The Princess Bride

by Уильям Голдман

  It was there that the six-fingered sword had been forged.

  Could it truly be the wonder of his world? Piccoli had heard of it for a decade, yearned to see it dance before he died. The greatest weapon since Excalibur and where was it now? Gone with the child Montoya from the house of Yeste. And where was that child?

  Piccoli had spent his entire long life training his mind, so that he had the ability to sit for a day in the middle of a mad battle and know nothing of the screams and slaughter going on around him. When he was in his mind, he was as if dead. And every morning at dawn he would go into his mind and stay there 'til noon. No power could disturb him.

  He had gone into his mind at dawn, one day, there to stay 'til the sun was highest—but on this one morning, at eight o'clock, a strangeness.

  He was in his mind as he always was at six and at seven and at half-past seven, and at quarter 'til eight, and ten 'til, and five and four and three—

  —and then Piccoli was pierced by something so dazzling even he had to open his eyes—

  —to see a young man approaching, tall, blade-thin, muscular, spring-legged, who was handsome enough but would have been more than that, save for the two scars that paralleled his cheeks—

  —who held such glory in his hands, the sun was dancing there.

  Piccoli could not breathe as the young man approached. "I want to see Mr. Piccoli, please."

  "I wish to see your sword."

  Piccoli trembled as he took it in his tiny hands. "What could you possibly want from me?" He could not take his eyes off the weapon. "You have the world here."

  Inigo told him.

  "You want me to teach you to control your mind?" Piccoli asked.

  Inigo nodded. "I have come from very far."

  "A waste, I fear. You are young. The young have not the patience. They are stupid. They think their bodies will save them."

  "Let me learn."

  "Pointless. Go wage your battle without me."

  "I beg you."

  Piccoli sighed. "All right. Let me show you how stupid you are. Answer my queries: what on all the earth do you want more than anything?"

  "Why, to kill the six-fingered man, of course."

  And with that Piccoli started screaming: "Wrong, wrong! Listen—see what I say." His voice grew soft, seductive. "The six-fingered man has his sword in his hand—he thrusts—see what I say, Montoya, watch the sword. He has thrust the sword toward your father, now the sword is entering your father's heart, Domingo's heart is shredded and you are ten and standing there, you are helpless, do you remember that moment? I command you, remember that moment! "

  Inigo could not stop his sudden tears.

  "Now you are watching him fall. Look—look at him—watch Domingo die—"

  Inigo began sobbing out of all control.

  "Tell me what you feel—"

  Inigo was barely able to speak the word: "Pain..."

  "Yes, right, of course, pain, killing pain. That's what you should want more than anything, an end to your pain."

  "...yes..."

  "That pain is with you, every moment every day?"

  "...yes..."

  "If you think of ending your pain, you will kill the six-fingered man. But if you only think revenge, he will kill you, because he has already taken the thing on earth you treasured most, and he will know that, and when you battle he will say things, he will taunt you, he will talk about your pathetic father and he will laugh at your love for a failure like Domingo, and you will scream in rage and your revenge will take control and you will attack blindly—and then he will cut you to pieces."

  Inigo saw it all, and it was true. He saw himself charging and heard himself screaming and then he felt the six-fingered man's sword as it entered his body, drove through his heart. "Please, do not let me lose to him," he finally managed to say.

  Piccoli looked at the shattered young man before him. He gently returned the six-fingered sword. "Go dry your tears, Montoya," he said at last. "We start your training in the morning..."

  IT WAS SAVAGE work. Inigo had never imagined it would be anything less, but Piccoli was merciless beyond human reckoning. For eight years Inigo had sprinted two hours each day, to make his legs muscular and strong. Now, with Piccoli he could not sprint at all. For eight years he had squeezed apple-size rocks two hours a day, so his wrists might deliver the death blow from any and all positions. Now, rock squeezing was banned. For eight years he had never skipped and dodged less than two hours a day so his legs would be quick. Now, no skipping, no dodging.

  Inigo's body, so lash-strong, so whippet-quick, the body he had shaped for lethal combat, the body that was the envy of most men. That body? Piccoli hated it. "Your body is your enemy while you are with me," Piccoli explained. "We must weaken it for now. It is the only way you can grow your mind. As long as you think you can fight your way out of trouble, you will never be able to fight your way out of trouble."

  For eight years Inigo had gotten by on four hours' sleep. Now, that was all he did. Sleep. Doze. Rest. Snooze. He catnapped under orders, siestaed constantly. It seemed to him he was grabbing forty winks every time eighty winks had gone by. And while resting, he had to think about his mind.

  Weeks passed. He was sleeping twelve hours a day at first, then fifteen. Piccoli's goal was a fat twenty, and Inigo knew the torture would never stop until his goal was reached. He did nothing but lie there and think about his mind.

  His only job was to think about his mind. Get acquainted with it, learn its ways.

  His sole exercise was fifteen minutes each day while the sun went down. Piccoli would send him outside, the sword in hand. And nod. Just once. And Inigo would flash in the dying light, the sword alive, and his body would leap and duck and the shadows moved like ghosts. Piccoli was very old, but once he had seen Bastia and this was Bastia again, alive again on earth.

  One more nod from the tiny ancient head and back to rest. To bed. To lie there and think about his mind.

  And it went that way until the day Piccoli had to go to the village for provisions. Inigo was alone in the stone house, and then there were soft footsteps approaching, and a soft voice, enquiring for the owner, and then Inigo was alone no longer. He looked toward the figure framed in the doorway, stood. And spoke these most remarkable and unexpected words:

  "I cannot marry you."

  She looked at him. "Have we met, sire?"

  "In my dreams."

  "And we decided not to marry? What strange dreams from such a young fellow."

  "No younger than you."

  "You work for Piccoli?"

  Inigo shook his head. "Mostly I sleep for Piccoli. Come closer?"

  "I have no choice."

  "You work in the castle?"

  "I have lived there all my life. My mother too."

  "Inigo Montoya of Spain. You...?" He waited for her name. He knew it would be a wondrous name, a name he would remember forever.

  "Giulietta, sire."

  "Do you think me strange, Giulietta?"

  "I'd be pretty dopey if I didn't," Giulietta said. Before adding, "sire."

  "Do you feel your heart at this moment? I feel mine."

  "I'd be pretty dopey if I didn't," Giulietta said. Her black eyes studied his face so closely before she said, "I think you better tell me of your dreams."

  Inigo began. He told of the slaughter and his scars, and how, when he had healed he had begun his quest. And how wandering through the world, town to city to village, alone, always that, sometimes he made up companions since there were none really for company.

  And when he was perhaps thirteen, there was a someone always waiting for him at the end of the day. As he grew up and older, she grew older, too, the girl, and she would be there, always there, and they would eat scraps together for dinner and sleep in haylofts in each other's arms, and her black eyes were so kind when they looked at him. "As your eyes are kind now, as you look at me, and her black hair tumbled down as I can see yours now, tumbling down, and yo
u have kept me blessed company all these years, Giulietta, and I love you and I will forever, but I cannot, and I hope you understand, because my quest comes first, above all else, even with what I see in your eyes, I cannot marry you."

  She was so obviously touched. Inigo knew that. Inigo saw that he had moved her deeply. He waited for her reply.

  Finally Giulietta said, "Do you tell that story often? I'll bet the village girls go nuts over you." She turned toward the door then. "Go try it on them." And she was gone.

  The next morning before he went into his mind, she was back. "Let me get this thing straight, Inigo—we had scraps for dinner? I'm in your fantasy and the best you can come up with is scraps?" She turned toward the door then. "You have no chance of winning my heart."

  Inigo went back into his mind.

  The next noon she poked him awake. "Let me get this straight, Inigo—we slept in haylofts? You couldn't even come up with a clean room at an inn? Do you know how scratchy haylofts are?" She turned toward the door then. "You have less chance of winning my heart today than you had yesterday."

  Inigo went back into his mind.

  The next dusk she stood in the doorway. It was just before his fifteen minutes of movement, and she said, "How do I know you're going to find this six-fingered man? And how do I know you can beat him? What if I took some kind of weird pity on you and waited and then he won?"

  "That is my nightmare. That is why I study."

  She pointed at his sword. "Are you any good with that thing?"

  Inigo went outside and danced with the six-fingered sword in the dying light. He tried hard to be particularly dazzling and ended with a special flourish taught him years before by MacPherson in Scotland. It involved a spin and a sword toss and ended with a bow.

  "Impressive stuff, Inigo, I admit it," she said when he was done. "But what happens after you find this guy and run him through? How are you going to earn a living? Doing stunts like that? What do you expect me to do, play the tambourine and gather the crowd? You have so little chance of winning my heart, there is no point to our ever seeing each other again. Good-by."

  Watching her leave there was no question: Inigo's heart was aching....

  SHE DID NOT return 'til the night of the Ball. Inigo could not help but hear the music pouring out of the castle down through the night. Musicians had been practicing for days. Suddenly Giulietta was there, beckoning. "It's so beautiful," she whispered. "I thought you might want to see. I can sneak you in, but you must do exactly what I say—it will go badly if we are found out."

  They raced through the long shadows, paused only briefly outside the kitchen—then she nodded and they were inside and she pointed left to show that was their way, then right, and he followed 'til the ballroom itself stood before them.

  It was a sight beyond his conceiving. A room of such size, such elegance, with flowers to fill a forest and musicians playing softly. Inigo stared—and kept staring—until he heard a gasp and Giulietta whispered, "Oh, no, the Count is here. I must go, get behind the door."

  Inigo slipped behind the door, wondering how horrible the punishment was for sneaking into a castle, for peering in rooms only the mighty should behold. He closed his eyes and made a silent prayer that the Count would never see him.

  He opened his eyes to nightmare: the Count was staring at him. An old, old man. Dressed in such magnificence. With a look of such disdain. And a voice of shattering power.

  "You," he began, his rage already building, "are a thief!"

  "I have never stolen—" Inigo started to say.

  "Who are you?"

  Inigo could not get the words out. "Ummmm ... Montoya. Inigo Montoya of Arabella, Spain."

  "A Spaniard? In my house? I shall have to fumigate!" And then the Count came close. "How did you get in here?"

  "Someone brought me. But I will never reveal her name. Punish me, do anything you will with me, but her name will always be a secret from you." Then he gasped as Giulietta stood in a distant doorway. He gestured for her to run, but the Count's turn was too fast and he saw. "Do nothing to her," Inigo cried out. "She has lived here all her life as did her mother before her."

  "Her mother was my wife," the Count roared, loudest of all. "You pathetic excuse for a money-grubbing fool, you disgrace to the face of the world." And with a shriek of disgust he turned and was gone.

  Giulietta was beside Inigo then, so excited. "Daddy likes you," she said.

  THEY DANCED THROUGH the night. They held each other as lovers do. Inigo, with all of his study of movement, swirled like a light-footed dream and Giulietta had been trained since childhood for such things, and the musicians had played for fat dukes and grotesque merchants but now, looking at this dark couple hardly touching ground, they realized their music had to match the dancers.

  Even today, all the servants in the Castle Cardinale remember the sound of that music.

  Of course, before the spinning and the holding, there were a few minor points that needed a bit of ironing out.

  "Daddy likes you," Giulietta said, watching as her father stormed away.

  "Time out," Inigo said. "If you're his daughter, that makes you a Countess. And if you are a Countess that makes you a liar, because you said you were a servant. And if you're a liar, I cannot trust you, because there is no excuse for lying, especially when you knew of my dreams and my love. And so I must say farewell." He started to go.

  "One thing?" This from Giulietta.

  "More lies?"

  "You judge. Yes, I am a Countess. Yes, I lied. It is not all that easy being me. I do not expect sympathy but you must hear my side. I am one of the richest women on earth. In the eyes of many men, one of the more attractive. I am also, please believe me, and I know it sounds arrogant, but I am also wise and tender and kind. I did not dress as a servant girl to fool you. I always dress as a servant girl. To try and find truth. Every eligible noble for a thousand miles has come to the castle. To ask my father for my hand. They say they want my happiness, but they only want my money. And all I want is love."

  Inigo said nothing.

  She took a step so she was closer. Then another so she was beside him. Then she whispered quickly, "When you came here with your dream, you won my heart. But I had to wait. To think. And now I have thought." She gestured for the musicians to play even more beautifully. "This is our party. We are the only guests. I did all this to please you, and if you do not kiss my mouth, Inigo Montoya of Spain, I will more than likely die."

  How could he not obey her?

  They danced through the night. Ohhh, how they danced. Inigo and Giulietta. And they embraced. And he kissed her mouth and her tumbling hair. And Inigo felt, for the first time since the dying, such happiness. It had fled from him, happiness, and when you spend years without, you forget that no blessing compares....

  ***

  Guess what? It stops there. Bang, the little riff on happiness, end of section.

  I call this the 'Unexplained Inigo Fragment.' And what Peter objected to, as well as the fact that he finds it confusing, is simply this: nothing happens.

  He's right, in a strictly narrative way. But I feel that here, for the first time, Morgenstern shows us the human side of Inigo so we know he's more than just this Spanish Revenge Machine. (Frankly, I wish I had known this part existed before I read The Princess Bride.) I don't think I could have cared any more deeply than I did, but my God, what poor Inigo gave up to honor his father! Think about it. We all have fantasies, right?

  You think before I met and married her I carried about this vision of Helen, my genius shrink wife? Of course not. But here Inigo has made this perfect creature for his own heart—and he finds her. And she loves him back.

  And they part.

  That's an assumption of mine, I know. But since we are told Inigo had a heavy heart when he reached Despair (and he came there from Italy), I have to go that way.

  I included this section here for a very simple reason: I think it's Morgenstern at his best. I ran it by Ki
ng, of course, and he felt I had to include it, since Morgenstern did. He also put me in touch with this professor cousin he has at Florin University—the son of the lady who runs the great restaurant. And this cousin, a Morgenstern expert, feels that the confusion on my part is my fault. That if I'd done sufficient scholarly preparation, I would understand Morgenstern's symbolism, and would therefore know that plenty happens here. Namely, according to this cousin anyway, it is here that Inigo first learns that Humperdinck has set a plan in motion to kidnap Westley and Buttercup's first child, right after it's born. And then Inigo has to race back to One Tree and stop that from happening. King's cousin says this Unexplained Inigo Fragment isn't a fragment at all, but a completed part of the whole of the novel.

  I don't get any of that; if you do, great. And while you're at it, decide if you think I was right or not, including it. If you disagree, that's OK. All I know is my heart was pure....

  3. Buttercup and Westley

  THE FOUR GREAT horses seemed almost to fly toward Florin Channel.

  "It appears to me as if we're doomed, then," Buttercup said.

  Westley looked at her. "Doomed, madam?"

  "To be together. Until one of us dies."

  "I've done that already, and I haven't the slightest intention of ever doing it again," Westley said.

  Buttercup looked at him. "Don't we sort of have to sometime?"

  "Not if we promise to outlive each other, and I make that promise now."

  Buttercup looked at him. "Oh my Westley, so do I."

  From behind them suddenly, closer than they had imagined, they could hear the roar of Humperdinck: "Stop them! Cut them off!" They were, admittedly, startled, but there was no reason for worry: they were on the fastest horses in the kingdom, and the lead was already theirs.

  However, this was before Inigo's wound reopened, and Westley relapsed again, and Fezzik took the wrong turn, and Buttercup's horse threw a shoe. And the night behind them was filled with the crescendoing sound of pursuit....