In the middle of this groined and vaulted public square was an oaken
table which was called the Table Round. It was as large as a circus
ring; and around it sat a great company of men dressed in such various
and splendid colors that it hurt one’s eyes to look at them. They wore
their plumed hats, right along, except that whenever one addressed
himself directly to the king, he lifted his hat a trifle just as he was
beginning his remark.
Mainly they were drinking—from entire ox horns; but a few were still
munching bread or gnawing beef bones. There was about an average of two
dogs to one man; and these sat in expectant attitudes till a spent bone
was flung to them, and then they went for it by brigades and divisions,
with a rush, and there ensued a fight which filled the prospect with a
tumultuous chaos of plunging heads and bodies and flashing tails, and
the storm of howlings and barkings deafened all speech for the time; but
that was no matter, for the dog-fight was always a bigger interest
anyway; the men rose, sometimes, to observe it the better and bet on it,
and the ladies and the musicians stretched themselves out over their
balusters with the same object; and all broke into delighted
ejaculation, from time to time. In the end, the winning dog stretched
himself out comfortably with his bone between his paws, and proceeded to
growl over it, and gnaw it, and grease the floor with it, just as fifty
others were already doing; and the rest of the court resumed their
previous industries and entertainments.
As a rule, the speech and behavior of these people were gracious and
courtly; and I noticed that they were good and serious listeners when
anybody was telling anything—I mean in a dog-fightless interval. And
plainly, too, they were a childlike and innocent lot; telling lies of
the stateliest pattern with a most gentle and winning naiveté, and ready
and willing to listen to anybody else’s lie, and believe it, too. It was
hard to associate them with anything cruel or dreadful; and yet they
dealt in tales of blood and suffering with a guileless relish that made
me almost forget to shudder.
Mainly the Round Table talk was monologues—narrative accounts of the
adventures in which these prisoners were captured and their friends and
backers killed and stripped of their steeds and armor. As a general
thing—as far as I could make out—these murderous adventures were not
forays undertaken to avenge injuries, nor to settle old disputes or
sudden fallings out; no, as a rule they were simple duels between
strangers—duels between people who had never even been introduced to
each other, and between whom existed no cause of offense whatever. Many
a time I had seen a couple of boys, strangers, meet by chance, and say
simultaneously, “I can lick you,” and go at it on the spot; but I had
always imagined until now that that sort of thing belonged to children
only, and was a sign and mark of childhood; but here were these big
boobies sticking to it and taking pride in it clear up into full age,
and beyond. Yet there was something very engaging about these great
simple-hearted creatures, something attractive and lovable. There did
not seem to be brains enough in the entire nursery, so to speak, to bait
a fish-hook with; but you didn’t seem to mind that; after a little, you
soon saw that brains were not needed in a society like that, and indeed
would have marred it, spoiled its symmetry—perhaps rendered its
existence impossible.