play, contrasted with this mysterious and awful battle of the gods. Yes,
all the world knew it was going to be in reality a duel between Merlin and me, a
measuring of his magic powers against mine. It was known that Merlin had been
busy whole days and nights together, imbuing Sir Sagramour's arms and armor with
supernal powers of offence and defence, and that he had procured for him from
the spirits of the air a fleecy veil which would render the wearer invisible to
his antagonist while still visible to other men. Against Sir Sagramour, so
weaponed and protected, a thousand knights could accomplish nothing; against him
no known enchantments could prevail. These facts were sure; regarding them there
was no doubt, no reason for doubt. There was but one question: might there be
still other enchantments, unknown to Merlin, which could render Sir Sagramour's
veil transparent to me, and make his enchanted mail vulnerable to my weapons?
This was the one thing to be decided in the lists. Until then the world must
remain in suspense.
    So the world thought there was a vast matter at stake here, and the world
was right; but it was not the one they had in their minds. No, a far vaster one
was upon the cast of this die: the life of knight-errantry. I was a champion, it
was true, but not the champion of the frivolous black arts, I was the champion
of hard, unsentimental, common-sense and reason. I was entering the lists to
either destroy knight-errantry or be its victim.
    Vast as the show-grounds were, there were no vacant spaces in them outside
of the lists, at ten o'clock on the morning of the 16th. The mammoth grand stand
was clothed in flags, streamers, and rich tapestries, and packed with several
acres of small-fry tributary kings, their suites, and the British aristocracy,
with our own royal gang in the chief place, and each and every individual a
flashing prism of gaudy silks and velvets - well, I never saw anything to begin
with it but a fight between an Upper Mississippi sunset and the aurora borealis.
The huge camp of beflagged and gay-colored tents at one end of the lists, with a
stiff-standing sentinel at every door, and a shining shield hanging by him for
challenge, was another fine sight. You see, every knight was there who had any
ambition or any caste feeling; for my feeling toward their order was not much of
a secret, and so here was their chance. If