[14 Nov. 2023] It’s been busy lately, but I finally had a chance to make improvements to my three part series on the demi-pointe lunge. It is important to recognize a colleague’s contributions, and to that end I would like to thank Ian Brackley whose knowledge of both smallsword and 18th century history have done much to bolster several points I make. Even better, he provided another perspective on the protruding piece of leather on some fencing sandals–I have made sure to include his ideas in part three where footwear is covered. He raises an excellent alternative or additional reason for these bits of leather, and it is important to share it. Ian also shared a few more resources with me, down to page numbers, passages, and select images, some of which I missed in my own readings, some of which are new to me. Few people ever take me up on my offer in these papers to add additional information, proper criticism, or corrections, but when they do, and have the delicacy and sincerity Ian does, it only makes a paper better. IF you see this Ian, again, thank you.
NB: for those to whom this topic is new, and who are wondering why I spent so much time on it, I’m happy to explain. Reading the articles one might think that there is a major movement of people who think one should land on the toes or balls of the feet in historical fencing–I don’t believe this is true. Happily, most people don’t seem to have fallen prey to this interpretation. However, there are enough people out there (usually Scadians) who do buy into it that one may run into the notion, or, see yet another one of the queries about it that pop on some social media platform with some regularity.
It came up, again, for me earlier this month during Russ Mitchell’s recent seminar at Northwest Armizare. One of my fellow seminar-goers, when asked if we had questions about movement, was quick to ask whether one lands on the heel or balls of the feet when lunging. The person in question is also in the SCA, the likely origin of this garbage, and from the timbre of his inquiry thinks little of my study (or didn’t read it or did and doesn’t agree with it). Lest one think this is some manner of paranoia or arrogant assumption on my part, I was not the only one who found the question jarring and out of place in the discussion. Most advocates of the toe-tapping lunge tend to dig in when asked about it, so this isn’t unusual.
The purpose of the study is mostly to offer people an examination of the arguments people have presented for the demi-pointe lunge, and, how those arguments fail to hold up. There is no support for it in the sources. A number of those works they cite they have, quite clearly, misunderstood or misinterpreted.
If the snarky question at the recent seminar is any guide, no evidence, reason, or number and variety of proofs will sway those who, for whatever reason, find this daft way of landing appealing. People believe what they like. However, for those of us for whom evidence and reasoned analysis matter, my hope is that these articles will afford them some ammunition should they have the misfortune to run into this remora on the belly of historical fencing.
Capo Ferro’s lunge, p. 49 in _Great Representation of the Art and Use of Fencing_ (1610)
In a recent discussion with a good friend and fellow fencer about differences in perception of success when bouting, we got to talking about how this plays out specifically for rapier. He’s been frustrated when bouting with the folks at his other school, namely by the lack of concern they have for their own theoretical safety, and, their over-reliance on cuts. Having spilt so much binary ink on the issue of failure to focus on how safely one makes a touch (over just making it no matter what), I’ll leave that aside, for now, and focus on the matter of cuts in rapier. [1]
It’s not that cuts didn’t exist within the canon of attacks for rapier, because they absolutely did, but that they tend to enjoy a disproportionate amount of attention in “HEMA.” Moreover, there are some clubs, perhaps the one my friend attends included, that opt for a cut over a thrust more often than they probably should. By and large, the rapier was a thrusting weapon; this use only intensified as rapier play developed, a fact demonstrated well within the surviving corpus of texts. The rapier of Agrippa and that of Marcelli, while similar in many ways, likely boasted an important difference: blade width and overall weight. [2]
Generally, cutting swords have a wider blade profile—there are more knowledgeable people than I am who can verify this. Gus Trim, Tinker, and Peter Johnsson, among others, can provide far more specific, detailed answers. Though not always critical depending on sword-type, many cutting swords weigh a bit more than those for thrusting do. [3] Earlier rapiers tended to boast wider blades than many later ones. None of this, however, was monolithic—there was no committee for rapier width and use. Older swords stayed in service or were re-hilted. Newer swords might reproduce a cherished heirloom. There was the issue of individual preference. And, surviving examples demand caution as not only are there many fakes produced for rich collectors in the late 19th/early 20th centuries, but some extant swords are likely an amalgam of different weapons.
With extant examples all over the map, and few in number relatively speaking, a far better guide to use, at least for suggested use, resides in the treatises on rapier. To cover more than a couple here would be the length of a bible, and since I’m told my posts are “too long” (really? Does no one read anything longer than a headline?), I’ll cover a small sample. What follows is a picture painted with broad strokes—individual texts may be more cut-happy, but compared to the majority of texts and the overall representation of the rapier as thrusting weapon the take-away is that the point is primary, not the edge.
Camillo Agrippa (1553)
Significantly, Agrippa assumed cuts as part of the fencer’s repertoire of actions. This said, he makes it clear that he vastly prefers the point, and, that it is superior to cuts. For example, Camillo in discussing his first guard wrote
Moreover, some people say they can raise a man out of a guard in which he holds his hand extended in this way by cutting with mandritti and riversi, with defensive weapons such as the dagger or the cape, or by seizing the blade with a guanto di presa. I reply that this is nonsense, for, as I have often repeated, someone who tries to beat the point of your sword aside with mandritti is only fooling themselves. That is because you can, in a single action, without moving your arm any, lower the point a little bit to evade the enemy’s sword, aim at his right side, extend your arm while rotating your hand, and step forwards with your right foot to hit him.
Et rispondendo à quelli che affermano poter levar’ uno facilmete da questa Guardia, tenendo tanto innanzi la mano, con mandritti, riversi, & co arme diffensive, come son oil pugnale, et la cappa, overo pigliandola co’l guanto da presa, fargliela distuile, dico replicando quan to ho detto molte volte, che s’ingannano d’ assai, difignando con loro mandritti, batterli la punta de la spada, perche senza movere punt il braccio dal suo loco, abbassando alquanto la detta punta, col schifar la spada contraria, & volgendo la mano in giro, verso la parte destra del nemico, et brevemente, co’l springere d’ esssa mano, & col passer innazi, di pie dritto, tutto in un tratta potrebbe invester l’ aversario… [4]
It is not that Agrippa eschewed these cuts, for he also says just a little farther into the same chapter that one can easily make these cuts from his guard of prima. He also mentions that these kinds of cuts can be useful if the opponent attempts to beat or seize one’s weapon—this implies an attack into tempo from a secure position and distance. It does not suggest using cuts as a direct attack. Elsewhere Agrippa mentions using cuts, such as a riversi to the flank or leg, from grappling distance, which makes sense: it’s harder to bring the point to bear from close measure:
However, if the enemy is so quick that he can make a stramazzone to your head, abandon the first technique, parry him close to your hilt, and follow with the same grappling technique, raising your right hand and aiming the point at his right side in second so that he has to parry—whereupon you can attack him with a riverso to the flank or leg.
Ma se il nemico fosse cosi presto, che volgesse co un stramzazzone per testa, Questo abbandonarebbe il principal colpo, ch’ io dissi di sopra, & volgendo di croce, pararebbe al contrario, presso al fornimento de la sua spada, & sequirebbe à far’ la presa sopradetta, alzando la mano dritta in alto, con la punta verso il fianco suo destro, con la volta di mano, & benche il nemico parata che havesse la Seconda di questo, potesse offenderlo d’un riverso nel fianoc, overo ne la gamba. [5]
Throughout his text, Agrippa does not discount the cut, but uses it in specific instances. For the most part, he advocates using the point whenever possible, and, it makes sense—thrusts are faster, and, more devastating.
Nicoletto Giganti (1606)
Giganti begins his work with the sword alone as “carrying a dagger, targa or rotella is not common in every part of the world,” and even so armed one might lose them in a combat and be left only with the sword. [6] His work starts with focus on the thrust. After introducing guards and counter-guards, and explaining measure and tempo, the very next thing Giganti shares is his take on the direct thrust via lunge.
It is not until his twelfth plate that he mentions cuts, and concerning that plate the topic is delivering a thrust in tempo against someone making a cut. [7] Two plates later he discusses defense against someone making a cut to the leg. [8] It is little surprise given his treatment of cuts in the portion dealing with the sword alone that when it comes to sword and dagger Giganti is also concerned more with defense against cuts than using them. Both cover methods for parrying a head-cut with the dagger, the second being specific to countering a riverso. [9]
This treatise is popular in “HEMA,” and Leoni’s edition is fantastic as he does much to help the reader understand not only terminology, but also the pedagogical approach and principles. Emphasis throughout this text is mostly on the thrust; where he covers cuts, it’s mostly in reference to defending against them.
Capo Ferro (1610)
NO idea what’s up with the formatting
This master’s work, another popular in “HEMA,” like those covered so far, is no exception for preferring the thrust to the cut. In chapter 12, “Of Strikes” (Del ferire), section 116, Capo Ferro states
The cut is of little importance, since it is impossible to use it in the narrow measure. The arc described by my arm and sword leaves me completely open and makes me lose measure; instead, it gives the opponent a good tempo in which to hit me. Although the cut is of some utility, the thrust can always be employed more fruitfully from the same measure and in the same tempo.
Il taglio è di poco momento; perche non posso ferire di taglio nelle dette distanza della misura stretta, che per il giro del braccio, e della spada, ch’io fo, non mi scuopra tutto è non dia misura, & tempo all’annversario di ferirmi, & se pure si trova qualche utilità di taglio non è però, che nella medesima misura, & nell’ istesso tempo non si possa mostrare una maggior della punta. [10]
Throughout his treatise, Capo Ferro’s focus in on the thrust, and in fact, he has a separate section near the end entitled “Some Principles regarding the Cut” (Dalcuni Termini del Taglio), where he makes this clear:
I had thought of adding some illustrations on how to deliver and parry cuts (plus a good number of actions on this topic), but I realized I can accomplish the same with a brief description of the following principles.
Ha vevo fra me stesso risoluto di appresetarvi aclune figure, che vi mostrassero il mod di coltelliggiare, sì del parare, come del ferire, & in quest’attione mostrarvi molti effetti, ma considerando, che quello, che potevo fare con le figure, possolo ancor fare co questi pochid’avertimenti, che vi propongo… [11]
Of note, Capo Ferro mentions cuts within the body of the work, often as options in certain situations, but his plates and the focus is, again, on thrusts.
Francesco Alfieri (1640)
On first glance this master might be said to have advocated for the cut more in his treatise, La Scherma/On Fencing, so it seemed fitting to include him. After all, if he provides an argument for the inclusion of the cut in our own rapier practice, then it would be remiss not to discuss him. However, a close reading will indicate that to say Alfieri was different than most other masters would be to misread him.
In chapter 18, on attacks and types of strikes, Alfieri mentions two types of attacks, the thrust and the cut. He then enumerates the various cuts and explains their meaning, e.g. riverso is a backhand cut, a mandritto a forehand cut. Importantly, just after the explication of cuts, he writes
It is common for all fencers to consider the thrust far preferable to the cut. The reason they point to is that the thrust is more lethal, which is something I don’t necessarily agree with. A shorter, wider sword wielded by a strong man can deliver cuts every bit as fearsome as thrusts—which means that the this reason must be complemented by other considerations to explain the most basic difference between these two modes of attack.
Tutti li Schermitori comunemente vogliano, che’l ferir di punta sia di gran longa, megliore che’l ferir di taglio, e la ragione che ne adducano è, perche la punta sia più mortale del taglio, io non resto in questo sodisfatto, I tagli d’una Spada corta, larga, è d’un braccio forte, si deveno cosi temere quanto le punte, e però alla ragion de gl’altri, par à me che si debbano aggiungere alter considerazioni le quali mostrano con maggior son damento la lor differeza. [12]
The master provides four additional reasons for the value of the thrust over a cut. First, one uses more of the weapon to cut, and casting so much of the weapon makes it easier for the opponent to defend since there is more of the weapon to intercept. Second, the thrust is faster—it traverses a shorter path to target; cuts, he adds, may be stopped by bone and not reach the vital organs. Third, because the arc of a cut is slow, it allows an opponent potentially more time to anticipate one’s attack and prepare for it. Lastly, cuts tire the arm as they require more energy and motion to make, not to mention often uncovering the body.
Plate 5, Alfieri, _La Scherma_, 1640
In his first dedicated section on the attack, Chapter V, Alfieri covers the stocata longa and the two principal cuts (due Tagli principali). Leoni translates the chapter title as “How to Perform the Lunge: The Two Main Cuts,” which obscures the importance of the word stocata. As he himself explains in the glossary of his translation of Giganti, stoccata is a general term for the thrust. [13] In the Italian the title of the chapter reads Come si Tiri la stocata longa, e i due Tagli principali, or, somewhat loosely, “How to Lunge the Thrust, and the Two Main Cuts.” A reader unacquainted with the original text (and Italian), will likely read this as “how to lunge the two main cuts.”
The Italian corpus includes a number of terms for the lunge—arguably stocata longa might be taken as merely a lunge, but next to the passage the title corresponds point for point. To translate this as a lunge versus a lunge via thrust gives undue precedence to the cut. In this very section, Alfieri indicates that the lunge with thrust comes first:
To learn how to deliver it [the lunge], place yourself in the mixed guard and move your hand, sword, arm, foot and shoulder all in a single tempo. By doing so, your thrust will reach farther, travel faster and your attack will be virtually impossible to parry.
Per imparare à tirar la bisogna ritrovarisi nella Guardia Mista, e in un tempo unire à far questo moto, la mano, la Spada, il braccio, il piede, e la spalla, con queste circostanze s’allonga il colpo, va con velocita, ed è poco meno che irreparabile… [14]
Placed together, the direct thrust and the two chief cuts, the mandritto and riverso, illustrate this author’s stance in re cuts: they belong in one’s arsenal. The next chapter likewise mixes these attacks, but notably starts with thrusting options. In sum, while Alfieri clearly valued the cut and provided options for it, he covers the thrust first and argues for its primacy.
Francesco Marcelli (1686)
As a last and late example, I’ve selected the text from which I work most, Marcelli’s Rules of Fencing. That changes in practice had occurred since Agrippa is clear—Marcelli remarks that
In order to fulfill my duty, because the cuts are not so frequently practiced, I must not omit their explanation, and also teach them to avail themselves of them in tempo, so that the studious disciple can, in a regulated manner, avoid the danger of it and turn it to their advantage. Nonetheless, with the warning made a little earlier, that the cuts are less effective than the thrusts, I have intended to delay the cuts for these; since one, as much as the other, can bring grave danger to the actor when they are performed out of their tempo; and those, as much as these, are well-made when they are made in tempo.
Non perche non siano tanto frequetemente pratticati I Tagli, devo tralascirare la di loro spiegatione, sì per coplire al mio debito, come anche per insegnarli à servirsense à Tempo, acciò lo studioso discepolo possa, con la regolata maniera, sfuggirne il pericolo, & insieme convertirlo in proprio vantaggio. E nè meno, con avertire poco fà, che i Tagli sono meno efficacy delle pute, hò inteso di posponerli à questse; poscia che, cosi gl’uni, come l’altre, possono apportar grave pregiuditio all’Attore, quado sono operate furoi del suo Tempo; e tanto quelli, quanto queste sono bone da farsi, quanod sono fatte à Tempo. [15]
Like Alfieri, Marcelli is quick to note that the cut is slower, larger, and therefore dangerous to make out of tempo. He goes on to say
The cut is called the son of the thrust because it must proceed in second intention in order not to be at risk (making it in first intention) of the evident danger of the opponent’s offense. The reason is that the cut is an action very poor for defense, in itself, as it goes to wound and exposes the whole body in the tempo that it makes its circle. It is not like the thrust that, in going forward and returning back, always moves along a line and keeps the body continually covered under the weapon, and is found in presence of the opponent.
Il Taglio si chiama figlio della punta, perche si deve sequire di Seconda intentione, per no arrischiarsi (facendolo di Prima) ad evidente pericolo dell’offesa dell’avversario. Periòche il Taglio è un’Attione per se stessa molto povera di difesa, nel mentre, che và per offendere, e scopre tutto il corpo nel tempo, che fa il suo circolo; e non è come la punta, la quale hell’andare avanti, e nel tornare in dietro, camina sempre per una linea, e mantiene continuamente il corpo coperto sotto l’armi, e si trova in persenza del nemico. [16]
The rest of the chapter introducing cuts describes the various specific uses and then ends with Marcelli’s suggestion that cuts be reserved largely for ripostes:
In summary all of the past discussion it is gathered that the cut must not be made to occur in the first intention, that is to say, other than as a riposte. This is for two reasons; first, because it is a universal rule of fencing that in all its actions, in order to make them perfect, it is necessary to make them sudden so that the velocity of the movement makes them invisible to the opponent’s eye so that he cannot parry them. If the cut, therefore, is also enumerated among those, and is it inferior in perfection and goodness to none when it is performed with regulation, it must also be based on that universal and invariable maxim of this profession… The second reason for which I advise against the aforesaid decision is because the cut has less measure than the thrust. Therefore, having to strike purposefully with it, it would be necessary to bring the torso very forward to accompany it with the body.
In somma da tutto il passato discorso si raccoglie, che il Taglio non si deve seguire di Prima intentione, che è l’istesso dire, che di risposta. E ciò per due ragioni: la prima, perche è Regola universale della Scherma, che tutte le attioni di essa; per far, che siano perfette, bisogna farle improvise, acciò la velocità del moto re renda invisibile all’occhio del nemico, che non possa pararle; se dunque il Taglio, è ancora numerato trà quelle, & a niuna è inferiore di perfettione, e bontà, quando è operato con regola, deve essere ancora appoggiato sù quella Massima universale, & infallibile di cotcsta Professione… La Seconda ragione, per la quale io consiglio il predetto partito, è, perche il Taglio hà minor misura della Stoccata, e perciò, per dover colpire con esso di proposta, sarebbe necessario di portare avanti assai la vita, e di accompagnarlo co’l corpo. [17]
Mondschein’s chart of weapon & blade specs in his translation of Agrippa parallels other studies on the changing nature of rapier blades over time. [18] There are always exceptions, which as I stated before we must be cautious with, but which are still important. Later period rapiers, generally, sport blades less ideal for cutting than they do thrusting. A week ago today (12 Oct. 2023) Matt Easton shared a beautiful 17th century rapier on his Youtube channel. This is a prime example of late period thrusting blades—its profile will not hold a decent edge. It was not meant to. [19] While many later period blades clearly were meant only for thrusting, it is significant that even when wider blades were in use focus was still more thrust than cut-centric.
An Argument for Looking Across Texts
One of the advantages we enjoy is access to so many period treatises. Hundreds reside on sites like Google Books or archive.org, and more and more are translated and published all the time (though not all are equal in execution). Reading the sources can be difficult, even frustrating, but it is important if we are serious about the “historical” aspect of what we study. Anyone teaching historical fencing should be doing this work. They risk leading students astray if they don’t.
Another plus to reading the texts, and to reading more than one, is that our understanding deepens. As the set of examples demonstrates here, despite the inclusion of the cut and the uses to which it might be put, the rapier was what we say it was, primarily a thrusting weapon. If we are not using this weapon as intended, and worse, if we’re teaching trusting folks to use the rapier improperly, then we’re not teaching historical fencing. Least we are not teaching it well. Instructors owe it to their students to do the hard work and represent what the treatises impart to the best of their ability.
As for the cut in rapier, yes, it existed, but as these examples reveal the cut was, normally, secondary to the thrust. If in one’s bouts there are more cuts than thrusts, it might be worth pausing to examine that. Textual support for it is thin, and as historical fencing—supposedly—looks to the extant works on the subject, that might be cause for concern.
NOTES:
[1] Among the many karmic burdens it seems my lot to carry (and inflict on others on this page) is the perennial issue of failure to appreciate that there’s a difference between making a touch and making a touch without being hit. I have no idea why this is such a tough point, but there it is.
[2] See especially the useful comparison chart in Ken Mondschein’s Fencing: A Renaissance Treatise by Camillo Agrippa, New York, NY; Italica Press, 2009, 120-127.
[3] I had the pleasure to handle a period 1796 light cavalry sabre a few years back. What struck me immediately, so used to modern trainers and clubs like the Ames 1865 sabre, was how flimsy the blade felt. It was wide—an important fact—but thin by modern standards. It was also far more flexible than I had anticipated. It was easy to appreciate just how nasty one of these would be to face or be struck by. NB: our trainers today are made to last, and, with the expectation of far more edge-to-edge contact than most used in period. A “thin” 1796 would not hold up well to modern bouting, but used against the woolen jackets and leather shakos of retreating infantry, they no doubt did just fine.
[4] Mondschein, Fencing: A Renaissance Treatise by Camillo Agrippa, 17; p. 26 of 158 in the pdf from archive.org, Agrippa, Trattato di scientia d’arme: con vn dialogo di filosofia, 1553, Prima Parte, Ch. 4.
[5] Mondschein, Fencing: A Renaissance Treatise by Camillo Agrippa, 44; p. 62 of 158 in the pdf from archive.org, Agrippa, Trattato di scientia d’arme: con vn dialogo di filosofia, 1553, Prima Parte, Ch. 20.
[6-8] Tom Leoni, Venetian Rapier, The School, or Salle, Nicoletto Giganti’s 1606 Rapier Fencing Curriculum, Wheaton, IL: Freelance Academy Press, 2010, p. 5; pl. 12 on p. 19; and pl. 14 on p. 21.
[9] Leoni, Venetian Rapier, plates 25 and 26 on pages 36 and 37 respectively.
[10] Tom Leoni, Ridolfo Capoferro’s The Art and Practice of Fencing, Wheaton, IL: Freelance Academy Press, 2011, 18; in the pdf. available via Google Books, Ridolfo Capo Ferro, Gran Simulacro dell’Arte e dell’Uso della Scherma, 1610, 23. Capo Ferro remarks, in the next section, 117, that the cut is useful from the saddle.
[11] Tom Leoni, Ridolfo Capoferro’s The Art and Practice of Fencing, 86; Capo Ferro, Gran Simulacro dell’Arte, 126.
[13] See Leoni’s Alfieri, Part 1, Ch. 5; or p. 92-93 in the pdf. For his definition of stoccata, see Leoni, Venetian Rapier, 57.
[14] Ibid.
[15] Francesco Marcelli, Rules of Fencing, 1686, trans. by Christopher A. Holzman, Wichita, KS: Lulu Press, 2019, 181; this passage may be found in Part I, Book II, Ch. XXII, p. 121ff in the pdf.
[16] Marcelli, Rules of Fencing, 1686, trans. by Christopher A. Holzman, 185; this passage may be found in Part I, Book II, Ch. XXII, p. 126ff in the pdf.
[17] Marcelli, Rules of Fencing, 1686, trans. by Christopher A. Holzman, 186-187; 127 in the pdf.
[18] See A.V.B. Norman, The Rapier and the Smalls-Sword 1460-1820, Reprint, Ken Trotman Publishing, 2019,19ff; Ewart Oakeshott, European Weapons and Armour: From the Renaissance to the Industrial Revolution, Woodbridge, UK: The Boydell Press, 2000, 136ff; see also Eric Valentine, Rapiers, Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 1968.
Many in the “HEMA” community dislike academics. Actively, vehemently, dislike them. Unfortunate as that is, it gets worse: they tend to look to people who have somehow convinced the community that they have the training and background to expound upon historical sources when in fact they don’t possess that expertise. It would seem logical, given the nature of investigating past fight systems, that one might lean on subject experts, of whatever type, who might best help one do that, but for some complicated reasons that’s not the case. Many of these fencers are quicker to dismiss trained scholars than question those claiming the same expertise. While they wouldn’t take their cars to bakers for a tune-up, or visit a plumber when they need open heart surgery, somehow it’s perfectly okay to dismiss historians when it comes to history.
Nothing one says, does, writes, makes video of, etc. is going to sway most of those who dislike academics. Formed as it is by both prevailing culture and personal experience, the hatred runs too deep.
The purpose of this post is not to persuade—a recent, local disagreement with people I both respect and love has made the reality of the uselessness in trying to convince anyone that we should be on the lookout for charlatans (and pay better attention to real scholars) all too clear. Beyond any personal hurt this caused me, which is fleeting and with time and reflection easy to put in perspective, I thought that on the off chance that anyone reads this that maybe, just maybe I might be able to disabuse one or two people of some of the misconceptions they have about academic training, academics, and why some of us, me for example, so often play Chicken Little when it comes to those who spread poor information.
Academia is a Meat-Grinder
Francisco de Goya, “Saturno devorando a su hijo,” (1819-1823)
The picture of academia as a mix of Hogwarts and ca. 1920s Cambridge is persistent, but inaccurate. Academia is more Oliver Twist meets Mad Max—it’s a hard living with low pay, violent competition, and few rewards. It’s become a business first and foremost, and in good American fashion that means championing the bottom line, not the product or those who make it. Much as wider society is wary of academics, no one perhaps cares less about academics than other academics. To put it bluntly, most any grad program has more narcissists and similarly self-worth-compromised folk, that ego is everywhere a problem. Dogs fight hardest when there are so few scraps that fall from a table.
The academic world eats its own young. Before the 1990s, when there were fewer people obtaining advanced degrees (MAs, MPHILs, PhDs), and jobs were more plentiful, there was less competition for work. With the glut of PhDs in the late 1990s, early 2000s, there were suddenly more people vying for the same jobs, and with so few rewards attending these jobs (academics are not paid much, do not get stock options, and have piss-poor benefits) competition was fierce between perspective hires. To name one example, I applied for a part-time position at a college in rural New York in 2002 that, so the thin letter told me, had 500 PhDs apply for it. [1] For every PhD hired that feels lucky, there are more who see the choice of themselves over their colleagues as some manner of divine right. Clearly, so they believe, they were just better, others less than worthy. If one has had the misfortune to spend a few minutes with any graduate of a “name school,” a new vegan, or a crossfit cultist then this will seem familiar.
Most schools took and continue to take advantage of the situation. A friend of mine from graduate school, now teaching at a major university, told me that her department set out to hire a lower division workhorse—the job was intended to put all the courses they didn’t want to teach on the new hire, and, this same new hire, while full-time, would not receive benefits, have any chance for promotion, or any hope of tenure. My friend’s question to them about the ethics of this, her concern over the complete lack of sympathy, was all shrugged off; they had theirs, right? They filled the position. People who want to teach are that desperate, and despite the abuse, are told sotto voce that maybe, juuuust maybe things will work out for them. It never does.
The cycle is one where the carrot of full-time employ is held out, but never awarded. Best of all for the schools, if one quits in frustration they are immediately replaced. There are that many people willing to knife a nun or toddler to get a job. Why? Because they were trained to teach, and in a society where teachers are held in low esteem, the options outside of teaching are bleak. Add school debt to this, something they will never be able to pay back without full-time work, and their plight is all the more desperate.
ablum art, The Pop Group
My point in sharing this is that these days most academics are more likely serving you coffee or pumping your gas than they are teaching, never mind engaging in research. It takes funding and department support to conduct research. Worse still, with the advent of online serials, most journals—where the most cutting-edge scholarship resides—are behind paywalls that small schools can’t afford. This creates, for those poor bastards teaching at community colleges, another level of inequality with their better-positioned peers. If one is an adjunct or part-time hire on contract, it’s even worse: one is so expendable that zero funding is available for improving one’s position. [2]
The reality may not change one’s views of academia or academics, but I thought it worth the time to explain that it’s not a rosy world where people feel smart and important all the time, and consider all others as beneath them. No. Most academics these days question the decision to take on such a poor career and the debt that so often comes with it; most are anxious because they may not have a job next term or be able to pay rent; and, whatever achievement earning an advanced degree might be, with very few exceptions there’s not much in place to make one feel like celebrating it. That is especially true when that PhD is the albatross around one’s neck trying to find work outside academia. As I’ve often said, in popular culture, academics are either clowns or villains, not heroes.
Why do People Hate Academics?
Some are, to put it Bluntly, Dicks
First and foremost, thanks to so few rewards and so little respect, there are, alas, many academics who lord their training over those who don’t have it. There are several notorious examples active in HEMA and they have not only hurt themselves, but the rest of us with similar training. Bitterness, frustration, and the sense of injustice at having worked so hard for something makes some academics into annoying snobs. Others, so cowed by experience, so accustomed to scraping by, barely if ever acknowledge their training, especially if they have experienced prejudice because of it. [3]
Gilderoy Lockhart as portrayed by Kenneth Branagh
Arrogance is ugly and it’s small wonder that the HEMA community dislikes these people, and by extension, anyone like them. While I understand the arrogance behind the sort who insist that people use their academic titles (a defense mechanism), I don’t like it and resent what it does to the rest of us. Nothing quite like suffering for another person’s sins. There is a time and place to use those titles, and generally, it’s not in amateur pursuits like historical fencing.
In the past week I’ve been made aware that I come off like the very academics none of us find pleasant. Worse, not only have my own meager efforts to make things better gone unnoticed—the advice I’ve provided for reading mss on this website for example—but also that I’m an asshole for refusing to let academic posers off the hook. Sharing concern about this, pointing it out, doesn’t read to people like a warning or an attempt to caution them and steer them to better resources, but as rants. It comes off as bitter attacks on respected “contributors.” They see only the volume of the message, not the message itself, or maybe, they do see the message and either don’t get it or don’t care. The result is the same. People aping experts have more clout than actual experts, and any of the latter calling them out are the real problem.
People don’t really Understand what it is Academics Do
In fairness to most people, HEMA being no exception, most people lack the perspective to evaluate any difference between real scholars and a person playing at being one. Unless one has been in that mix or close to it, it all appears to be the same. Real scholars look at sources, but people playing scholar do too. So, they’re the same.
TV, movies, and popular fiction’s take on history has not helped this–at least one generation of people has grown up seeing the ancient aliens nutters treated with the same dignity as actual scientists, and if anything, because it gets ratings these shows shit on actual researchers and champion the loons who attract an audience. If one’s exposure to history, as such, has largely been pseudo history, then it’s little surprising that the difference between proper history and entertainment is indistinct. On a certain level, many people who enjoy shows about ancient aliens etc. know the hosts are nuts, but given that these are the “experts” they see, it’s hard not to conclude that this poisons opinion against actual experts too.
One of the worst results from these shows is that they impart poor reasoning and half-baked methodology. It boggles my mind that there are people who think that archaeologists are hiding evidence of giants, ufos, or Atlantis. The truth is, if there were evidence of giants or ufos scholars would be racing to share the news and murder any other scholar who so much as suggested a threat that they might steal their thunder. Such a sensational find would equal funding, a tenured chair, and more fame than most could ever imagine.
There’s Room for Both Amateurs and Academics
Despite the number of times I’ve stated this, that we need many different points of view, types of expertise, and a healthy mix of amateurs and academics, the recent attack I’ve made on charlatans obscures it.
To be clear: I do not have a problem with amateurs. When it comes to most things we’re all amateurs. What I have a problem with is first, people claiming expertise who don’t have it and who thus mislead people, and second, the general bias against academic expertise of any kind.
One of the things we were taught in graduate school is responsibility for our work. It is vital we do our best, to be as honest, transparent, and as evidence-based as possible. To own the truth, not every historian follows this, and in fact, some have actively falsified, mislead, or misrepresented ideas or people in their work. Consider only the monster that alleged, falsely, that vaccinations are linked to autism or the halfwits who maintain fluorinated water will poison the world. Again, I speak from experience about this—on a minor level, a visiting prof stole my dissertation title for their book, and on a more serious level, a PhD student I never met not only misrepresented the purpose of my own dissertation, but also attacked me personally in her own thesis. [4] Like I said, there are no doubt some serious stinkers in academia. I’ve met way more than I’d like.
As a final clarification: my purpose on this site has been the same as with the books I’ve published to date and the hundreds of pieces I wrote for an academic database—to share information more widely and to do my best to do so fairly and accurately. Monographs, while key for landing an academic job, are not of interest to me–that’s why I never wrote one. The four people who study the same thing I did already know all that and don’t need another tired dust-collector on the library shelves. If the so-called Ivory Tower is to have any meaning, any use at all, then the work it does must be shared outside the tower and as widely as possible. All the research in the humanities, at least, is pointless otherwise.
To those I offended with the vehement complaint I made about posers in HEMA: my motivation was duty, not some personal beef. If the language was more pointed, it’s because of frustration and disbelief that no one else seems to care about the ramifications of propping up people who mislead others. My concern with doing it right is professional responsibility, not sour grapes. I have no grapes, and don’t want them. I not only do not want the notoriety, but I’m more than happy to share the job. I just want it done right. In fact, I’m happier if other people deliver these papers as I’m naturally introverted and have to work exceptionally hard to address groups (never mind the recovery afterward). [5]
Just. Do. It. Right. And, if one isn’t trained to conduct research, then maybe consider collaborating with one of the myriad un- or under-employed academics out there. Most would be happy for the work even though it doesn’t pay—it might suggest that their hard-earned skills are worth something after all.
[2] A friend from graduate school, one who got a job, was in my town for a conference and invited me to go. More than once I was asked, as one is, for a business card, and enjoyed the awkwardness of having to explain why I didn’t have any. Embarrassing as that was, it beat out the experience of a friend of mine who was an adjunct professor at one of the CalPoly schools who was told he, as an adjunct, had to pay for the free coffee.
[3] As a rule, I don’t talk about my training, not unless someone else brings it up or it’s actually germane in a conversation. Having that degree has been more often a liability than a plus. It’s not that I don’t value the training, I do, but I am suspicious of anyone who manages to complete graduate school and has a big head.
Working toward an advanced degree is an extremely humbling experience, least it should be, but naturally a lot of people come out of those programs thinking they are Einstein. Mixing with people smarter than we are, and spending a decade on the smallest fraction of the smallest fraction of all we know (never mind all we don’t) should serve to remind each of us that we’re tiny, insignificant animals and can never know enough. Ego, however, begets ego, and in a world as cut-throat as academia, the Peter Principle is alive and well.
[4] The person in question was a student at Queens University Belfast who dissertated in 2013. Though my dissertation has next to nothing to do with her own study, which concerned the dating of a collection of saints’ lives, my work was one of the only ones at that time on the subject of a particular Irish saint within that collection, and thus was worth a footnote (though nothing more). The points I made about the dating of this group of saints’ lives were minor and present in my own work because there was controversy over the dating at the time (2002) and not to address it would have been poor work. The author of the 2013 dissertation cherry-picked from my dissertation and misrepresented not only the point of my work, but also individual arguments I made. Worse still, she included ad hominems about my intelligence, ability, and suitability as a scholar.
I am not sure how her dissertation committee allowed such a breach of propriety and such egregious unprofessional behavior, but they did. Celtic Studies is a small field; most of us, at least when I was active, knew of one another if we hadn’t actually met, and this behavior was atypical. Mention of my Celtic prof in her diss, and her comments about his work, leads me to wonder if maybe she or her committee had issues with him, and if perhaps her attack on me, a virtually unknown, minor scholar not even active in the field, was actually an attack on him. He’s well-known, respected, and an absolute delight to be around, so it seems doubtful, but one never knows. Academics are pretty rabid sometimes.
[5] I acknowledge the irony of being extremely introverted and training as a teacher. In part, I was drawn to teaching as a way to combat my reserve. For me, it has always been the material, the subject, that interested me, not my role in it. A lucky thing, as it turns out, as my career path… as such… has been, well, “non-traditional.” In class, and even now teaching fencing, my focus is on the subject and sharing it, not my experience of it or how I come across. Apparently I need to worry more about that.
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.
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]
[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.
[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]
[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.
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).
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.”
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.
[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.
“Discord is the great ill of mankind; and tolerance is the only remedy for it.” ― Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary
[Warning: rant ensues]
The choice of quotation is not an accident. Thanks to a toxic mix of politics and poor life choices I left most social media a few years ago, and, with one exception (barring messenger/email apps), have next to nothing to do with it. Research articles on the effects of social media continue to support my belief that this was a good decision. It’s not just that people can’t watch or read anything longer than a tiktok video or tweet, but that the supposed anonymity fails to prevent, and maybe even encourages them to be nastier than they would be, in most cases, to one’s face. How does this related to fencing? I promise to connect A and B if you keep reading.
It gets worse. Swimming in such a shallow pool feels safe, because everything is on the surface, but this ignores that fact that one can still be sunburned, even drown in an inch of water. It changes people.
The faux familiarity, the apparent openness, and the need for connection that social media seeks to create but which it actually undermines, all produce an illusory culture of contented seemingly intimate pals. Test it. Say something vaguely controversial and see how people react—the ability to differentiate between confirmed belief and a joke is all but nonexistent; lacking facial cues, changes in intonation, etc., this is hardly surprising. It is not an accident, however, that this diminished capacity for communication and an equally strong inability to separate criticism and censorship have grown in parallel.
Gate-keeping online is the new Inquisition, not only for the social auto de fe that so often follows in its wake, but also for the fact that the basis for it is confused.
There are a lot of ways people define “gate-keeping,” but I find that the Urban Dictionary, while typically an amalgam of denotations, taken in toto provides a fair sense of what contemporary terms and movements mean. Here are a few from the first two pages of definitions:
Gatekeeping is to make your interests exclusive in order to protect them from becoming “mainstream”
When someone takes it upon themselves to decide who does or does not have access or rights to a community or identity.
A word used to describe when someone sets a standard/limit on what someone must do to call themselves a ‘true fan’ of something/someone.
When someone uses a hobby or interest as a means of elevating themselves above others to give oneself a sense of being superior transforming their passion or knowledge about a particular subject into an ugly tool of self-inflation
When someone takes it upon themselves to decide who has access to something
When people discriminate against others who want to enjoy the same things as them, and usually gatekeepers use the dumbest reasons as excuses [1]
For a slightly more august definition, the Cambridge Dictionary defines it as “the activity of trying to control who gets particular resources, power, or opportunities, and who does not. [2]
More than once I’ve been accused of gatekeeping, but according to these definitions I have not, in fact, been gate-keeping. No, I have criticized poorly constructed theories, ineffective training regimens, inexpert translations and interpretations, and bigots. This is important, because what I have NOT done is:
make my interests exclusive in order to protect them from becoming “mainstream”
set a standard/limit on what someone must do to call themselves a ‘true fan’ of something/someone
used a hobby or interest as a means of elevating myself above others to give myself a sense of being superior or transformed my passion or knowledge about a particular subject into an ugly tool of self-inflation
decided who has access to something
discriminated against others who want to enjoy the same things as me, and for the dumbest reasons
I would love for well-researched, well-coached, and inclusive historical fencing to take off and become mainstream. I have no business telling people what they can or should like—people like what they like. This hobby, well, um, it does not elevate one socially at all and those who, sadly, think it does I feel pity and compassion for—fencing is not going to help you find a date, fame, or money. Historical fencing should be for all—the only people I will not teach or interact with are people who are known bigots. [3] Finally, I have trouble understanding why anyone would discriminate against people who share the same interests—hell, I’d all but kill for more people interested in the things I am!
Here is what I do and will continue to do:
I will continue to support good research, and, attempt to improve bad research
I will continue to do my part, as an educator, researcher, and fencer to support, make, and improve interpretations of historical fencing
I will continue to do my part to create an inclusive culture (bigots either get wise or fuck off)
I will endeavor, as I have to date, to do all of this with compassion and understanding, because historical research and interpretation is, by its nature, extremely difficult to do and even harder to do well
Lastly, I issue a challenge. The next time you think someone is gate-keeping, take the time to consider a) what gate-keeping is and b) if what you find unpleasant conforms to those rubrics or not. IF, as so often happens, you’re simply reading something that you don’t like, or which you somehow think is about you, or which makes you feel attacked, pause and consider the likelihood of that. As I’ve said, most things are not about us. It’s probably not about you, and you know, if someone my age can figure out how to mute a channel or thread, then you can too. Like it or not you’re responsible for your feelings and how you react, not me. I take care of my garden, you take care of yours. That’s what wearing grown-up pants is all about kids.
In our context, if you’re upset that a cherished theory has been challenged or that some old, obscure upstart has dared accuse some HEMALand darling you admire of poor work, reflect upon what that says about you.
I am not interested in making enemies; I’m interested in good research and fulfilling my duty as a trained researcher to steer people right about research. It comes with the sheepskin. This said, if calling out charlatans and would-be experts creates enemies of them, or you, fine. IF I’ve taken the time to call them out, there is a reason, and it has nothing to do with self-aggrandizement, attacking others, or just being an asshole. It’s not like anyone thanks me for it—getting attaboys is not the purpose: improving research is. I don’t need or want thanks or anything of the sort, just better research.
If I’ve called someone out about their work [key word, their work, not they themselves], it’s because I know they lack the skill, experience, and/or knowledge to make the claims they are or have made a grave error and are fooling people about it. Most people, wisely, don’t pursue research as a career-path, and so there is a responsibility on those of us who do to do right by all. Theories and interpretations are things we can evaluate, that are demonstrable, and either someone has those skills or doesn’t; either they’ve proceeded responsibly with their research, or they haven’t. The only time this gets “mean” is in HOW we call these things into question. It is never my intention to be mean—life is cruel enough and hardships a plenty without my adding to it.
Please note: my goal in throwing myself up for a beat-down when I offer criticism (that is, critiques to help someone improve or fix a position they are sharing) is intended to help them, not blast them. I spent over a decade learning to conduct research and another decade honing and teaching others to reason and analyze information. I want people to do better work. Too many academics could care less, and most wouldn’t bother trying to help non-academics improve. There’s a direct correlation between depth of snootiness and lack of resources that explains that; put another way, many academics are small people and sad. For me, the so-called Ivory Tower is bloody useless if its treasures are hoarded away only to be enjoyed by the three people in that field (see gatekeeping defintions 1, 2, 4-6 above…). I won’t be party to that, and so, I do what I can to share those treasures with everyone, and for reasons of time, interest, and experience, I do that mostly in historical fencing.
[3] By kn0wn-bigots I mean those who wear all the symbols and spout the trash that bigots do. If they don’t say these things in class, and attack no one, then I don’t know about and they fly under the radar. Locally, at least, people know from the main page on this site that bigots are not welcome.
In a recent discord discussion one participant asked a series of insightful questions about how we use sources in lessons and classes. [1] Specifically, they asked:
So as an instructor, do you prefer referencing texts right away, or introducing technique in a more generic way until your students have some foundation?
It’s one of those obvious questions that is in the background of most lesson planning, but for me at least not one I’ve asked aloud, and, it’s an important question. To what degree should we discuss the sources during class? How much should we quote from a text? Do we merely cite a source? Do we share a brief summary of how we’ve used the source before or after a lesson? Do we avoid mentioning, citing, or quoting the sources we use during lessons and classes? How much should one incorporate sources if at all in the actual business of teaching?
Here I’d like to share some of the salient points others made as well as my own take on this. Starting with my own view, how much I mention or include sources in class or an individual lesson depends a lot on purpose and context. We teach in different ways, so it follows that we might incorporate our sources differently depending on the audience, goals, and topic.
In a seminar where I’m introducing people to a general area of study, say Radaellian sabre, I normally begin with a brief explanation detailing critical information (who, what, when, and where) as well as its significance (why). The rest of the time we spend more or less on the “how,” that is, exploring the system in such a way that participants gain an idea of what distinguishes this sabre school from others. In the course of a seminar people may ask questions about the system or the sources for it, and that’s fine, but focus remains on actually working on the material sword in hand. Often, there is either a formal chance at the end to go into more detail, or, an informal chance afterwards to chat about things in more depth.
In a more focused seminar, say a particular aspect of a source or tradition, I may say a bit more, because I must. Radaellian molinelli, for example, require some explanation. It’s not just what they were used for, which one could wax upon at length, but also detailing and explaining the mechanics behind them. The nature of close study is normally a decent place to cite sources or passages within them directly. That’s not always the case. In a general seminar I may say that Del Frate, Masiello, and Rossi all say this about the molinelli, but in a more focused class I might just zero in on what one master says. In this case, not using what Del Frate or whomever said makes little sense: ostensibly the people attending are there because they want to know more about this author and their take on the topic. [2] There is often overlap. The last time I discussed the molinelli, for example, I drew heavily from Del Frate but brought in Barbasetti and others as appropriate. My class was one of two that day and we had ample time to spend using these circular cuts in different ways.
For a regular class, say one with 5 to 10 people that meets once or twice a week, I normally save the bulk of the source discussion for post-class review sheets. This said, there are times when in order to explain how or why we do something I do reference the texts. These snippets can be diverting and can eat up time, so I try to keep them to a minimum. It’s a judgment call in many cases—will sharing what Girard or Rossi or Marcelli said here help the student understand or introduce a speedbump to the learning process and pace of class? Sometimes I get that wrong. Few things let you know that like a student turning to look at a clock or shuffling impatiently because they’re eager to jump back into activity.
Individual lessons, by their nature, tend to mean that we spend very little time discussing source material. This too, however, can vary by student, skill level, and the length of the lesson. It also varies by age. One on one lessons are the best way to learn and an opportunity to go through material with focus. Much as I can, I try to stick to the meat of the lesson and less so everything underpinning it. Yes, it’s often relevant, but there are better ways to share all the substrata and more appropriate times.
But you Harp on about Sources all the Time? What Gives?!
True, I do, and I will continue to do so, but using sources doesn’t necessarily mean consulting the sacred tomes between each action. For historical fencing, the sources should guide and inform what we teach, but how we do that is another matter. I look at it this way:
One way to visualize text to teaching [3]
I start with the source. Maybe it’s Del Frate, maybe Girard, but regardless I read through the work or works and see what they say. Next, I consider what I know about the passage I’ve read and its context. Del Frate was writing for the cavalry and a close friend, Giuseppe Radaelli; this system went on to transform sabre most everywhere via the Radaelli’s students and their students. As someone trained within that lineage, I can compare what I was taught with earlier iterations, and then interpret what I want to do with that topic. If I plan to cover feints, I again compare what the source tradition says with what I was taught, and devise a lesson plan.
My lesson plans follow a traditional format—we start with a warm up, jump into the topic, then cool down. How much we do in the main lesson depends on the student, but I introduce the topic and then we explore it via drill, and importantly, by varying the drill. This is where pedagogical concerns come in—is the student new or experienced? What weight of weapon are they using? Where are they strong, where weak, and what balance do I strike so that they build confidence in what they find easy and improve in what challenges them? What kind of lesson is it? Is it a teaching lesson where they’re learning a new skill? An option lesson where we explore actions or tactics in different ways? A bouting lesson where one is preparing a student for a match?
Lastly, there are the nuts and bolts of delivery—how do I introduce the topic, drill, etc.; what language makes it most clear? What examples, analogies, or previous study will aid the student? In what order should we cover the material? For an experienced fencer, I can normally state things generally, such as we’ll be working feints, give them direction to feint by thrust, molinelli to the head, and we start. There will be more variation of movement, tempo, and the order of actions. For a newer student, we may just work on making that thrust convincing, or starting from the right distance. With a new student, I spend more time on basic mechanics; perhaps we just work on the extension or a convincing feint.
Macro vs. Micro
One approach, and what I’ve more or less described above, is to adjust source-inclusion according to the follow logic:
General points/summary/introduction = more source inclusion
Teaching specific movements/actions/technique = less source inclusion
The use of the comparative adjective “more” here is intentional, because so much depends on whom it is one is teaching, and what one is teaching. A seasoned, experienced fencer new to a specific tradition may need less explanation of how to make the action and more of what this particular source says about it. In contrast, a newer fencer, someone very young, generally needs far less explanation of why de Liancour advocated X or Y and way more time spent trying to do X or Y.
As should be evident, this places a considerable burden on the instructor to know, understand, and be able to use the sources. It goes beyond that: it also means the instructor must be able to assess audience, experience, and attentiveness in various contexts, and with luck, be able to adjust on the fly. Much of this depends on an instructor’s goals and what the club is there to do. [4] In some degree, however, if the school is “historical” in focus than there should be some attention to the sources regardless of what one does with it.
Incorporating Sources into Lessons
Specific examples never hurt, so below I’d like to provide a screen shot of one of the ways in which I do this. This selection is a portion of some post-class notes from a smallsword class. As one can see, I provide a scan of the original text, and in this case a transliteration as these students are less used to 18th cen. English orthography and typesetting. Within the transliteration I provide a few explanations and definitions. A few notes follow.
Of note, these explanations follow a lesson in which I mention but do not spend much time on the text—with only an hour in class I focus on technique and its application. This often consists of something like “Today we will cover the glide from third. In the sources this is often called a ‘glizade,’ and in modern works there are more terms still.” That’s it. If someone asks me which text I tell them, but again the focus is to learn how to make and use the action, not a history lesson. Most of my time is taken up setting them up to learn the drill, reviewing the weak and strong portions of the blade, what an engagement means, what opposition entails, and how measure and timing play into this action. That’s a lot of information, and, a lot to do.
D. Angelo, _The School of Fencing_, p. 50, on the glizade
[50] Of the Motions made on the Blade Standing Still, called Glizades, and the Glizade from Carter over the Arm, to Thrust Carte.
If you are engaged in carte [4th], and are in distance, you must have a flexible arm, your body singled [profiled], and entirely on the left hip:* in this position you must make a beat** on the adversary’s blade, with an intent to stir his wrist [get them to parry]; if he should come to the sword [parry], you must disengage lightly carte over the arm [in third, but nails up], with your wrist high, and your point in line to his face; and, the moment he closes the blade [parries], disengage in carte, and thrust directly straight. If, after this, he should not return [riposte], but only force your blade [stay in the parry], you may reiterate a second thrust***, by turning your wrist in tierce, on the blade, without leaving it, and recover to his sword in carte.
*in the day, most masters recommended keeping the weight on the rear leg while in guard
**we have not covered this yet, but will; it’s a quick, powerful wrap against the opposing blade with your own to open the line
***this is called a remise; it’s to make the attack a second time, in the same line, often by redoubling or double-lunging
There are other ways I use texts, but this is a common one and useful for introducing the “what” and “why” behind what I teach. It’s sort of bite-sized, and for people more keen to use swords than read about them, this is a decent happy-medium. I cite my sources so to speak and provide them information that might help them should they wish to practice on their own, but the choice is theirs–they can read or ignore these sheets as they wish.
On the course and lesson-planning side, having the word and pdf copies of these notes does much to help me revise or correct material as I continue. Each class, each student is a different, so I tend to recycle the historical portions but update and tailor the explanations and comments. I’ve also found it useful to compare my interpretations against the sources from time to time, because colleagues provide insights that change things, as do students. One of the best things about teaching historical fencing is that it can be collaborative—students will question why we do X or Y and each time there is the chance that they may see something I’ve missed. It happens more often than one might think, particularly if the students have a martial arts and/or fencing background. As a last point, for instructors who aren’t quite sure how to engage the sources, this is one way—pick a topic, say the glide, and sit with what a source or two says about it. Work it out in real time, sword in hand, and devise drills if they’re not provided. With practice, it gets easier to do and increases not only the usefulness of these texts, but also our enjoyment of them.
NOTES:
[1] the conversation took place within the local historical fencing Discord 12 Dec. 2022 run by Northwest Armizare’s Mike Cherba.
[2] Usually seminar and class titles are announced ahead of events, so my own operating assumption is that if someone is in that seminar they have at least a nominal interest.
[3] The sources codify, preserve, and help create a tradition, school, or style. There are often particular features in technique that distinguish one style from another, such as footwork, guard, the axis of rotation for cuts, etc. Teaching a particular tradition combines the body of technique with that tradition’s approach to delivery as well as the specific concerns that come with teaching, both individually and in groups. All of that informs how we deliver this material, how we share it, teach, and transmit the tradition.
[4] One issue inherent in this, and a bit of a bugbear in “HEMA,” is the place of the sources and by extension what we mean by “historical.” As the same participant noted in Discord, in re sources and faithfulness to them
What’s tricky though is that even the “H” in HEMA is still a bit vague … Someone might interpret the “Historical” as having an implied “accuracy” associated with it, whereas someone else might interpret “Historical” as just broadly drawing from a past time period…And even if the latter doesn’t mix in any modern technique, a combination of historical techniques is still technically historical to some people.
Maybe the least divisive way to handle this is for each instructor and group to determine what it is they want to do, that is, what “historical” is going to mean to them. It will seem passively relative to say this, but I stand by it—I can hold one definition of “historical” and seek to abide it while at the same time recognizing that not everyone will agree.
In yet another wonderful discussion, Russ Mitchell and friends discuss the role that the École de Joinville-le-Pont near Vincennes, France, played in European and later world sabre. As Russ remarks the program at Joinville was as influential as that of the Radaellians or those in the tradition of Kreussler.
Francois Perreault provides a fantastic introduction to this tradition.
Capitale Escrime Historical Fencing 