Fencing, which today seems to be one of the most archaic of sports, is in fact a relatively modern art. Paradoxically, it resulted from the invention of gunpowder, for until then swords men had always flailed away with weapons that looked and hefted more like crowbars than épées. By the 16th century, Italian gallants had developed a light, delicately balanced rapier with the sharp point that enabled them to thrust instead of slice with the blade. Thus was born true swordsmanship. It was a century later, at the court of France's Sun King, that the long, trailing rapier yielded to the short-sword, and harmless foils were first used to master the new weapon's swift and deadly skills.
Debate in Steel. In the 18th century Hungarians introduced the modern saber, a descendant of the Mohammedans' curved scimitar, and by mid-19th century, Italians were dueling with the épée. Fencing, the swift and subtle debate in steel, had come of age.
Fashionable as it was among Europe's silk-hosed aristocrats, fencing never really caught on in the leather-stockinged American colonies. "When the settlers came to America," explains Ed Lucia, a top U.S. fencing coach, "they came with an ax, not with a sword." Even today many Americans consider the sport effete—incorrectly, for swordsmanship throughout history has been equated with valor, stamina, agility. Fencing is still dominated by the swordsmen of Europe. Frenchmen have won individual foils in seven of the last 13 Olympic competitions. Italian Olympians have won the last six individual épée gold medals; even more remarkable, the Hungarians have won the team saber title in every Olympics since 1928, and failed to win only one individual gold medal in the past 56 years.
The Well-Tempered Blade. Nonetheless, fencing in the U.S. today is a fast-rising sport. Thanks to the electrified blade point, which causes a light to flash when contact is made, scoring is no longer a matter of subjective judgment. The loud cries and balletic fencing that often influenced judges has given way to rough-and-tumble dueling that demands physical conditioning as tough as any football player's. Princeton's would-be D'Artagnans start training each day with five 220-yd. laps around the gym and 15 rugged minutes of calisthenics. Then, after a 20-minute lesson and 90 minutes of free fencing, they go ten more laps, two of them running backwards.
Two weeks ago in Cambridge, Mass., such tempering paid off. In the biggest, most proficient championships ever, Princeton's aggressive, three-man team beat 37 challengers to take the national collegiate fencing title away from Columbia. Princeton's team captain, National Foil Champion Bill Hicks, was a nine-letter man in three sports in high school, turned down an offer from baseball's St. Louis Cardinals to go on to college. By meet's end, Fencing Mentor Lucia's C.C.N.Y. team was down in 15th place, but Lucia himself—former U.S. team coach for the world championships—was named U.S. collegiate fencing coach of the year, presented with the double edged ceremonial sword symbolic of the title. On the sword's handle is a carving of Janus, the two-headed Roman god who looks both to the future and to the past. With blades like Princeton's, U.S. fencing may have a future, at that.