The Boss

To be vested with enormous authority is a fine thing; but to have the on-looking world consent to it is a finer. The tower episode solidified my power, and made it impregnable. If any were perchance disposed to be jealous and critical before that, they experienced a change of heart, now. There was not any one in the kingdom who would have considered it good judgment to meddle with my matters.

Having enormous authority is a fine thing, but having the world accept it is even better. The tower episode secured my power and made it unshakable. Anyone who might have been jealous and critical before now had a change of heart. No one in the kingdom would have thought it wise to meddle in my affairs.

I was fast getting adjusted to my situation and circumstances. For a time, I used to wake up, mornings, and smile at my “dream,” and listen for the Colt’s factory whistle; but that sort of thing played itself out, gradually, and at last I was fully able to realize that I was actually living in the sixth century, and in Arthur’s court, not a lunatic asylum. After that, I was just as much at home in that century as I could have been in any other; and as for preference, I wouldn’t have traded it for the twentieth. Look at the opportunities here for a man of knowledge, brains, pluck, and enterprise to sail in and grow up with the country. The grandest field that ever was; and all my own; not a competitor; not a man who wasn’t a baby to me in acquirements and capacities; whereas, what would I amount to in the twentieth century? I should be foreman of a factory, that is about all; and could drag a seine down street any day and catch a hundred better men than myself.

I was quickly getting used to my situation. For a while, I would wake up in the morning, smile at my “dream,” and listen for the Colt’s factory whistle. But I gradually stopped doing that. At last, I could fully accept that I was really living in the sixth century, at Arthur’s court, not in a mental hospital. After that, I felt as much at home in that century as I could have felt in any other. Given the choice, I wouldn’t have traded it for the twentieth. Just look at the opportunities here for a man with knowledge, brains, courage, and ambition to jump in and grow up with the country. It was the greatest field of opportunity there ever was, and it was all mine. I had no competition. Every other man was a baby compared with me in knowledge and ability. But what would I amount to in the twentieth century? I would be a factory foreman, and that’s about all. On any day, I could drag a fishing net down the street and catch a hundred men better than myself.

What a jump I had made! I couldn’t keep from thinking about it, and contemplating it, just as one does who has struck oil. There was nothing back of me that could approach it, unless it might be Joseph’s case; and Joseph’s only approached it, it didn’t equal it, quite. For it stands to reason that as Joseph’s splendid financial ingenuities advantaged nobody but the king, the general public must have regarded him with a good deal of disfavor, whereas I had done my entire public a kindness in sparing the sun, and was popular by reason of it.

What a leap I had made! I couldn’t stop thinking about it, just like someone who has struck oil. Nothing in the past could compare with it, except perhaps Joseph’s case. But even Joseph’s case only came close. It didn’t quite equal mine. After all, Joseph’s brilliant financial schemes benefited nobody but the king. So it stands to reason that the general public must have disliked him quite a bit. I, on the other hand, had done my whole public a kindness by sparing the sun. That made me popular.

I was no shadow of a king; I was the substance; the king himself was the shadow. My power was colossal; and it was not a mere name, as such things have generally been, it was the genuine article. I stood here, at the very spring and source of the second great period of the world’s history; and could see the trickling stream of that history gather and deepen and broaden, and roll its mighty tides down the far centuries; and I could note the upspringing of adventurers like myself in the shelter of its long array of thrones: De Montforts, Gavestons, Mortimers, Villierses; the war-making, campaign-directing wantons of France, and Charles the Second’s scepter-wielding drabs; but nowhere in the procession was my full-sized fellow visible. I was a Unique; and glad to know that that fact could not be dislodged or challenged for thirteen centuries and a half, for sure. Yes, in power I was equal to the king. At the same time there was another power that was a trifle stronger than both of us put together. That was the Church. I do not wish to disguise that fact. I couldn’t, if I wanted to. But never mind about that, now; it will show up, in its proper place, later on. It didn’t cause me any trouble in the beginning—at least any of consequence.

I was no shadow of a king. I was the real thing, and the king himself was the shadow. My power was enormous. And it was not power in name only, as such power has generally been. It was the genuine article. I stood here, at the very source of the second great period of world history. I could see its trickling stream gather strength, deepen, and widen. I could see its mighty tides roll down through the distant centuries. And I could see adventurers like myself springing up under the protection of its long line of thrones: De Montforts, Gavestons, Mortimers, Villierses. There were the mistresses of France who made wars and directed campaigns, and Charles the Second’s whores who wielded his scepter. But nowhere in that procession could I see anyone quite my equal. I was unique. And I was glad to know that, for thirteen and a half centuries at least, nobody could challenge that fact. Yes, in power I was equal to the king. At the same time, there was another power a little stronger than both of us put together. That was the Church. I don’t want to hide that fact. I couldn’t if I wanted to. But never mind the Church for now. It will appear in its proper place later on. It didn’t cause me any trouble at first, at least none worth mentioning.

Well, it was a curious country, and full of interest. And the people! They were the quaintest and simplest and trustingest race; why, they were nothing but rabbits. It was pitiful for a person born in a wholesome free atmosphere to listen to their humble and hearty outpourings of loyalty toward their king and Church and nobility; as if they had any more occasion to love and honor king and Church and noble than a slave has to love and honor the lash, or a dog has to love and honor the stranger that kicks him! Why, dear me, any kind of royalty, howsoever modified, any kind of aristocracy, howsoever pruned, is rightly an insult; but if you are born and brought up under that sort of arrangement you probably never find it out for yourself, and don’t believe it when somebody else tells you. It is enough to make a body ashamed of his race to think of the sort of froth that has always occupied its thrones without shadow of right or reason, and the seventh-rate people that have always figured as its aristocracies—a company of monarchs and nobles who, as a rule, would have achieved only poverty and obscurity if left, like their betters, to their own exertions.

Well, it was a curious country, full of interest. And the people! They were the oddest, simplest, most trusting race. Why, they were nothing but rabbits. It was pitiful for someone born in a healthy atmosphere of freedom to hear them. They spoke so humbly and sincerely of their loyalty to their king, Church, and nobility. As if they had any more reason to love and honor the king, Church, and nobles than a slave has to love and honor the whip, or a dog has to love and honor a stranger who kicks him! Why, dear me, any kind of royalty is an insult, no matter how much it is changed. The same is true of any kind of aristocracy, no matter how much it is trimmed back. But if you are born and raised under that arrangement, you probably never discover that for yourself. And you don't believe it when someone else tells you. It is enough to make a person ashamed of his race. Just think of the worthless people who have always occupied its thrones without the slightest right or reason. And think of the seventh-rate people who have always made up its aristocracies. As a rule, those monarchs and nobles would have achieved nothing but poverty and obscurity if they had been left to their own efforts, like their betters.

The most of King Arthur’s British nation were slaves, pure and simple, and bore that name, and wore the iron collar on their necks; and the rest were slaves in fact, but without the name; they imagined themselves men and freemen, and called themselves so. The truth was, the nation as a body was in the world for one object, and one only: to grovel before king and Church and noble; to slave for them, sweat blood for them, starve that they might be fed, work that they might play, drink misery to the dregs that they might be happy, go naked that they might wear silks and jewels, pay taxes that they might be spared from paying them, be familiar all their lives with the degrading language and postures of adulation that they might walk in pride and think themselves the gods of this world. And for all this, the thanks they got were cuffs and contempt; and so poor-spirited were they that they took even this sort of attention as an honor.

Most of King Arthur’s British nation were slaves, pure and simple. They bore that name and wore iron collars around their necks. The rest were slaves in fact, but not in name. They imagined they were men and free, and called themselves so. The truth was that the nation as a whole existed for one purpose, and one purpose only: to grovel before the king, the Church, and the nobles. The people were there to slave for them and sweat blood for them. They were to starve so the king, the Church, and the nobles could be fed, and work so they could play. They were to drink misery to the last drop so their rulers could be happy. They were to go naked so their rulers could wear silks and jewels. They were to pay taxes so their rulers would be spared from paying them. All their lives, they were to use the degrading words and gestures of praise and submission. In this way, their rulers could walk proudly and think themselves the gods of this world. For all this, the people got blows and contempt in return. And they were so poor-spirited that they took even this kind of attention as an honor.

Inherited ideas are a curious thing, and interesting to observe and examine. I had mine, the king and his people had theirs. In both cases they flowed in ruts worn deep by time and habit, and the man who should have proposed to divert them by reason and argument would have had a long contract on his hands. For instance, those people had inherited the idea that all men without title and a long pedigree, whether they had great natural gifts and acquirements or hadn’t, were creatures of no more consideration than so many animals, bugs, insects; whereas I had inherited the idea that human daws who can consent to masquerade in the peacock-shams of inherited dignities and unearned titles, are of no good but to be laughed at. The way I was looked upon was odd, but it was natural. You know how the keeper and the public regard the elephant in the menagerie: well, that is the idea. They are full of admiration of his vast bulk and his prodigious strength; they speak with pride of the fact that he can do a hundred marvels which are far and away beyond their own powers; and they speak with the same pride of the fact that in his wrath he is able to drive a thousand men before him. But does that make him one of them? No; the raggedest tramp in the pit would smile at the idea. He couldn’t comprehend it; couldn’t take it in; couldn’t in any remote way conceive of it. Well, to the king, the nobles, and all the nation, down to the very slaves and tramps, I was just that kind of an elephant, and nothing more. I was admired, also feared; but it was as an animal is admired and feared. The animal is not reverenced, neither was I; I was not even respected. I had no pedigree, no inherited title; so in the king’s and nobles’ eyes I was mere dirt; the people regarded me with wonder and awe, but there was no reverence mixed with it; through the force of inherited ideas they were not able to conceive of anything being entitled to that except pedigree and lordship. There you see the hand of that awful power, the Roman Catholic Church. In two or three little centuries it had converted a nation of men to a nation of worms. Before the day of the Church’s supremacy in the world, men were men, and held their heads up, and had a man’s pride and spirit and independence; and what of greatness and position a person got, he got mainly by achievement, not by birth. But then the Church came to the front, with an axe to grind; and she was wise, subtle, and knew more than one way to skin a cat—or a nation; she invented “divine right of kings,” and propped it all around, brick by brick, with the Beatitudes—wrenching them from their good purpose to make them fortify an evil one; she preached (to the commoner) humility, obedience to superiors, the beauty of self-sacrifice; she preached (to the commoner) meekness under insult; preached (still to the commoner, always to the commoner) patience, meanness of spirit, non-resistance under oppression; and she introduced heritable ranks and aristocracies, and taught all the Christian populations of the earth to bow down to them and worship them.

Inherited ideas are curious things, interesting to observe and examine. I had mine, and the king and his people had theirs. In both cases, those ideas followed paths worn deep by time and habit. Anyone who tried to change them through reason and argument would have had a long job ahead. For example, those people had inherited the idea that anyone without a title and a long pedigree deserved no more consideration than an animal, a bug, or an insect. It made no difference whether the person had great natural gifts and accomplishments or not. I, on the other hand, had inherited a different idea. To me, human jackdaws who agreed to dress themselves up in the peacock disguises of inherited honors and unearned titles were good for nothing but laughter. The way people regarded me was odd, but natural. You know how the keeper and the public regard the elephant in a menagerie. Well, that was how they regarded me. They admire his enormous size and prodigious strength. They speak proudly of the hundred wonders he can perform, far beyond their own powers. With the same pride, they say that when he is angry, he can drive a thousand men before him. But does that make him one of them? No. Even the most ragged tramp in the crowd would smile at the idea. He could not understand it or take it in. He could not imagine it in any way at all. Well, to the king, the nobles, and the whole nation, down to the very slaves and tramps, I was just that kind of elephant, and nothing more. I was admired and feared, but only as an animal is admired and feared. An animal is not revered, and neither was I. I was not even respected. I had no pedigree or inherited title, so in the eyes of the king and nobles, I was mere dirt. The people regarded me with wonder and awe, but no reverence. Because of their inherited ideas, they could not imagine that anything deserved reverence except pedigree and lordship. There you see the hand of that awful power, the Roman Catholic Church. In just two or three centuries, it had turned a nation of men into a nation of worms. Before the Church became supreme in the world, men were men. They held their heads high and had a man's pride, spirit, and independence. Whatever greatness and position a person gained came mainly through achievement, not birth. But then the Church came to power, with an axe to grind. She was wise and subtle, and knew more than one way to skin a cat, or a nation. She invented the “divine right of kings” and supported it on all sides, brick by brick, with the Beatitudes. She twisted the Beatitudes away from their good purpose and used them to support an evil one. She preached humility, obedience to superiors, and the beauty of self-sacrifice (to the commoner). She preached meekness under insult (to the commoner). She preached patience, a lowly spirit, and submission to oppression (still to the commoner, always to the commoner). And she introduced hereditary ranks and aristocracies. She taught all the Christian populations of the earth to bow down to them and worship them.

Even down to my birth-century that poison was still in the blood of Christendom, and the best of English commoners was still content to see his inferiors impudently continuing to hold a number of positions, such as lordships and the throne, to which the grotesque laws of his country did not allow him to aspire; in fact, he was not merely contented with this strange condition of things, he was even able to persuade himself that he was proud of it. It seems to show that there isn’t anything you can’t stand, if you are only born and bred to it. Of course that taint, that reverence for rank and title, had been in our American blood, too—I know that; but when I left America it had disappeared—at least to all intents and purposes. The remnant of it was restricted to the dudes and dudesses. When a disease has worked its way down to that level, it may fairly be said to be out of the system.

Even in the century I was born in, that poison still ran through the blood of Christendom. The best English commoner was still content to see his inferiors brazenly holding positions like lordships and the throne. His country’s ridiculous laws did not allow him to aspire to those positions. In fact, he was not merely content with this strange state of affairs. He could even convince himself that he was proud of it. It seems there is nothing you can’t put up with if you are born and raised to it. Of course, that taint, that reverence for rank and title, had been in our American blood, too. I know that. But when I left America, it had disappeared, at least for all practical purposes. What remained of it was confined to the dudes and dudesses. When a disease has worked its way down to that level, it can fairly be called out of the system.

But to return to my anomalous position in King Arthur’s kingdom. Here I was, a giant among pigmies, a man among children, a master intelligence among intellectual moles: by all rational measurement the one and only actually great man in that whole British world; and yet there and then, just as in the remote England of my birth-time, the sheep-witted earl who could claim long descent from a king’s leman, acquired at second-hand from the slums of London, was a better man than I was. Such a personage was fawned upon in Arthur’s realm and reverently looked up to by everybody, even though his dispositions were as mean as his intelligence, and his morals as base as his lineage. There were times when he could sit down in the king’s presence, but I couldn’t. I could have got a title easily enough, and that would have raised me a large step in everybody’s eyes; even in the king’s, the giver of it. But I didn’t ask for it; and I declined it when it was offered. I couldn’t have enjoyed such a thing with my notions; and it wouldn’t have been fair, anyway, because as far back as I could go, our tribe had always been short of the bar sinister. I couldn’t have felt really and satisfactorily fine and proud and set-up over any title except one that should come from the nation itself, the only legitimate source; and such an one I hoped to win; and in the course of years of honest and honorable endeavor, I did win it and did wear it with a high and clean pride. This title fell casually from the lips of a blacksmith, one day, in a village, was caught up as a happy thought and tossed from mouth to mouth with a laugh and an affirmative vote; in ten days it had swept the kingdom, and was become as familiar as the king’s name. I was never known by any other designation afterward, whether in the nation’s talk or in grave debate upon matters of state at the council-board of the sovereign. This title, translated into modern speech, would be THE BOSS. Elected by the nation. That suited me. And it was a pretty high title. There were very few the’s, and I was one of them. If you spoke of the duke, or the earl, or the bishop, how could anybody tell which one you meant? But if you spoke of The King or The Queen or The Boss, it was different.

But to return to my strange position in King Arthur’s kingdom. Here I was, a giant among pigmies, a man among children, a master intelligence among intellectual moles. By any reasonable measure, I was the one truly great man in that whole British world. And yet, there and then, just as in the distant England of my birth, a sheep-brained earl was a better man than I was. He could trace his long descent from a king’s mistress, who had been acquired second-hand from the slums of London. In Arthur’s kingdom, everyone fawned over such a person and looked up to him with reverence. They did this even though his character was as mean as his intelligence, and his morals as base as his ancestry. There were times when he could sit down in the king’s presence, but I couldn’t. I could have gotten a title easily enough. It would have raised me a big step in everyone’s eyes, even the king’s, though he would have given it to me. But I didn’t ask for a title, and I turned one down when it was offered. Given my beliefs, I couldn’t have enjoyed it. And it wouldn’t have been fair anyway, because as far back as I could trace our family, we had always lacked the bar sinister, the mark of illegitimate birth. The only title that could have made me feel truly and satisfyingly proud and important would have come from the nation itself. The nation was the only legitimate source. I hoped to win such a title, and after years of honest and honorable effort, I did win it. I wore it with a deep and clean pride. One day, a blacksmith in a village casually gave me this title. Others took it up as a happy idea and passed it from mouth to mouth, laughing and voicing their approval. In ten days it had swept the kingdom and become as familiar as the king’s name. After that, I was never known by any other name, whether in everyday talk or in serious debates about state matters at the sovereign’s council table. In modern speech, this title would be THE BOSS. Elected by the nation. That suited me. And it was a pretty high title. There were very few the’s, and I was one of them. If you spoke of the duke, or the earl, or the bishop, how could anybody tell which one you meant? But if you spoke of The King or The Queen or The Boss, it was different.

Well, I liked the king, and as king I respected him—respected the office; at least respected it as much as I was capable of respecting any unearned supremacy; but as men I looked down upon him and his nobles—privately. And he and they liked me, and respected my office; but as an animal, without birth or sham title, they looked down upon me—and were not particularly private about it, either. I didn’t charge for my opinion about them, and they didn’t charge for their opinion about me: the account was square, the books balanced, everybody was satisfied.

Well, I liked the king, and I respected him as king. I respected the office, at least as much as I could respect any unearned authority. But as men, I looked down on him and his nobles, privately. The king and his nobles liked me, and they respected my office. But as an animal without noble birth or a fake title, they looked down on me. And they weren’t particularly private about it, either. I didn’t charge them for my opinion of them, and they didn’t charge me for theirs. The account was square, the books balanced, and everyone was satisfied.