “normal distance,” is the distance that requires us to make an advance first in order to lunge to target.[2] In measure means that one can lunge to target. Close measure is that spot were either opponent can reach one another without the lunge. There are some subsets to this, but to start this is ample.

I hesitate to say that “all” systems of measure reflect these basic breakdowns, but I feel safe to say that measure, being a fight universal, is common to all systems however described. Even in those like Rossi’s “measure” and “double measure” or Fiore dei Liberi’s “largo” and “stretto,” there is implied space between these two poles. Regardless of nomenclature, one must learn how to navigate any space along the continuum of “measure.”

Measure Drills

Measure drills by definition involve footwork. Ideally, any footwork drill save perhaps those used in warming up a class—where everyone advances and retreats down the hall using various types of footwork—will work distance too. Below are several drills I typically use in classes:

Glove Tag is a crowd favorite and very much a game. One can run this as a linear partner drill, or, as a general melee. I usually ask if anyone wants to be it, and if not then select someone. Fencers must use the appropriate footwork only, and, can only target the wrist. There is no parry. One has to move, or, parry with the feet (in the non-pejorative sense). [3] Fun as this is, and much as it helps them move, making it a bit more realistic is helpful (see Mask Tag below).

Foil-Push or mask-push, have the students, in guard, suspending a foil/sabre/etc. or mask between their lead hands. The goal is to move back and forth without dropping the foil or mask. I emphasize that while they are taking turns driving, so to speak, they are working as partners—the only way to keep that foil up is to move in concert. If fencer A steps back, B needs to step forward, and vice versa.

Mask-Tag and 1-Touch Tag, fencers don their masks and use the weapon to tag. For sabre, students target only the head, and, cannot parry. Thrust fencers can only target the chest (or arm depending on what we’re working on), and, as with sabre, cannot parry. They must move their feet. Students must use distance to their advantage. Success depends on moving, recognizing someone fell short and is now vulnerable in the recovery, or, selecting the moment the opponent is occupied, such as mid-step, to strike. If the attack fails, then retreating under guard or behind the point is the best option, and the fencers reset.

Mask-Tag Plus takes this drill one step farther—each opponent can parry and riposte once per action, that’s it. So, if Fencer A lunges with a thrust to the chest, B can parry in quarte and riposte, but if A retreats half a step, then B must recover—B can’t redouble. For more advanced students one can allow the redoublement. This option should be included at some point as so many students starting out stop just shy of the target.

Two-Step Tag is something I’ve used with foil and smallsword students. Two of my foilists, for example, are offensively-minded, so tend to close quickly at “Allez!” and descend into a flurry of jabs, thrusts, etc. I don’t want to take that drive away, so I’m trying to channel it instead. In this version, the only attack they can make is an advance-lunge to the chest. It’s super hard to do, especially since one’s opponent knows what’s coming, so everything depends on precise and keen use of footwork, timing, and distance.

The goal with all of these drills is to emulate, as much as one can, the conditions of a bout, but restrict the options so that the students are forced to use measure. It’s not that good handwork is unimportant or cheating, but that it can easily become clatter and chaos instead of well-planned attacks and responses. It becomes reactive, not active. I teach them that if an attack fails or if something isn’t working, to retreat, regroup, and try something else. Persistence in the face of stout defense is brave, sure, but foolhardy—if what we’re doing isn’t working, we try something else. [4].

Reinforcing Proper Use/Awareness of Measure in Bouting

It does little good to encourage proper measure in drills if we fail to do so in bouts. There are a few way to do this. In both classes and individual lessons I save any bouting we might do for after any focus on technique and drills. [5] This helps prime the pump as it were—students are more likely to consider measure if they’ve spent a bit of time focusing on it before bouting.

Within the bout, I have students actively bouting and those observing analyze the action, not only because it reinforces attention to measure, but also because it buttresses other important aspects, from recognizing who had initiative/started the attack to breaking down each action within a given exchange. Too few fencers learn to analyze bouts well, and the sooner they start the better.

Why Measure Matters

If you view most any bouting footage posted to sites like Youtube you will see, or should see, why better attention to using measure is worth one’s time. In one recent video, for example, one fencer analyzes his bout, but misses the reason that he found himself in the situation he did—they were fighting too close to one another. [6] If their sabres cross near the middle, they’re too close. Certain actions are harder to thwart at such proximity—in this case, a slip of the leg will likely fail because there is insufficient measure to remove the leg and strike the opponent’s head without being hit. More likely, and we see it in this example, both parties will be hit.

In fairness to this fencer, the rule-set he’s likely fighting under is not as doctrinaire as I am about the guiding principle of “don’t be hit.” Even when a rule-set is explicit, so much depends upon judges who know what to look for and how to make sense of what they’re seeing, and by and large tourney HEMA lacks a reliable pool of judges capable of analyzing the action at such a level. Add to this the excitement and/or nerves in a bout and of course things can turn out less ideally than we plan. It is not my intention to denigrate my fellow fencer, only to point out something important he didn’t address (his focus was on the slip). Were he my student, we’d likely work on this very set of actions at the proper distance, that is, set it up so that he is just about a step or so farther back then we see in the video. From punta spada/sword tip one is more likely in a place not only to make the attacker’s feint and strike more successfully (i.e. without be clobbered doing it) but also provide the defender sufficient measure (and thus time) to assess and adjust.

“Halberd against the Sword,” Hector Paulus Mair, MSS Dresd.C.93/C.94 (ca. 1540s)

Not all clubs or instructors take the same view I do. The more I read, the more I teach, the more I see how fencers learn, the more inclined I am to championing the goal of “don’t get hit.” It does change how we fence; it makes for a more circumspect, conservative, and hesitant game. The flash and fire, the dynamic move and rococo blade-work tend to impress, and that is what attracts many of us in the first place. It looks cool and we want to do that cool thing. While perhaps less flamboyant and exciting, I’d argue that there is as much beauty to the cold efficiency, exactness, and finality of a one-touch exchange. Moreover, training this way adds something else extremely important—improved confidence. The more one succeeds in gaining the line, striking, and getting out without suffering a counter-attack or double, the more one trusts themselves and the weapon they have in hand. In no way does that make one invulnerable, of course but confidence does much to help us cultivate the calm we need to fight with our heads and not our hearts. [7]

NOTES:

[1] There are a number of popular histories and websites that mention this duel, few with adequate citations. See for example Robert Baldick, The Duel: A History, New York, NY: Barnes & Noble, 1965, 164-165; Major Ben C. Truman, The Field of Honor, New York, NY: Fords, Howard, & Hulbert, 1884, 236, available online at [https://archive.org/stream/fieldofhonorbein00trumuoft/fieldofhonorbein00trumuoft_djvu.txt]; Thimm records a duel with daggers, minus a carriage, between two men in Italy in 1891, A Complete Bibliography of Fencing and Dueling, Reprint (Gretna, LA: Pelican Publishing, 1998), 457.

[2] Giordano Rossi, Sword and Sabre Fencing, Milan: Fratelli Dumolard Editori, 1885; translated by Sebastian Seager, Melbourne Fencing Society, 2021, 49-50; Luigi Barbasetti, The Art of the Sabre and Epee, New York, NY: E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc, 1936, 15-16. Cf. Gustav Arlow, Sabre Fencing, 1902, translated by Annamaria Kovacs and edited by Russ Mitchell, Austro-Hungarian Sabre Series, Vol. 3, Happycrow Publishing, 2022, 35.

The term “normal measure” is revealing–this is the distance from which one is still safe, but close enough to mount an attack. In other words, one isn’t four meters away from the opponent, and, isn’t in their lap.

[3] The “Coward’s Parry” or “Ninth Parry,” according to Morton, is the derisive term applied to those who avoid at attack by means of a step back. Where this idea originated I’m not sure, but it’s alive and well in HEMA. My guess, like Morton’s, is that this harkens back to the time with salle fencing, particularly in France, sought complex, elegant handwork over retreating (a “ninth” parry suggests an acceptable eight, and the French school in the 19th century looked to that number). See E.D. Morton, Martini A-Z of Fencing, London, UK: Antler Books, 1990[?], 43, 126.

[4] There are instances, of course, were it’s wiser not to break off the attack. If say one thrusts to the chest but lands short, and the opponent isn’t reacting properly, then redoubling to strike makes good sense.

[5] Most of my bouts are teaching bouts, that is, bouts in which I present what we covered in a lesson so that the student may work on those topics in real time. For classes, I still do this, but often include a little free-bouting at the end of class provided the students have enough in their toolkit to do so, otherwise I have them engage in restricted bouts where they move at real speed, but are restricted in what they can do.

[6] I do not know “@HEMA_Fight_Breakdowns,” and again, do not wish to disparage them in any way. Their video provided a great example of what I cover here, but my topic was not the same as theirs and I want to make that clear. To blast someone for not covering something we want them to, when that isn’t what they set out to do, is silly if all too common. This fencer has some good things to say about slipping the leg and one response to it–the topic of the video–it can be found here: https://youtu.be/Bk32YMYqiwA

[7] For this notion, see Master Perigore of Paris in the film adaptation of “Scaramouche” (1952): https://youtu.be/FQfsvMENYgc

Russ & CO.–Interview with Chris Holzman on all things Radaelli!

This video is so good. SO. GOOD. Chris is a friend and a mentor, so I know I am partisan and possess some bias, but for those who listen and find themselves uncomfortable, I challenge you to listen to what he says. Some of it will be hard, but it’s important. Few people like being called out for the inconsistencies and nonsensical things we do, but wee bruised egos aside it’s healthy for us to do so.

This is also a wonderful introduction to Radaellian sabre, a thorough examination of how this system influenced so many others, of the development of the sport, and a personal bugbear, another nail in the coffin in the silly dichotomy people insist exists between so-called “military” sabre and “dueling” or “sport” sabre.

Using Historical Fencing Treatises, Text & Subtext

Teaching from early fencing sources can be daunting. On the one hand, their organization, language, and lack of details can impede interpretation. There are also the challenges we face in using images, not to mention dealing with sources that lack them. On the other hand, we cannot always guess what assumptions the author had about the reader’s knowledge or even what they intended with the work. For the period in which the smallsword was popular (roughly ca. 1615 to 1800), some treatises were likely meant for public consumption, others were written in an attempt to solicit patronage, still others to challenge existing custom and/or defend a new approach. All on some level were meant to immortalize a particular author’s views and put their name on the rolls of influential masters. Some are mere tracts, others replete with a host of actions and maneuvers. Even when a source is less difficult to understand there remains how one should use it. Both deciphering challenging texts and deciding what to use from them (and how) are things we must consider when teaching from them.

As someone averse to anything remotely smacking of Bourdieu, Derrida, or Foucault, my use of the term “subtext” here is meant to convey the implications within our sources, not some hidden meaning or the imposition of some anachronistic, fashionable theme into the past. There is, plainly, what a book says, and, what it doesn’t, and we can learn a lot from both.

“Barcelona,” 1994, by Whit Stillman

Explicit vs. Implicit

When we’re lucky an author is explicit. They provide details as to the individual movements and positions that make up a stance, technique, or action. Sir William Hope, for example, is one of our chief sources for knowing that one should not insert the fingers through the annulets, those rings, descendents of a rapier’s pas d’âne, found on many smallsword hilts. In his Scots Fencing Master (1687) he wrote

You must hold your Sword after this manner; hold your Thumb upon the broad side of the Handle with your Fingers quite round it, as in the second Figure of the first Plate marked F. and not as some do, who their foremost and middle Fingers thorow to two arms of the Hilt, thinking that by doing that, they hold their Sword firmer, some use onely to put their foremost Finger through, which the Spaniards did of old, and many even to this day do it; but both ways are most ridiculous, and dangerous.
[2]

Presented in the much-used trope of master and student in discussion, the corresponding student comments that one is at risk of having one’s fingers broken should one come to grips. Details like this are critical in our interpretations as the presence of the annulets naturally suggests they are there to secure one’s grip.

The granularity of instruction, generally, is less precise than it is in more recent works. One reason for this is that the sword, being a feature of culture at the time, something carried, seen on stage, and of course discussed within treatises, meant that readers possessed better familiarity with the topic than most people today. This is, perhaps, why so many of the smallsword works appear deficient in specifics. There is still, however, much we can learn from them. For example, many suggest or list a series of lessons. De Liancour (1686/1692) and Wylde (1711), for example, both suggest lessons within their treatises, the former in a series of “games” a master might take a student through, the latter via a suggested lesson. [3]

from Sir William Hope’s _New Method_ (2nd Ed., 1714)

When we find ourselves left with less detail than we’d like, we must find a way to bridge text and subtext, that is, connect what is explicit with what is implied or assumed. There is an inherent danger in this, however, so we must apply precedent when available, analogy where applicable, established fact when known, and always the faculty of reason. An example I’ve often cited before is how to step. Whatever the word used, “step,” “pass,” “advance,” there are certain things we know (or should) about how humans walk. Given how long our species has been walking upright we can safely assume that people in the 17th and 18th century did too.

As another example, Wylde suggests that

The most absolute and truest way of thrusting Cart and Ters, is to perform your Pass as close to the Fort of your Opponents Weapon as you can; for in so doing, it will in a great Measure preserve you, if he happen to Counter Tang: but if your Push fails hitting, besure to make your recovery strongly engaged upon his Weapon, or spring your self backward withal the Celerity imaginable out of his distance, in a true Line.
[4]

If one is familiar with the parts of the blade, this may sound odd. Close to the “Fort” (forte/strong) of the blade seemingly goes against what most fencers know about the respective mechanical advantages and disadvantages of strong and weak. Placing the weak of our blade near the strong of theirs provides the opponent more leverage. To attack in such a way is to hand the opponent a parry. So, what does Wylde mean?

It will help to revisit Wylde’s division of the blade. He separates it into three sections, but one is more a point than a section:

The Blade, I likewise divide into Three Parts thus, From the Shell to the middle, I call the Fort or Strength of the Weapon: The middle is the equal Part betwixt the Shell and the Point: From the middle to the end, I call the Feeble or Weak. [5]

So, the “weak” here is really middle to tip, the “strong” middle to guard, and the middle merely where they meet. Armed with this notion of blade division Wylde’s admonition that one keep as close to the opponent’s forte makes more sense. The thrust isn’t tip to forte, but made so that the middle of one’s weapon is more or less along the middle of the opposing steel. He also provides reasons for this close thrust—it can help protect one from a counter-attack, and, should one’s attack fail, then it is easier and safer to retreat having already closed off the line. Wylde doesn’t remind the reader here what he means by forte and feeble; he assumes the reader knows.

Further clarification derives from Wylde’s guard position:

Stand upon a true half Body, or edge wise, which I call, lie narrow your leading or right Foot, two Foot or more distance from the left, being in a direct Line from the same, then your right and left Foot will resemble a Roman ‘I’; your Hand fast gript about the hand of your Foil or Rapier, then put your Thumb long ways or forward upon it, your Arm quite extended from the Center of your Body, the Point of the Weapon being directed in a true Line against your Opponent’s right Pap, sinking somewhat low with your Body, your right Knee bowing or bent over the Toes of your right Foot, (tho’ some Masters teaches a strait Knee,) your left Knee more bent, inclining towards the Toes of your left Foot; lying in this Order is the Posture, which I call, Stand your Line, the Medium Guard then is fixt.
[6]

This guard, sometimes called a middle guard, has the arm midline, not to the right or left depending on handedness. To thrust in Cart (quarte) or Ters (tierce) one is moving off that midline, so without attention to the opponent’s blade as one thrusts, without some opposition there is an increased chance of being hit as one strikes. We’re not dealing with right of way here, or foils, but sharp swords, and thus Wylde’s recommendation makes good sense.

Subtext & Using a Treatise

Moving from micro to macrocosm, there are times we must look to assumed or implicit knowledge to use a treatise effectively. The progression of techniques, for example, in P.J.F. Girard’s Traité des armes (1740) might seem a logical approach for introducing more complicated actions. In part this is true, however some distinction should probably be made between what we call today bread-and-butter techniques, those we use most of the time, and those that are “medicine for the hand,” those more complicated actions, especially compound actions, which are less viable in actual combat. It’s not that a double or triple-feint can’t work, but that the effective use of it assumes an opponent of considerable skill, more so than most people possess. One is likely to face a counter-attack using so many actions—the more parts to a maneuver, the more time, and thus the more opportunity for it to go wrong, for the opponent to take advantage or disrupt one’s plans.

This does not mean that one shouldn’t incorporate Girard’s excellent section on feints, but that the instructor should know, and be clear in teaching, that some of these drills we do to push skill forward, to hone it. [7] If one can make complex actions well, then one can make simple actions well. The importance of this, in a bout, is that we not only tend to find the most success with relatively simple actions, but also that in any arena in which nerves, fear, or excitement is likely our ability suffers. [8] So, the more effective and solid our technique is, the less far it is likely to fall off and hurt our chances. This is why effective teaching and constant drill are so vital.

Outside research, particularly into accounts of duels, as well as practical advice from those masters active when duels were prominent, can do much to fill in the missing context. Girard does not say that his more sophisticated actions are medicine for the hand. At a time when more people learned the sword and might use it in earnest it’s likely that a double-feint proved effective; not against every opponent, but against those well-trained it likely did. It remains an open question just how expert the average fencer in the age of the smallsword, or any age for that matter, was; our sources suggest much, but confirm little. There are enough references to fencers of “natural” skill and little training to suggest that many who carried a sword either hadn’t received instruction or at least not very much. A good analogy my friend Ken Jay has made in this regard is to the number of people in the U.S. who opt for concealed carry of firearms—many if not most have shot a pistol before, but the vast majority have little to no formal training in how to shoot in self-defense or combat scenarios. Maybe they’ve taken a class or series of classes, but here too the analogy holds up well with the Early Modern Period: for all the solid, experienced instructors teaching “tactial” handgun techniques, there are a multitude of charlatans and well-intentioned, but unskilled people offering training, just as there were when dubious sword masters set up shop and took in the credulous.

Oblique references, for example, indicate a wider knowledge of fencing, at least among those sections of society eligible to wear a sword, but also suggest that not all were particularly good students. We see extremes in the literature. Máire Anna MacNeill begins her doctoral dissertation with the example of cavaliers in England attending a performance of William Davenant’s “The Unfortunate Lovers” in 1660. The play included two dramatic sword fights in acts four and five which these same attendees, post show, mocked at a local tavern. They also drew their swords to show how the choreography failed. [9]

Satirical Print, 1814, The English Fencing Master and his Student, courtesy of the British Musuem, https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/P_1856-0712-639

Against this example we have, again for England, references to the curious fashion of wearing a sword but it being rude to use one save in extreme situations. Aylward cites the example of a character in Fanny Burney’s Evelina (1778) grabbing his sword hilt—he remarks that this was “an unseemly gesture pardonable only in an excitable foreigner.” These two examples are separated by a century, but it’s important to note that works closer in time to that of Davenant echo similar sentiments. Aylward also cites Andrew Mahon’ 1734 translation of L’Abbat’s L’art en fait d’arms (1696), where Mahon remarks one should only draw a sword in service to the crown, for one’s honor, or in self-defense. [10] Between the poles of sword-as-fashion-accessory and sword as sidearm there is a vast middle ground. Likely, most people had some modicum of training, but like today’s concealed-carry types, extremely little chance of having to use that weapon.

For the instructor, examining a treatise in light of not only what it says, but when it was written and what prevailing views of the time suggest will improve their interpretation and teaching. Some works seem clearly more self-defense oriented—Hope, L’Abbat, de Liancour, McBane, and Wylde read very differently from de la Touche, Domenico Anglo, Olivier, and de St. Martin. The former are more clearly concerned with optimizing a guard for most situations (Hope and Wylde especially perhaps), one to two tempo attacks, and the importance of opposition. The latter cover much of the same material, but add some techniques more salle than on the ground friendly. We can learn a lot from both types of sources, and we should read and use both, but always with a keen appreciation for what they reflect. By the mid­-18th century, the foil play originally intended to create a slightly safer style of practice (key in a time before masks were standard) became a game in its own right. Domenico Angelo, writing in 1763, in some ways spans both worlds—he wanted all touches targeted to the chest, a fact that speaks on the one hand to his eschewing masks and on the other to an interest in fencing as an elegant exercise and ideal way to cultivate grace becoming the status of his many elite students. [11] His inclusion of smallsword versus various other weapons, “ethnic” guards, and weapon-seizures recall earlier works, like Girard’s, but the mix of smallsword and foil in his School of Fencing, not to mention the success of his London salle as the premiere academy, we must note too.

In terms of lesson-planning, one approach is to compare how several masters treat a specific action, say the thrust from tierce or quarte. What is different? What the same? Given the instructor’s own perspective, what does it make sense to emphasize? For those more concerned about smallsword as weapon, a more conservative approach makes sense; for those whose interest is tournaments, a mix of solid self-defense and salle fencing is appropriate. Of course, one can teach both as well. The point (no pun intended) is to be mindful about what we are teaching, how we teach it, and to keep the textual basis, explicit and implicit, before us as we plan, devise lessons, and teach them.

NOTES:

[1] Clip from “Barcelona” (1994), by Whit Stillman

[2] Sir William Hope, Scots Fencing Master, 1687, pp. 11-12. See also J. D. Aylward, The Small-Sword in England, its History, its Forms, its Makers, and its Masters, London, UK: Hutchinson & Son, LTD, 1960, 134-135. As an argument for reading the sources, one work from 1982, concerned only with the tool, makes the mistake of listing fingers through annulets as correct. Doubtless some fencers did. See Anthony North, European Swords, London, UK: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1982, 19.

[3] See de Liancour, Le Maistre d’armes (1686/1692), p. 69/78; 119/128 in the BnF 1686 pdf); see Wylde, English Fencing Master, 15 in the pdf, https://smallswordproject.files.wordpress.com/2016/11/zach-wylde.pdf)

[4] Wylde, p. 13 of the pdf.

[5] Wylde, p. 5 of the pdf.

[6] Wylde, p. 6 of the pdf.

[7] See for example P.J.F. Girard, Traité des armes, 1740, pp. 47-51 (p. 80-86 in the BnF pdf).

[8] For a more recent historical example of this within the context of a duel, Aldo Nadi’s account of his duel in 1924 against Contronei in Milan is instructive. The few photographs of the engagement reveal the typically plate-perfect technique of Maestro Nadi drastically changed when confronted by a sharp spada. The goal—don’t get hit—changes everything. See Aldo Nadi, On Fencing, Sunrise, FL: Laureate Press, 1994 (originally published 1943), 24-35.

[9] See Máire Anna MacNeill, “The Sword as Didactic Tool on the London Comic Stage, 1660-1740,” PhD Dissertation, Royal Holloway, University of London, 2016, pp. 9ff.

[10] Aylward, The Small-Sword in England, 20; cf. Fanny Burney, Evelina, 1778, Letter 23, https://www.gutenberg.org/files/6053/6053-h/6053-h.htm . Aylward on Mahon and L’Abbat, 20; cf. L’Abbat, The Art of Fencing, Dublin, 1734, p. 72 in the edition by Lector House (2020).

[11] Aylward, The Small-Sword in England, 108-112.