My students are always being subjected to me screaming that the primary goal of fencing is defense. I site the etymology of fencing as a word meaning literally, “defense.” The first thing one sees when looking at a foil however, is a long slender blade ending in a point. The third bit of footwork taught in our system is the lunge (an attacking maneuver). I spend countless moments and words defining the extension of the arm as the first action of said lunge. I go on and on about the need to penetrate with the point and not simply touch. Why do I expend so much energy in these explanations if, as I stated in the beginning, it is a defensive art?
That is an important question and raises the issue of fencing as defense. How valid is that belief? What is the nature of defense in this art if the attack is so important? Why is the attack so important in an art of self defense? I will endeavor to answer these questions within the contents of this article. First of all, I would like to go over the environment wherein these arts were originally taught.
In the late fifteenth and all through the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, swordplay was a matter of fashion as much as anything else. Personal combat was still a legal manner of solving disputes in most countries until around the middle of the 1500s. Private duels not sanctioned by the ruling class continued to the mid 1800s (some duels were even being fought later and in fact, into the twentieth century but these were becoming increasingly rare). A champion in the legal fight to settle disputes was usually trained as a soldier. His ability rested heavily with strength, agility and continued practice. Though technique was important, it was not as vital as the other three. Tactics as well, were simple and built around those three. Enter the fencing instructor. Often a trained soldier (or ex-soldier) as well, this man would have tricks and insights into fighting bigger stronger men. Since the best champions served the richest masters, and since many with grievances could not afford a champion at all, they needed some form of…you guessed it…defense against these stacked decks. This is the environment wherein the first instructors in the “art of fence” began to thrive. Most were mercenaries rather than official knights of the king or what have you. Often a third or fourth son who could not attain knighthood but was still instructed in fighting arts would sell his services to the highest bidder. He often didn’t get the best food or training so he was not necessarily as large as the knights would tend to be. His training would still give him an edge over the common foot-soldier however. Another factor is that he would not have the best armor. Once again, maybe better than a foot-soldier but not by much. This type of fighter would develop skills in wars to take to personal combat. For a much smaller fee than a champion could charge (because his life wouldn’t be at stake), he would teach some of his survival tricks to some poor slob caught up in a personal combat challenge he had little hope of surviving. It might not be surprising that the nobility resented these fencing instructors and wrote many laws to eliminate them. They persisted however, and by the 16th century, they were generally accepted.
In the 16th century, the fencing book came truly into its own. With works published by the likes of Morozzo, Agrippa, Di Grassi, Saviolo, Meyer, Descors, Sainct Didier and Lebkomer, the fencing manual was completely established. Though more (and arguably the most famous)
books were published in the following century, they were firmly established in the 16th. As just stated, the 17th century saw a huge growth in such books. Everyone wanted to learn a universal parry or a secret thrust to survive the increasingly popular though officially illegal duel. Also, there was the frank encounter. This was the swordfight which would arise suddenly during the course of everyday life. These could be angry exchanges gotten out of hand, brawls, and being jumped. The frank encounter was certainly a good reason to learn how to use the sword. This type of environment was the reason so many fencing books and master exams included wrestling and pugilism. I realize that this is beginning to look like an edition of “Historian’s Tome” but I did need to set up this background.
Now let’s look at fencing today. We see an opponent and recognize the threat. If the opponent attacks, we can parry and hit the opponent with a riposte, ending the threat. We can also thrust first, ending the threat before the opponent has a chance to bring said threat to fruition. Often, we see an opponent preparing his attack and thrust before the attack is a real danger. One sees this often in karate. The opponent gathers for a blow and the defender launches an attack designed at once to stop the blow and strike the opponent, eliminating the threat once and for all. It is still defense if we practice the type of discipline which precludes the sort of behavior that would start the so-called frank encounter. We must be the one who would defend, not the aggressor. Even if mine is the first attack in fencing time, we must assume that I am doing so as a response to the other’s initial action such as drawing the sword or in some way, posing a threat to me.
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