“No,” I answered. “The fact is, there is hardly anything to say, and even the text-books, which do not usually err on the side of brevity, devote very little space to them. For there is really no particular rule, which applies to them exclusively.”
“But surely they are very difficult?”
“Yes in a way no doubt they are, though one of my friends, a left-hander of course, used to say that the supposed difficulty is only a convenient excuse invented by right-handed fencers. His suggestion is more witty than true, and I am willing to allow, without hesitation, that left-handers really are puzzling to those who are not accustomed to fence with them. Their only real advantage is that they have more opportunities of fencing against right-handers, than right-handers have of fencing against them. When once you are used to them the difficulty vanishes. The left-hander on the contrary, when it comes to fighting, is never rid of the far graver risk which he takes by exposing his left side.
“I may add that the left-hander’s advantage, which consists entirely in his incognito, would exist no longer, if the professors,—who I hope may take the hint,—would make a practice of giving lessons occasionally with the left hand. Some of them do so already, and I congratulate them on their good sense. If you come to think of it, there is not a single left-handed thrust or parry, which cannot be equally well executed by a right-handed player. Only, from want of practice, the latter finds it more difficult to direct his point because the lines are reversed. Quarte becomes sixte, and vice versa. The left-hander prefers to take the inside engagement, that is to say quarte. This line suits him better, and accordingly it is good policy not to let him take it without a struggle. It is usually more difficult to hit him in the outside line.
“So much for general principles, for of course left-handed play varies as much as right-handed, although the contrary is sometimes maintained. But if all left-handers were providentially made alike, one would think that it could not be very difficult to get to know the pattern by heart.
VIII.
“Well, you must admit that in the course of my remarks I try not to pass over anything that is likely to interest those who have, or those who should, could, or would have a fancy for sword-play.
“My object is to bring out the essential features in clear relief, and I intentionally omit the thousand and one minute details, which would overcrowd my canvas, and prevent you from properly appreciating the leading features. These refinements, which come with experience and habit, cannot be forced, they must be slowly acquired by the friction of the blades, by meeting all sorts and conditions of fencers, by facing the unforeseen and sudden perils, which confront you just when they are least expected.
“You know how awkward a young fellow is when he makes his first appearance in society. When he finds himself in a drawing-room, he is shy and uncomfortable, he does not know how to sit down or how to stand up or how to talk, but presently without consulting any professor, simply, so to speak, by the daily friction of his common intercourse with other people, older and more experienced than himself, he acquires confidence, ease, address, manners, and so forth.
“It is just the same with fencers. Craft, finesse, tact, and judgment come by degrees, as wings grow out of feathers; but do not forget that the lesson and the master’s pad are your first instructors and must not be neglected. To neglect them would be ungrateful, and ingratitude is always base. Besides you cannot afford it.