A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court (with an Introduction by E. Hudson Long)

By Mark Twain

First published in 1889, “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court” was inspired by a dream in which the author, Mark Twain, imagined himself as knight in the time of chivalry. The book relates the tale of Hank Morgan, an engineer from 19th century Hartford Connecticut, who is inexplicably transported to the early medieval England of King Arthur. While there he uses his knowledge of modern technology to appear as though he is a magician. Despite his best intentions, Hank’s attempts to modernize the past bring about a tragic end. A bittersweet depiction of the Arthurian legend through the eyes of a 19th century American, “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court” satirizes the romanticized notions of chivalry and the idealization of the middle ages, in a delightful and enchanting way, exemplifying Mark Twain at his satirical best. This edition includes an introduction by E. Hudson Long.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Digireads.com Publishing
• Release date: Jan 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781420954715

Mark Twain

Frederick Anderson, Lin Salamo, and Bernard L. Stein are members of the Mark Twain Project of The Bancroft Library at the University of California, Berkeley.

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A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR’S COURT

By MARK TWAIN

Introduction by E. HUDSON LONG

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court

By Mark Twain

Introduction by E. Hudson Long

Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-5470-8

eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-5471-5

This edition copyright © 2017. Digireads.com Publishing.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover Image: a colorized detail of Knight in armor tilting at man in modern dress in tree onto which a man in modern dress has climbed for refuge, Published as frontispiece in: A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court / Charles L. Webster & Co., New York, 1889. Colorization by Stephen Morrison, copyright Digireads.com Publishing 2017.

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Preface

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXIX

Chapter XXX

Chapter XXXI

Chapter XXXII

Chapter XXXIII

Chapter XXXIV

Chapter XXXV

Chapter XXXVI

Chapter XXXVII

Chapter XXXVIII

Chapter XXXIX

Chapter XL

Chapter XLI

Chapter XLII

Chapter XLIII

Chapter XLIV

Final P.S. by M.T.

Introduction

Mark Twain, whose real name was Samuel Langhorne Clemens, was the first major American author to appear west of the Mississippi River. Born at Florida, Missouri, of southern parents on November 30, 1835, he grew up in Hannibal, where, like Tom Sawyer, he played on Cardiff Hill, canoed to Jackson’s Island, explored the nearby cave, and delighted in his uncle’s farm—a heavenly place for a boy. He viewed the spectacle of the mighty Mississippi as the steamboats passed with all aspects of humanity. Through Hannibal, too, came the stream of emigrants seeking fortune and adventure in the West. As a boy Samuel Clemens saw humanity at its best and worst. Later as a pilot on the river, then as miner and newspaper man in Nevada and California, and finally as the beloved and respected world author, he was a penetrating and profound observer of human beings. His life, though saddened at the end, by the deaths of those dear to him, was an achievement of success, popularity, and acclaim, both as man and writer. Mark Twain died at Stormfield, the home he had built near Redding, Connecticut, on April 21, 1910; he was buried at Elmira, New York.

On a lecture tour with George W. Cable in December, 1884, Twain chanced upon a copy of Thomas Malory’s Morte d’Arthur in a Rochester, New York, bookstore. When Cable presented him with it, Clemens became so interested that soon they were playfully calling each other Sir Mark and Sir George, naming their associates after knights of the Round Table, and disconcerting those around them on trains and in hotels by humorously using Malory’s quaint language. Clemens continued to read Malory and saturate himself with the spirit of Arthur’s realm until he conceived the idea of writing A Connecticut Yankee, which he probably commenced in 1885.

As an apprentice in Hannibal, young Sam had studied the Middle Ages through an interest in Joan of Arc, reading everything he could find about her. As a youth who matured in a slave-holding community, he had experienced feudalism as it then existed in the South. Now old memories from boyhood blended with a natural hatred of injustice to denounce all slavery. During his visit to the Hawaiian Islands (then called Sandwich Islands) Twain had witnessed the transformation of the mass of the people, once oppressed and enslaved by priests and kings, into a status freer and more democratic. There Twain also saw the effect of the tabu, which acted much like the interdict of the Church in A Connecticut Yankee.

Twain realized the possibilities, humorous and serious, of contrasting the progress of his own day with the superstitions and cruelties of Arthur’s, placing the scientific knowledge of the present in conflict with the ignorance of the past. Yet the abuses of that olden time so often paralleled those of Nineteenth Century America that the satire is frequently an inverted one of Twain’s own era. Indeed, Mark Twain’s political, social and economic ideas are more fully expressed in A Connecticut Yankee than anywhere else in his fiction. The Boss arguing for free trade and real wages speaks the political beliefs that caused Clemens to vote for Grover Cleveland in 1884. The book has significance for the political problems of the America of that date, while Twain’s concern over the social and economic evils that accompanied material progress is expressed in plain talk to both England and the United States. Many years later Franklin D. Roosevelt took his New Deal slogan from the Yankee’s protest against six percent of the nation living luxuriously at the expense of the rest: It seemed to me that what the nine hundred and ninety-four dupes needed was a new deal.

At first Twain worked only intermittently upon A Connecticut Yankee, for his energies and money were being drained by a futile effort to perfect a typesetting machine, an idea sound enough if only Clemens had found the right inventor. Ultimately like Colonel Sellers of The Gilded Age he saw dreams of wealth fade as the machine failed to function properly. Meanwhile the typesetter remained a tyrant leaving only occasional days to write, but as Twain continued to steep himself in Arthurian legends his literary enthusiasm mounted. He had written nothing since Huckleberry Finn (1885), and his publishing house needed another good seller for prestige and profit. Clemens was then in the publishing business, Charles L. Webster & Company of New York being actually owned and operated by Samuel L. Clemens, who brought out his own books until losses from the typesetter caused bankruptcy.

Twain was living at Nook Farm, a choice residential district of Hartford, Connecticut, surrounded by neighbors who thought independently and examined society critically. Thrilled by material progress, he reveled in it, but as already noted was distressed over its accompanying economic evils. His Notebook records that even then cases came to light showing that the cruelty once practiced on slaves still existed. Through the Boss, Twain spoke his abhorrence of the slaveholder mind, past and present, attacking those fallacies that make servility and tyranny possible at any time. The Yankee at the Court of King Arthur becomes the spokesman through whom Twain attacks artificial privileges and caste while extolling the dignity of manual labor. By depicting the hard conditions of the defenseless laboring people of the Middle Ages in contrast to the privileges of those of high fortune an obvious parallel was drawn with the present. Clemens’ humanitarianism appears strongly as in the unforgettable episode of the king’s learning mercy through his own suffering. A Connecticut Yankee is, in fact, a brief for human rights.

In Nineteenth Century America several authors had already joined the search for Utopia, which all through history has led men to envision an ideal society free from economic and social ills. Mark Twain in 1875 had presented his concept of the ideal state in The Curious Republic of Gondour, published anonymously in the Atlantic Monthly lest his reputation as a humorist prevent readers from regarding it seriously. Now in A Connecticut Yankee the Boss could build the Utopia Americans were seeking as he transformed medieval England into an industrial democracy.

Mark Twain’s method of attack was that of the literary comedians of the far West. Just as the journalists of California and Nevada laughed pretense and snobbery out of countenance, Twain directed volleys of irreverent laughter against artificial status and inherited privilege. He turned the weapon of burlesque upon sentimentality and sham, using it with equal effect against ignorance and superstition. Though the time is the Middle Ages and the place King Arthur’s Court, the Washoe humorist intrudes upon the scene. The West spoke when Twain wrote in his Notebook, Irreverence is the champion of liberty and its only sure defense. Thus humor is employed; and if sometimes bitter, it is in keeping with the inhumanity of the offenses.

All autocratic privileges are condemned. Twain’s hatred of religious intolerance is expressed through the Yankee’s insistence upon separation of Church and State with complete freedom of belief. Naturally the book was not popular in England, where at first readers resented the strictures on their past, the disparagement of monarchy and nobility, and the charges of subservience to hereditary rank in general. To create the character of the Boss, Twain turned to the democracy inherited from the frontier, which knew no rank or privilege other than what a man earned himself.

A product of that part of America that produced Abraham Lincoln, Twain stood for freedom. In the political tradition of Jefferson and Jackson the Yankee attempts eradication of foolish, blind loyalty to outworn customs and laws. The Boss deplores the masses unthinkingly following the accepted concepts and fetishes to their own misery and disaster. When Twain wrote of teaching disloyalty to institutions, he meant cultivating freedom of thought until each person critically examined the government, honestly, intelligently, and unselfishly. Actually, it is independence of thought that is meant. In sympathy with Jacksonian sentiments Twain championed universal suffrage in A Connecticut Yankee at the same time that he attacked religious intolerance and despotism. It is liberty, education, and science at war with monarchy, ignorance, and superstition. The right to vote, he felt, precluded any subservience to hereditary rank of any sort.

Mark Twain was at his artistic best when he could escape into the past as in Huckleberry Finn, Tom Sawyer, Life on the Mississippi, or Roughing It, such excursions providing the freedom necessary for composition. And he was also at his best when employing a journey motif, such as Huck and Jim’s rafting down the Mississippi or the exhilarating stagecoach trip of young Clemens to Nevada in gold rush times. A Connecticut Yankee afforded complete freedom of distance in time and space; and here, too, Clemens used the narrative technique of the journey, first the excursion of the Boss and Sandy, then the dramatic adventures of King Arthur and the Boss, during which the author spoke his mind socially and politically.

The book is not an attack upon England. Clemens, an admirer of England from his first visit, enjoyed a country so beautiful that you will be obliged to believe in fairyland, where he even expressed a desire to live. England was then the most important nation in the world, and Twain admired the culture and civilization that marked the apex of European influence. He was charmed, too, by English social life, especially its pageantry, later delighting to wear his red Oxford robe whenever occasion offered.

One need not take the ending of the story as proof of Twain’s despair. If the book is a survey of cruelty and stupidity, it also reveals those devoted human actions by which the great in soul advance the rest of mankind. Logic and history obviously demand that the scientific and social enlightenment of a more progressive era could not remain in medieval England. The anachronism must be destroyed or become unbelievable to the imagination. To end the story Twain employed the interdict of the Church, based upon fear, superstition, and ignorance, which triumphed as the Yankee’s humanity exposed him to Merlin’s treachery. Thus the democratic experiment ends in disaster, not because human progress is impossible, but because art demands a logical solution.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court has been popular as a book, on the musical comedy stage, on the silent screen, and in talking pictures. It is a delightfully amusing story filled with humor, but more important it represents Mark Twain’s mature observations upon the basic principles of democracy and freedom.

E. HUDSON LONG

Baylor University, 1960.

Preface

The ungentle laws and customs touched upon in this tale are historical, and the episodes which are used to illustrate them are also historical. It is not pretended that these laws and customs existed in England in the sixth century; no, it is only pretended that inasmuch as they existed in the English and other civilizations of far later times, it is safe to consider that it is no libel upon the sixth century to suppose them to have been in practice in that day also. One is quite justified in inferring that whatever one of these laws or customs was lacking in that remote time, its place was competently filled by a worse one.

The question as to whether there is such a thing as divine right of kings is not settled in this book. It was found too difficult. That the executive head of a nation should be a person of lofty character and extraordinary ability, was manifest and indisputable; that none but the Deity could select that head unerringly, was also manifest and indisputable; that the Deity ought to make that selection, then, was likewise manifest and indisputable; consequently, that He does make it, as claimed, was an unavoidable deduction. I mean, until the author of this book encountered the Pompadour, and Lady Castlemaine, and some other executive heads of that kind; these were found so difficult to work into the scheme, that it was judged better to take the other tack in this book (which must be issued this fall), and then go into training and settle the question in another book. It is, of course, a thing which ought to be settled, and I am not going to have anything particular to do next winter anyway.

MARK TWAIN

HARTFORD, July 21, 1889.

A WORD OF EXPLANATION

It was in Warwick Castle that I came across the curious stranger whom I am going to talk about. He attracted me by three things: his candid simplicity, his marvelous familiarity with ancient armor, and the restfulness of his company—for he did all the talking. We fell together, as modest people will, in the tail of the herd that was being shown through, and he at once began to say things which interested me. As he talked along, softly, pleasantly, flowingly, he seemed to drift away imperceptibly out of this world and time, and into some remote era and old forgotten country; and so he gradually wove such a spell about me that I seemed to move among the specters and shadows and dust and mold of a gray antiquity, holding speech with a relic of it! Exactly as I would speak of my nearest personal friends or enemies, or my most familiar neighbors, he spoke of Sir Bedivere, Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Launcelot of the Lake, Sir Galahad, and all the other great names of the Table Round—and how old, old, unspeakably old and faded and dry and musty and ancient he came to look as he went on! Presently he turned to me and said, just as one might speak of the weather, or any other common matter—

You know about transmigration of souls; do you know about transposition of epochs—and bodies?

I said I had not heard of it. He was so little interested—just as when people speak of the weather—that he did not notice whether I made him any answer or not. There was half a moment of silence, immediately interrupted by the droning voice of the salaried cicerone:

Ancient hauberk, date of the sixth century, time of King Arthur and the Round Table; said to have belonged to the knight Sir Sagramor le Desirous; observe the round hole through the chain-mail in the left breast; can’t be accounted for; supposed to have been done with a bullet since invention of firearms—perhaps maliciously by Cromwell’s soldiers.

My acquaintance smiled—not a modern smile, but one that must have gone out of general use many, many centuries ago—and muttered apparently to himself:

"Wit ye well, I saw it done. Then, after a pause, added: I did it myself."

By the time I had recovered from the electric surprise of this remark, he was gone.

All that evening I sat by my fire at the Warwick Arms, steeped in a dream of the olden time, while the rain beat upon the windows, and the wind roared about the eaves and corners. From time to time I dipped into old Sir Thomas Malory’s enchanting book, and fed at its rich feast of prodigies and adventures, breathed in the fragrance of its obsolete names, and dreamed again. Midnight being come at length, I read another tale, for a nightcap—this which here follows, to wit:

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT SLEW TWO GIANTS, AND MADE A CASTLE FREE

Anon withal came there upon him two great giants, well armed, all save the heads, with two horrible clubs in their hands. Sir Launcelot put his shield afore him, and put the stroke away of the one giant, and with his sword he clave his head asunder. When his fellow saw that, he ran away as he were wood,{1} for fear of the horrible strokes, and Sir Launcelot after him with all his might, and smote him on the shoulder, and clave him to the middle. Then Sir Launcelot went into the hall, and there came afore him three score ladies and damsels, and all kneeled unto him, and thanked God and him of their deliverance. For, sir, said they, the most part of us have been here this seven year their prisoners, and we have worked all manner of silk works for our meat, and we are all great gentle-women born, and blessed be the time, knight, that ever thou wert born; for thou hast done the most worship that ever did knight in the world, that will we bear record, and we all pray you to tell us your name, that we may tell our friends who delivered us out of prison. Fair damsels, he said, my name is Sir Launcelot du Lake. And so he departed from them and betaught them unto God. And then he mounted upon his horse, and rode into many strange and wild countries, and through many waters and valleys, and evil was he lodged. And at the last by fortune him happened against a night to come to a fair courtelage, and therein he found an old gentle-woman that lodged him with a good-will, and there he had good cheer for him and his horse. And when time was, his host brought him into a fair garret over the gate to his bed. There Sir Launcelot unarmed him, and set his harness by him, and went to bed, and anon he fell on sleep. So, soon after there came one on horseback, and knocked at the gate in great haste. And when Sir Launcelot heard this he rose up, and looked out at the window, and saw by the moonlight three knights come riding after that one man, and all three lashed on him at once with swords, and that one knight turned on them knightly again and defended him. Truly, said Sir Launcelot, yonder one knight shall I help, for it were shame for me to see three knights on one, and if he be slain I am partner of his death. And therewith he took his harness and went out at a window by a sheet down to the four knights, and then Sir Launcelot said on high, Turn you knights unto me, and leave your fighting with that knight. And then they all three left Sir Kay, and turned unto Sir Launcelot, and there began great battle, for they alight all three, and strake many strokes at Sir Launcelot, and assailed him on every side. Then Sir Kay dressed him for to have holpen Sir Launcelot. Nay, sir, said he, I will none of your help, therefore as ye will have my help let me alone with them. Sir Kay for the pleasure of the knight suffered him for to do his will, and so stood aside. And then anon within six strokes Sir Launcelot had stricken them to the earth.

And then they all three cried, Sir Knight, we yield us unto you as man of might matchless. As to that, said Sir Launcelot, I will not take your yielding unto me, but so that ye yield you unto Sir Kay the seneschal, on that covenant I will save your lives and else not. Fair knight, said they, that were we loath to do; for as for Sir Kay we chased him hither, and had overcome him had ye not been; therefore, to yield us unto him it were no reason. Well, as to that, said Sir Launcelot, advise you well, for ye may choose whether ye will die or live, for an ye be yielden, it shall be unto Sir Kay. Fair knight, then they said, in saving our lives we will do as thou commandest us. Then shall ye, said Sir Launcelot, on Whitsunday next coming go unto the court of King Arthur, and there shall ye yield you unto Queen Guenever, and put you all three in her grace and mercy, and say that Sir Kay sent you thither to be her prisoners. On the morn Sir Launcelot arose early, and left Sir Kay sleeping; and Sir Launcelot took Sir Kay’s armor and his shield and armed him, and so he went to the stable and took his horse, and took his leave of his host, and so he departed. Then soon after arose Sir Kay and missed Sir Launcelot; and then he espied that he had his armor and his horse. Now by my faith I know well that he will grieve some of the court of King Arthur; for on him knights will be bold, and deem that it is I, and that will beguile them; and because of his armor and shield I am sure I shall ride in peace. And then soon after departed Sir Kay, and thanked his host.

As I laid the book down there was a knock at the door, and my stranger came in. I gave him a pipe and a chair, and made him welcome. I also comforted him with a hot Scotch whisky; gave him another one; then still another—hoping always for his story. After a fourth persuader, he drifted into it himself, in a quite simple and natural way:

THE STRANGER’S HISTORY

I am an American. I was born and reared in Hartford, in the State of Connecticut—anyway, just over the river, in the country. So I am a Yankee of the Yankees—and practical; yes, and nearly barren of sentiment, I suppose—or poetry, in other words. My father was a blacksmith, my uncle was a horse doctor, and I was both, along at first. Then I went over to the great arms factory and learned my real trade; learned all there was to it; learned to make everything: guns, revolvers, cannon, boilers, engines, all sorts of labor-saving machinery. Why, I could make anything a body wanted—anything in the world, it didn’t make any difference what; and if there wasn’t any quick new-fangled way to make a thing, I could invent one—and do it as easy as rolling off a log. I became head superintendent; had a couple of thousand men under me.

Well, a man like that is a man that is full of fight—that goes without saying. With a couple of thousand rough men under one, one has plenty of that sort of amusement. I had, anyway. At last I met my match, and I got my dose. It was during a misunderstanding conducted with crowbars with a fellow we used to call Hercules. He laid me out with a crusher alongside the head that made everything crack, and seemed to spring every joint in my skull and made it overlap its neighbor. Then the world went out in darkness, and I didn’t feel anything more, and didn’t know anything at all—at least for a while.

When I came to again, I was sitting under an oak tree, on the grass, with a whole beautiful and broad country landscape all to myself—nearly. Not entirely; for there was a fellow on a horse, looking down at me—a fellow fresh out of a picture-book. He was in old-time iron armor from head to heel, with a helmet on his head the shape of a nail-keg with slits in it; and he had a shield, and a sword, and a prodigious spear; and his horse had armor on, too, and a steel horn projecting from his forehead, and gorgeous red and green silk trappings that hung down all around him like a bed quilt, nearly to the ground.

Fair sir, will ye just? said this fellow.

Will I which?

Will ye try a passage of arms for land or lady or for—

What are you giving me? I said. Get along back to your circus, or I’ll report you.

Now what does this man do but fall back a couple of hundred yards and then come rushing at me as hard as he could tear, with his nail-keg bent down nearly to his horse’s neck and his long spear pointed straight ahead. I saw he meant business, so I was up the tree when he arrived.

He allowed that I was his property, the captive of his spear. There was argument on his side—and the bulk of the advantage—so I judged it best to humor him. We fixed up an agreement whereby I was to go with him and he was not to hurt me. I came down, and we started away, I walking by the side of his horse. We marched comfortably along, through glades and over brooks which I could not remember to have seen before—which puzzled me and made me wonder—and yet we did not come to any circus or sign of a circus. So I gave up the idea of a circus, and concluded he was from an asylum. But we never came to an asylum—so I was up a stump, as you may say. I asked him how far we were from Hartford. He said he had never heard of the place; which I took to be a lie, but allowed it to go at that. At the end of an hour we saw a far-away town sleeping in a valley by a winding river; and beyond it on a hill, a vast gray fortress, with towers and turrets, the first I had ever seen out of a picture.

Bridgeport? said I, pointing.

Camelot, said he.

My stranger had been showing signs of sleepiness. He caught himself nodding, now, and smiled one of those pathetic, obsolete smiles of his, and said:

I find I can’t go on; but come with me, I’ve got it all written out, and you can read it if you like.

In his chamber, he said: First, I kept a journal; then by and by, after years, I took the journal and turned it into a book. How long ago that was!

He handed me his manuscript, and pointed out the place where I should begin:

Begin here—I’ve already told you what goes before. He was steeped in drowsiness by this time. As I went out at his door I heard him murmur sleepily: Give you good den, fair sir.

I sat down by my fire and examined my treasure. The first part of it—the great bulk of it—was parchment, and yellow with age. I scanned a leaf particularly and saw that it was a palimpsest. Under the old dim writing of the Yankee historian appeared traces of a penmanship which was older and dimmer still—Latin words and sentences: fragments from old monkish legends, evidently. I turned to the place indicated by my stranger and began to read—as follows:

THE TALE OF THE LOST LAND

Chapter I

CAMELOT

Camelot—Camelot, said I to myself. I don’t seem to remember hearing of it before. Name of the asylum, likely.

It was a soft, reposeful summer landscape, as lovely as a dream, and as lonesome as Sunday. The air was full of the smell of flowers, and the buzzing of insects, and the twittering of birds, and there were no people, no wagons, there was no stir of life, nothing going on. The road was mainly a winding path with hoof-prints in it, and now and then a faint trace of wheels on either side in the grass—wheels that apparently had a tire as broad as one’s hand.

Presently a fair slip of a girl, about ten years old, with a cataract of golden hair streaming down over her shoulders, came along. Around her head she wore a hoop of flame-red poppies. It was as sweet an outfit as ever I saw, what there was of it. She walked indolently along, with a mind at rest, its peace reflected in her innocent face. The circus man paid no attention to her; didn’t even seem to see her. And she—she was no more startled at his fantastic make-up than if she was used to his like every day of her life. She was going by as indifferently as she might have gone by a couple of cows; but when she happened to notice me, then there was a change! Up went her hands, and she was turned to stone; her mouth dropped open, her eyes stared wide and timorously, she was the picture of astonished curiosity touched with fear. And there she stood gazing, in a sort of stupefied fascination, till we turned a corner of the wood and were lost to her view. That she should be startled at me instead of at the other man, was too many for me; I couldn’t make head or tail of it. And that she should seem to consider me a spectacle, and totally overlook her own merits in that respect, was another puzzling thing, and a display of magnanimity, too, that was surprising in one so young. There was food for thought here. I moved along as one in a dream.

As we approached the town, signs of life began to appear. At intervals we passed a wretched cabin, with a thatched roof, and about it small fields and garden patches in an indifferent state of cultivation. There were people, too; brawny men, with long, coarse, uncombed hair that hung down over their faces and made them look like animals. They and the women, as a rule, wore a coarse tow-linen robe that came well below the knee, and a rude sort of sandal, and many wore an iron collar. The small boys and girls were always naked; but nobody seemed to know it. All of these people stared at me, talked about me, ran into the huts and fetched out their families to gape at me; but nobody ever noticed that other fellow, except to make him humble salutation and get no response for their pains.

In the town were some substantial windowless houses of stone scattered among a wilderness of thatched cabins; the streets were mere crooked alleys, and unpaved; troops of dogs and nude children played in the sun and made life and noise; hogs roamed and rooted contentedly about, and one of them lay in a reeking wallow in the middle of the main thoroughfare and suckled her family. Presently there was a distant blare of military music; it came nearer, still nearer, and soon a noble cavalcade wound into view, glorious with plumed helmets and flashing mail and flaunting banners and rich doublets and horse-cloths and gilded spearheads; and through the muck and swine, and naked brats, and joyous dogs, and shabby huts, it took its gallant way, and in its wake we followed. Followed through one winding alley and then another,—and climbing, always climbing—till at last we gained the breezy height where the huge castle stood. There was an exchange of bugle blasts; then a parley from the walls, where men-at-arms, in hauberk and morion, marched back and forth with halberd at shoulder under flapping banners with the rude figure of a dragon displayed upon them; and then the great gates were flung open, the drawbridge was lowered, and the head of the cavalcade swept forward under the frowning arches; and we, following, soon found ourselves in a great paved court, with towers and turrets stretching up into the blue air on all the four sides; and all about us the dismount was going on, and much greeting and ceremony, and running to and fro, and a gay display of moving and intermingling colors, and an altogether pleasant stir and noise and confusion.

Chapter II

KING ARTHUR’S COURT

The moment I got a chance I slipped aside privately and touched an ancient common looking man on the shoulder and said, in an insinuating, confidential way:

Friend, do me a kindness. Do you belong to the asylum, or are you just on a visit or something like that?

He looked me over stupidly, and said:

Marry, fair sir, me seemeth—

That will do, I said; I reckon you are a patient.

I moved away, cogitating, and at the same time keeping an eye out for any chance passenger in his right mind that might come along and give me some light. I judged I had found one, presently; so I drew him aside and said in his ear:

If I could see the head keeper a minute—only just a minute—

Prithee do not let me.

"Let you what?"

"Hinder me, then, if the word please thee better. Then he went on to say he was an under-cook and could not stop to gossip, though he would like it another time; for it would comfort his very liver to know where I got my clothes. As he started away he pointed and said yonder was one who was idle enough for my purpose, and was seeking me besides, no doubt. This was an airy slim boy in shrimp-colored tights that made him look like a forked carrot, the rest of his gear was blue silk and dainty laces and ruffles; and he had long yellow curls, and wore a plumed pink satin cap tilted complacently over his ear. By his look, he was good-natured; by his gait, he was satisfied with himself. He was pretty enough to frame. He arrived, looked me over with a smiling and impudent curiosity; said he had come for me, and informed me that he was a page.

Go ’long, I said; you ain’t more than a paragraph.

It was pretty severe, but I was nettled. However, it never phazed him; he didn’t appear to know he was hurt. He began to talk and laugh, in happy, thoughtless, boyish fashion, as we walked along, and made himself old friends with me at once; asked me all sorts of questions about myself and about my clothes, but never waited for an answer—always chattered straight ahead, as if he didn’t know he had asked a question and wasn’t expecting any reply, until at last he happened to mention that he was born in the beginning of the year 513.

It made the cold chills creep over me! I stopped and said, a little faintly:

Maybe I didn’t hear you just right. Say it again—and say it slow. What year was it?

513.

513! You don’t look it! Come, my boy, I am a stranger and friendless; be honest and honorable with me. Are you in your right mind?

He said he was.

"Are these other people

Reviews for A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court (with an Introduction by E. Hudson Long)

[jscape2000 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Better as an audiobook than I remember. I’m sure it was clever in its day, but that doesn’t make it still good. Moralistic, preachy, and led with an awkward framing story.

[kamgeb · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A light hearted funny story about a modern man (from Mark Twain's time) who finds himself back in the time of King Arthur's Court. It is amusing. It shows what someone with today's knowledge of science could do in the middle ages. It also is VERY POLITICAL. Of course it talks about the politics in Middle Ages but also the politics in the 19th century. It has an absurdist humor to it.

[kawgirl · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A fun read.

[benuathanasia · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Like most readers, I everything I knew about this book came from pop-culture references. I was curious going into out the premise could be dragged out so long.Dragged is a poor word-choice in this case, as it didn't drag at all. The observations by both the main character those expected to be picked up by the reader were amusing and apt. I really enjoyed this - far moreso than I normally do with Twain's writing.

[harmless_dilettante · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

If you've only seen the Danny Kay adaptation, then don't judge this book by its movie. The novel is darker and deeper, with an outcome as inevitable as it is unlikely. Twain's witty take on the now classic, even cliched, time traveller tale is American Science Fiction at its best.

[mehjg-1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I enjoy Mark Twain's writing, but this book was so laden with anti-Catholic bias and historically inaccurate attacks on the Church and on the society of the Middle Ages that I found it totally unpalatable. I was very disappointed - even disgusted - by this book. I didn't finish reading it.

[shanaqui_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It was good to get my teeth into this, having meant to read it for a long time. I enjoyed the humour, and the political commentary, despite not agreeing with it and preferring (with a somewhat guilty pleasure) the shining chivalric version of Camelot to the dirt, ignorance and stupidity of this world. Parts of it felt very ranty and not like a story at all -- like the story was a vehicle for the political rants. Which is the way some authors work, and I suspect I'll find it in at least some of Twain's other work, when I revisit -- as a child, I didn't see it that way, but children tend not to.

There's lots of amusing ideas, and I kinda wish this was on my Arthurian Lit course to discuss -- I don't think it is, but you never know, I still might be able to write an essay on it...

It's definitely not so much about Arthur/Camelot as it is about Twain's own day, though. Don't be deceived.

[feelinglistless · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

With just a vague memory of the film adaptation starring Bing Crosby, some notion of the influences it has had on Doctor Who, and the cover illustration as a guide, I approached A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court expecting a typically structured but entertaining story of a man out of time and although Twain/Clemens’s tale begins in that mode, it quickly tips over into a far darker meandering satire on Western imperialism and industrialisation. The protagonist Hank Martin is a loathsome figure and even though the story’s told from his POV, I slowly became more and more protective of the Arthurian characters who barely seem to deserve the treatment the Yankee gives them. But that’s Twain/Clemens’s point I think; how the modern versions of us, apparently so sophisticated, are desperate to sap the magic from the world, be it in nature or man itself. A difficult read but a transportative one. This is psychogeographical literature.

[thornton37814 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

What happens when a man from 19th century Connecticut suddenly finds himself in the world of King Arthur? He tries to modernize the place, of course. It's a quite humorous look at a man who can outperform the magician Merlin by equipping them with useful gadgets like telephones. He even trains the armed forces with 19th century weaponry. I'm not a huge fan of time travel stories, but this one was just absurd enough to keep me laughing. Twain's imagination in this novel is certainly one of the things that probably endeared him so much as a 19th century humorist. I suspect that a 21st century Connecticut Yankee would be burned at the stake as a witch when he came up with the Internet and other inventions that have transpired in the 125 years or so since the writing of this work.

[cbl_tn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

When a “modern” 19th-century New Englander gets hit on the head and finds himself in King Arthur's England, it's obvious that there will be a clash of cultures. Hank Morgan doesn't think much of the average medieval person (or even the above average ones). From his “advantage” as a beneficiary of industrial age inventions, he sees the people of Camelot as simple-minded and superstitious. He does find one person with promise, a young man he calls Clarence. With Clarence's help, Hank surreptitiously embarks on an improvement plan to introduce the wonders of 19th-century technology into Arthurian Britain.Even though 19-century technology is no longer what anyone would consider modern, it's fun to see the anachronistic blending of distinct historical eras, such as knights wearing sandwich board ads or competing against each other in baseball. Twain lived at the right time to tell this story. He couldn't have written the same book today. It's just believable that a 19th century man could train enough laborers to replicate 19th century technology as long as the raw materials were available. It would be much harder for a single 21st century man (or woman) to train medieval laborers to build a computer, a cell phone, a television, or an airplane, and connect them all with the Internet.I thought I had read this book years ago, but only the first few chapters seemed familiar to me. Maybe I started the book but didn't finish it. I listened to an unabridged audio version this time. It took a while for me to warm up to the narrator. Or maybe it took him a while to become fully invested in the story. I also discovered that some parts of the book don't work well in audio format. Twain uses archaic language and speech patterns when the medieval characters tell stories. These parts of the book are difficult to follow in audio format. I would encourage most readers to start with the book and save the audio version for a re-read.

[cyderry · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Mark Twain was considered a humorist during his lifetime and this book definitely shows his talent in that area. As the reader progresses through the adventure of Hank also known as "The Boss" we see items from the "future" being incorporated into the 6th century environment - knight's armor used as advertising billboards, newspaper (when most residents couldn't read), schools and factories.Slavery was a blatant issue throughout with both the Boss and Arthur ending the Slave market at one time. But the amusing details that Twain adds - Child's Name being HelloCentral, cycling knights instead of riding horses, pipe smoking seeming to be a dragon - all has the reader laughing and smiling throughout. I'm usually not a big fan of Classics, but this one was fun!

[kassilem · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I thought I would like this book. I like time travel and I like the legend of King Arthur. It didn't take very long however before I knew I wouldn't like it as much as I expected to. The big reason is that the narrator continually degrades the people of King Arthur's time as lacking intelligence. It's always brought up that he is the smarter one and everyone else is a bit slow. This bothered me. I don't believe in societies being more civilized or less primitive than other societies. As an anthropologist, it is a big deal for me that everyone realizes no societies is superior or inferior to any other society. Now I do realize that this book was written in the late 1800s, which was a time were unilineal evolution was very prevalent (Thinking that societies other than western society are inferior and that they are not yet civilized). And because of this I can see why this superiority is found throughout the book. It still bothers me. :) The book does bring up some very important issues about things like slavery, the effects of caste systems, and taxes. It turned out that was most of what the book was about; social commentary. I didn’t mind that all that much although it did seem to get slightly preachy. There are some fairy funny parts and overall it was an interesting story. But it didn’t really satisfy me. I do think it is a great classic book. There are tons of good discussions that could be pulled from it in classrooms or book discussions. I am glad I finally read it, even if I won’t ever read it again.

[benfulton · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

None of the other reviews have mentioned it, but I thought you needed a pretty strong stomach and a lack of empathy to get through all the tortures, deaths, and casual confinement of prisoners for decades. I read this book when I was about 14, and recently wanted to reread to see if my son would like it, but I think I must have read an abridged version. Way too sad for me.

[alanteder · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was good fun and had a surprising amount of social commentary whenever Hank (the Boss) Morgan was trying to educate his 6th century Britons on the evils of slavery, class structures and religious intolerance. Although you'll think of it all as a fantasy dream, the ending actually has plausible magician-like twist that provides an explanation for the "time forward" part of the trip.You of course have to suspend belief that a late 19th century American would be speaking any kind of a language that 6th century Britons would have understood. The compromise is that most speak a Le Morte D' Arthur kind of English and Hank every once and while has to explain his futuristic words in plain terms.I listened to the 2017 Audible Audio edition which had an excellent narration by Nick Offerman.

[jerry.yoakum · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Pretty clear where "Army of Darkness" got some inspiration. Don't worry, there is next to no similarities except for conceptual similarities. This was a really good book. Enjoyable to listen to and think about. I really liked the distinction that was made between men and Men. Good points on the importance of free thought, fairness, and the idea that institutions should serve mankind instead of the other way around.

[tikitu1reviews · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Funny, but the satire is pretty heavyhanded a lot of the time, and overwhelms the plain storytelling too much for me, especially in the last third or so.

[sandydog1_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Funny and clever, until the end at least. Why all that killing?

[andyray_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Twain's version of Gulliver's Travels, with wonderful satire on the nature of the modern world thrown in.

[elizajane_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An absolutely wonderful, humourous book. One of Twain's best.

[ysar_6 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I loved the idea of this tale. A man with full knowledge of modern marvels somehow travels back to a much less civilized time and wreaks havoc. But after the initial fascination wore off, it became a rather tedious read.The main character suddenly finds himself in medieval times, surrounded lunacy and superstition. A well-timed eclipse is the only thing that saves him from execution, and he then begins using his knowledge of modern conveniences to claim his position as a man of magic. Initially, it's fun and interesting, but it soon becomes one "magic" display after another, while the locals act like idiots, until the whole thing blows up and he finds himself back in the modern day. I suppose it would make for a good movie, but as much as I like Twain, I have to say I am more than finished with this book

[farnsworthk_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

While I admit there were several funny scenes in this book, overall it is bitter and boring. Twain was angry at the Catholic Church at this time and it shows. The premise is awesome, but it needed to be much shorter.

[delightedlibrarian · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I had to stop halfway through the book. Twain was too effective in this book. I couldn't stand him to the point that I had to stop reading.

[bricker-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Classic Twain with humor and observations that are still apt today.

[corinneblackmer · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Like The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Connecticut Yankee uses the literary and historical past to satirize the idealization of the medieval period and the fictions of Sir Walter Scott, which Twain held responsible for the willingness of the South to enter the failed cause of the Civil War. Hank Morgan works in an arms factory in modern day Hartford, Connecticut, but a blow to the head sends him back into the world of Camelot and King Arthur. Rather than idyllic, the world into which Hank enters reeks of superstition, cruelty, poverty, misery, and moral chaos, including slavery. The drama unfolds as the skill of Hank in manipulating physical reality transforms him into a demi-god, which in turns sparks his desire to eliminate, through all means necessary, the superstitious world that confronts him. This takes the form of a total war that before its time anticipates the carnage of WWI and the outcome of the clash between psychological ignorance and belief and modern scientific and technological "wizardry." Although the tone is occasionally clumsy, and although the book cannot hold a candle to masterpieces by Twain such as Huckleberry Finn or The Mysterious Stranger, Connecticut Yankee contains one passage, about the nastiness of attempting to live inside armor that is so hilarious it brings tears to the eyes.

[infotechhs · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I loved this book. It was short and funny.

[john257hopper · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Overall I found this disappointing. It had a few good bits in it, where the author/narrator rails against oppression and injustice and a few moving and horrifying scenes depicting said oppression and injustice. However, these were surrounded by oceans of silliness in which the author is preoccupied with reproducing the details, both good and bad, of 19th century American society into 6th century England (of course, it is not really 6th century England, as it is the Thomas Malory depiction of King Arthur in the style of high Medieval chivalry). Despite his self-proclaimed lofty ideals and opposition to the violence of the era, the narrator uses violence himself and casually causes the deaths of 25,000 knights in the final battle. This may be authorial comment on 19th century white American treatment of the native American and Black populations, but I rather doubt it - it all seems too trivial to be satirical.

[mojacobs · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I picked up this book in a second hand shop, because I was curious what Twain would have made of this nice idea: a technically well educated 19th century man in the court of Arthur. I did not expect too much, and I was right to: the story is secondary to the political messages in this book, and the story is not very interesting. I read a lot of it diagonally - the book is very slow in places. A bit disappointing, and I wonder if this will stay a "classic" - I think it might quietly disappear in the mists of time.”

[jessiqa_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Considering that I am a fan of Mark Twain and that I have a deep and abiding love of all things Arthurian, it's a bit surprising that it took me so long to read A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. The story is bookended by Mark Twain himself describing his encounter with Hank Morgan, the titular Yankee, who gives Twain a manuscript of his experience in 6th-century England--King Arthur's England. Hank is a 19th-century man just like Twain but one day finds himself in the 6th Century and promptly captured by Sir Kay. He is thrown in prison and sentenced to death, but by learning the date, he knows that a solar eclipse will occur the following day and uses this knowledge to position himself as a great wizard. Merlin is naturally miffed, and the two are rivals from that time forward.Through his wisdom and influence upon King Arthur and the nation, he earns the title of The Boss. He cares nothing for the Temporal Prime Directive and sets about creating his own pocket of the 19th century within the 6th. He establishes a newspaper, a telephone service, gun factories, a standing army, a navy, sandwich board advertising, and many more innovations. All throughout The Boss displays a mixture of disdain and amusement toward the people and customs around him. I had hoped that he might be brought down a peg or two for his hubris, but apparently this wasn't that sort of story. His commentary is often funny though, making this a bit like RiffTrax: King Arthur edition. As some of the jokes are about the way that the people of Arthur's England talk (based on the way that medieval writers wrote), it's probably funnier if you're already familiar with the medieval style of narration in these sort of tales of chivalry. Twain even lifts whole sections of description directly from Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur.The Boss is a hard character to like, in that he enjoys humiliating people and is rarely forgiving of how the people of the 6th century think and believe, given their education, or lack thereof. That said, I still enjoyed the book. Near the end, when it came to describing the events that led to King Arthur's death (despite the fact that it took a mere two pages to do so and it generally takes several chapters in most Arthurian tales), I couldn't help but be caught up in the emotion of it all. That part of Arthur's story always gets to me though, perhaps because my first introduction to Arthurian literature was part of a packet handed out by my Brit Lit teacher in high school: the final chapter of T.H. White's The Once and Future King, in which the old King thinks back on his life, his achievements and failures, and all that has led up to this final battle, which he knows he will not survive. It breaks my heart every time. A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court can be a little dense at times, but I definitely recommend it to anyone wishing to read a book that pokes fun at the oft-times serious genre of medieval romance.

[sgerbic · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A delightful humorous account of time travel by Mark Twain. Reading a work from the 1880's by an author writing in the "style" of England in the 6th Century was at times difficult to understand. Twain's humor shielded in serious dialog made it even more difficult. But nonetheless I did enjoy reading Twain's views on slavery, economy, health, chivalry, and religion from eyes that had just seen the bloody American Civil War. The accounts of his character hank's interactions of slavery were heart wrenching as well as the stories of poverty, illness and injustice. Twain's goal in this work was to ridicule chivalry, some say because of Southern attitudes towards chivalry during the war. I expected many great quotes, but only this one stood out, "My acquaintance smiled - not a modern smile, but one that must have gone out of general use many, many centuries ago." (p, 16) And one more, Hank has just met Clarance who informs hank he is a page, "Go 'long, I said; "you ain't more than a paragraph." (p.28)01-2010

[fredb_48 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Mark Twain's classic tale of culture clash. The narrator was great.