FLOWER O' THE PEACH
Now for a tale illustrative
That shall delight my passion for romance,
Embodying hints authentic of some theme
* * *
Or incident that to my knowledge came
When sojourning abroad, the background true;
Like to some faded tapestry retouched
With the seductive broidery-work of fancy.
ANON--altered.
I
Let the trovere ease her conscience at the outset--the tale about to be
recorded is _over_ true.
Even as there was more truth than called for in the testimony of that
ingenious witness who, being adjured by the judge to speak the truth,
replied: "Of a surety, your honor, that will I, the truth, the whole
truth, and--a little more."
But the little more which I shall give you is peradventure the truest
part of my tale; for, though you will find it not in the chronicles of
such historiographers as give their quills solely to statecraft and
wars, yet it lies like a pressed flower between the musty leaves of the
_novellini_ of Franco Sacchetti and of Ser Giovanni Fiorentino, who
relate with great particularity the artifice by which the head of the
house of the Aldobrandini won his bride.
Let who will carp that in combining matter from various sources I have
followed the example of those unscrupulous antiquaries who, discovering
an antique statue, straightway replace its missing parts by others lying
near at hand, or, more criminal still, complete it according to the
whims of their own fancy.
To that accusation needs must that I plead at the outset _mea culpa_,
advancing only that the original torso as well as the legs and arms
which I have made free to assemble are still preserved, properly
ticketed, in the museum of history, while for him who cavils with the
authenticity of this "restoration" the buried palaces of the ancient
world patiently await exhumation to yield to each body its own
particular members, and to each excavator his own treasure trove.
[Illustration: _Alinari_
Villa Aldobrandini, Frascati. The Grand Cascade and Fountain of Atlas]
Let thus much suffice for apology--now to our legend.
In the Court of the Cascade of that most magnificent of the Frascati
villas, namely that of the Aldobrandini, whoso lists may see to-day two
fountains; the greater, figuring the demigod Atlas, well-nigh crushed
under the weight of our terrestrial globe, is niched conspicuously to
the fore of the grand terrace; but the other is in a hidden pleasance,
and is but a lop-sided vase, considered to have settled thus awry from
the natural subsidence of the soil rather than to have been so placed by
design. Nevertheless, our legend will have this to have been done a
purpose; and there are no acts in all the annals of that illustrious
house more chivalrous or magnanimous than those supposed to be
commemorated by this fountain of Atlas and its fellow of the Spilling
Cup.
And first of Atlas Aldobrandino, lord of that fair estate and many
others in that dim time centuries before the building of the villa.
Atlas was he named not at his baptism, but half in admiration, half in
derision by his mates, for his burliness of body and his inordinate
greediness of all kinds, for he coveted, say they, the entire earth,
clutched at a mighty part thereof, and what he seized upheld manfully.
Beside his Italian possessions he was lord of the whole of Venisi in
Southern France adjoining fair Provence, and though a bachelor of
upwards of seventy-one winters found himself mightily distraught with
love for the fair daughter of his neighbour, the figures of whose age
exactly reversed his own.
Many lords, counts, and barons were sighing suitors for her regard, and
when Aldobrandino, prefacing his request with lavish gifts of steeds,
falcons, and hounds, besought her hand of the great Count of Provence,
her father, the latter, not wishing to offend him, replied:
"I would willingly give her to you, were it not that it might seem
strange to the multitude of young knights eighteen to twenty years of
age now in pursuit of her, lords of Baux, of Toulouse, of Perpignan, and
vavasours of the great Emperor beyond the Rhone, who might all join
together and fall upon me. It is my one desire to live at peace with my
neighbours and to this end I have had to fight many hard battles.
Moreover, the girl herself may have her eye set upon some one of those
fresher sparks who are continually fluttering about her."
[Illustration: _Alinari_
Upper Cascade, Villa Aldobrandini]
"Friend," returned Aldobrandino, "be not anxious as to the event, for I
will devise a method of arranging the affair amicably with our young
friends."
We are informed that the enamoured Aldobrandino slept not a wink that
night, but concocted a wileful scheme which he confided to his friend.
"Do you announce a tournament at which whoever desires the honour of
your daughter's hand, and is of a rank and wealth sufficient to warrant
such pretension, shall have cordial welcome to fight, and in God's name
let her be the prize of the victor."
This proposition appealed to the lord of Provence, for it seemed a fair
one to which none of his warlike neighbours could object. Moreover, it
was even generous, coming as it did from Aldobrandino, who, though he
had been a doughty knight in his day, could now scarcely sit his saddle
for corpulency or aim a straight lance-thrust with his shaking arm.
The lists were made ready at Arles, heralds sent into all countries near
and far, and the tournament given out for the first of May following.
But Aldobrandino was more wily than appeared. He had no over-confidence
in his own prowess, and he sent immediately to the King of France, with
whom he was closely allied, begging him to lend him to act as his
champion for this occasion his most doughty knight, the most invincible
that could be met with in all feats of arms. In consideration of his
esteem for Aldobrandino the King sent him his favourite cavalier
Ricciardo (of whom much more hereafter), who, arriving at the castle of
the aged lover thus reported himself:
"I am sent," quoth he, "by my royal master to act in whatever capacity
may be most agreeable to you. Give your orders, therefore; it is my
devoir to execute them manfully."
"Then hear me," explained Aldobrandino. "It is my wish that you should
carry all before you at this tournament until I ride into the field,
when I will engage you, and you must suffer yourself to be vanquished,
so that I may remain the victor of the day."
Thus far have we followed with exact circumstantiality the relation of
the Italian writers before mentioned, to which also we shall later
return; but let us, for the sake of novelty in the telling of an old
story, for a little space change our view-point and give the play as it
was acted before the eyes of the fair lady who was herself its heroine.
Sancie was her name, or, if you will, Sanchia, third of the four fair
daughters of Raymond Berenger, Count of Provence, who had the singular
fortune to marry each of the four to a king.
Perilous seemed this honour to this future father-in-law of monarchs, as
he admitted to his friend, Romeo de Villeneuve, what time he ceded to
St. Louis of France the strong castle of Tarascon as the dowry of his
daughter Marguerite. But Villeneuve very shrewdly consoled him. "For,"
quoth he, "let not this great expense trouble you. If you marry your
eldest high the mere consideration of that alliance will get the others
husbands at less cost."
The event approved his sagacity and also the prediction of a soothsayer,
to whom the four sisters had applied to know the rank of their future
husbands, for, requested to draw at venture from a pack of cards,
Marguerite straightway drew the king of swords, Eleanor the king of
money, Sancie the king of goblets, and Beatrice the king of clubs.[5]
The witch expounded this to mean that Marguerite should wed the
knightliest king in all the world and in all ages (which indeed came to
pass in the person of St. Louis); that Eleanor should in her king of
coins gain the monarch of the wealthiest of all realms, namely, England;
that Beatrice should have the misfortune to mate with a hard-hitting
savage, but still a king--a forecast fulfilled in Charles of Anjou,
brother of St. Louis, who won his kingdom of the two Sicilies by as hard
and as cruel fighting as ever dinted the armour or soiled the fame of a
knight; and that, finally, Sancie, the third in order of birth, but last
to find a lover, should of her own free will choose for her husband a
king of good fellows, whose kingdom was but that of cups.
This prophecy, I say, had been more than half fulfilled. The two elder
daughters were queens; the youngest was besought and contracted, when
their father, fearing perchance that the prediction would be carried out
in the case of his third and best-loved, set himself against fate and
called a halt in its proceedings.
It was unfitting, he declared, that Beatrice should be married before
her elder sister Sancie, and Charles of Anjou must perforce hold his
amorous desires in leash until his prospective sister-in-law was
disposed of.
This at first sight seemed no such difficult matter, for while the
others had each been meted one lover, on Sancie fortune had bestowed a
full half dozen. But though their numbers flattered the vanity and
pleased the coquetry of the lady, the quality of no one of them was
satisfactory to the father.
He had now an appetite for kings. Counts, barons, princes even would not
suit his palate, and as no monarch or scion of royalty had as yet
applied for Sancie's hand it struck his humour that a tournament such as
Aldobrandino proposed, well advertised in every court of Europe, might
draw some king, or at least an adventurous princeling, to the lists, as
indeed was proved by the sequel.
The queenly sisters of Sancie took up the project with great enthusiasm.
Queen Eleanor, consort of Henry III. of England, was visiting her sister
of France, and together they arranged every detail of the tournament, of
which King Louis was to be the judge.
The hopes of Beatrice jumped also with this plan as one which would
remove Sancie from her own path to true love, and of all the four
daughters of Raymond, Sancie was the only one who looked upon the
scheme with any dubiety.
But her older sisters, on their arrival at their father's capital city
of Arles, reassured her, explaining that though there would be a great
show of fair dealing yet they had plotted so cleverly that Sancie would
take her own pick from this rich strawberry plot of lovers.
"It is my husband's privilege," expounded Queen Marguerite, "before ever
the fighting begins, to bar out any knight as the procession files
before him in the grand entree of the lists. You shall sit beside him
and indicate any whom you wish disallowed. Moreover, you can at any
moment whisper in Louis's ear and he will throw every advantage possible
in the way of your champion."
"Nevertheless," continued Queen Eleanor, "since it is possible that the
knight you favour may be notoriously inept in arms, you shall have
resource to another trial of skill--namely that of minstrelsy. Here
(like my predecessor of the same name, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine) I
will be judge.
"From the knights who have previously taken part in the tournament you
yourself shall winnow out a half dozen, and shall tell me secretly to
which of these I am to award the prize. Now confess, can anything be
fairer? Is there a possibility of your true love failing, if so be he
but enter the contest?"
But Sancie hung her head. "I have no true love," she said, "I am
absolutely heart-free."
"So much the better," cried the Queen of France, "and this shall be
announced at the outset. The tournament also shall be delayed a week
after the time set, to give you an opportunity to meet the contestants
and to know your own mind."
But the Queen of England caught Sancie's cheeks between her two hands.
"Listen little sister," she said softly, "I have brought with me from
England the very prince for you, my husband's brother, Richard, Earl of
Cornwall[6]; well worthy he to bear the name of his great uncle, Coeur
de Lion. 'King of Good Fellows' he is dubbed by his friends, for he is
loved by all who know him."
"King of Good Fellows," repeated Sancie softly; "tell me more of him,
sweet sister. Is he as valiant in arms as he is lovable, as fortunate as
he is deserving?"
"Accomplished is he in all that becomes a knight," replied Eleanor, "but
fortunate so far is he not. Always when he stands on the verge of
success he yields his advantage to another, holding that love, even that
of an adversary, is the dearest prize of all."
"Would he so yield me, think you?" questioned Sancie.
"Nay, not if he knew you," replied Queen Eleanor; "therefore to your
instant acquaintance, I have bidden him this afternoon to a game of ball
in the pleasance of the castle."
King Louis heard this conversation and it irked him, for though he had
assured the sisters that Richard would take part in the tournament, he
had not confided to them that he would do so in behalf of Prince
Aldobrandino. The pretensions of this aged lover had greatly amused the
ladies. They counted so surely on his discomfiture that even Sancie, who
abhorred him, had not thought it worth while to ask King Louis to bar
him from the contest.
Richard also had given his word to play but the part of an understudy in
this drama before he had seen Sancie, else never would he have consented
to the compact. King Louis had indeed explained it to him before sending
him to Aldobrandino, and Richard had demanded carelessly: "Of what sort
is the maiden?" The King had answered: "All of the daughters of Raymond
Berenger are fair, and Sancie is next to my Marguerite, who is fairest
fair."
Then Richard smiled, for he remembered that when he had questioned his
brother Henry, of England, what time he went to claim his bride, of her
beauty, he had answered: "All of the daughters of Raymond Berenger are
fair, but my Eleanor is fairest, and the next in beauty is Sancie."
"Where such difference of opinion exists," thought Richard, "it were
well to leave the matter to an umpire," and he straightway submitted the
question to Charles of Anjou.
"Nay, they are both wrong," confidently declared that prince; "my
Beatrice is fairest, but Sancie is not far beneath her."
Then Richard laughed to himself: "Truly if the girl ranks but second
when compared with each of these her sisters, whose beauty I esteem not
at all, she is not worth the winning on my own behalf; and I am safe in
adventuring for the joy of the mere adventure."
But when Aldobrandino spake to him of her it was in other wise.
"Consider well," he said, "ere you undertake this business, for should
the beauty of Sancie drive you to such madness as to play me false then
of a surety I will kill you. Not in vain am I dubbed Atlas, for all
things upon earth which I desire I bear away upon my shoulders, and I
have sworn by the five wounds of God that she and she alone shall sit as
princess in my palace."
"'Tis a great oath," said Richard, "but you shall not be forsworn by me,
and verily I marvel that you have set your heart upon her if the opinion
of her brothers-in-law be credible." And with that he told the several
answers given to his questions.
Aldobrandino glowered upon him and grunted this reply: "You mind me of a
_stornello_ sung by our peasants:
"'Flower o' the peach,
Flowers for all fancies, his own love for each.'
"And verily," he added, "it is well that it is so, else should I have
had for rivals Louis and Henry and Charles, and perchance you also. The
flower o' the peach suits her well; she is but a homely little bloom o'
the kitchen garden beside her statelier rose and lily sisters. But, look
you, what use have I for such useless ornaments as your waxy-pale
lilies, your flaunting and fragile roses? What fruit bear they, I ask?
Why, pips and briars. Whereas the peach is a stocky tree, prolific and
profitable to its owner, for to its unadmired and modest blossom
succeedeth a toothsome fruitage. Therefore say I the flower o' the peach
for me. For, hist, Ricciardo, I am past the age when one goes maying for
flowers only. Women have had no great power over me, and a bachelor I
should die but that I have regard for what shall happen after me, and a
natural desire for the continuance of my race upon their old estates. It
is not so much a wife that I seek as a mother for my children. I would
see many and goodly sons about me, strong of body, lusty in fight, such
as only a wholesome and sturdy woman can bear and rear. If she have wit
enough to rule them it is enough for me; and as for beauty, the less the
better in the eyes of other men for her whom my descendants shall claim
with pride as mother of the Aldobrandini."
II
THE ORDEAL
One maiden trimly girt
Bore in her gleaming upheld skirt
Fair silken balls sewed round with gold;
Which when the others did behold
Men cast their mantles unto earth,
And maids within their raiment's girth
Drew up their gown skirts, loosening here
Some button on their bosoms dear
Or slender wrists, then making tight
The laces round their ankles light;
For folk were wont within that land
To cast the ball from hand to hand,
Dancing meanwhile full orderly.
Lovely to look on was the sway
Of the slim maidens neath the ball
As they swung back to note its fall
With dainty balanced feet; and fair
The bright out-flowing, golden hair,
As swiftly yet in measured wise
One maid ran forth to gain the prize;
Eyes glittered and young cheeks glowed bright
And gold-shod feet, round limb and light,
Gleamed from beneath the girded gown
That, unrebuked, untouched was thrown
Hither and thither by the breeze;
Shrill laughter smote the thick-leaved trees,
Till they, for very breathlessness,
With rest the trodden daisies bless.
WILLIAM MORRIS.
Cold and calculating, nay coarse also seemed the motives of Aldobrandino
to Richard as he pondered them. "Not so," thought he, "would I set about
the choosing of my wife--as it were the purchase of a brood-mare." Still
more his soul revolted at this low animalism when that afternoon he for
the first time beheld sweet Sancie playing at ball with her sisters in
the pleasance of the palace of Aries.
The game was set to music, the measured beating of a tambour with the
light chiming of silver bells. Some said that Marguerite was most regal;
so stately she moved to the rhythm of the dance, that one might have
fancied that the glorious statue of the Venus of Arles had descended
from her ancient shrine to tread a measure with her maidens. But Eleanor
danced with more vivacity and passion. You would have thought her of
Spanish blood as she leapt and whirled, catching the ball with the lithe
ferocity of a panther. For Beatrice, Richard had no eyes, for as he
watched Sancie, he knew what her three kingly brothers-in-law had meant
when each could name only his own heart's dearest as her superior. He
saw, too, why Aldobrandino had likened her to a peach-blossom, for her
complexion had that even delicate flush, not white and red in spots, but
roseate everywhere, like the heart of a conch shell or the breast of a
pink curlew.
Abounding health spake in her buoyant step, but she was fine as well as
strong. The rounded contours of her cheeks and shoulders were soft as
those of a babe, and Richard had seen naught in all his life so
exquisite as her dimpling smile. Would you know with more particularity
how she appeared to him, look you straightway at the sweet maid in the
foreground of that _Coronation of the Virgin_ which Fra Lippo Lippi
painted; and from the framing of wayward little curls that make their
escape from a veil of silver tissue, a tangle withal to mesh a man's
heart in, from that face, I say (though the painter-monk had ne'er the
felicity to see her), Sancie's round eyes will search your soul and will
remain in your memory for evermore.
You will not wonder then that Richard blessed God in his heart for
making a thing so fair, and stood as one in amaze until the ball with
which she was playing fell at his feet.
Needs must then that he return it to her and join in the game, for this
was the custom when one of the players dropped out, as had Beatrice from
weariness.
So he played, but he saw not the ball, only her who sped it, and making
many faults the game was adjudged to her.
[Illustration: Face of Young Girl in the Coronation of
the Virgin
By Fra Filippo Lippi Permission of Alinari]
Then they walked together, others of the company following in twos and
threes at a discreet distance, in that _allee_ which still retains its
ancient name, Les Alyscamps (Champs Elysees--Elysian Fields), where
'neath the taller trees the oleanders shot in long curves bursting in
pink fire, like rockets, above their heads. Here, seated upon one of
those carven tombs which now make benches for lovers in that enchanting
spot, she told him old legends of St. Trophime, how he and his fellows
sculptured about the portal of his abbey descend from their niches and
keep here the eve of Toussaint. "You will see them," she said, "when you
go to hang your shield in the cloister, where it must be displayed, if
so be you fight in this foolish joust. Truly sorry and shamed am I that
so many gallant knights must run the risk of wounds and death for little
me."
"'Tis a small venture for so great a prize," said Richard.
"Then, as you fight, let it be your best, for--" but here she paused and
ended her sentence differently from her first intention--"for I would
not have you hurt," and her face grew yet rosier.
Richard cursed his fate that he might not fight his best, but his
cursing was in his heart, what he said was: "The fortunes of such a
joust are very fickle and it must needs happen that many a good knight
will fight his doughtiest and yet not succeed. If I am among that
number, sweet lady, I pray you set not my mischance down to lack of
will, for in no tournament that I have ever entered had I so great
desire to win."
She looked no higher than the Plantagenet leopards gold-embroidered upon
the breast of his doublet. "Since, to spare the knights the
mortification of public discomfiture, my father hath decreed that they
fight incognito (their true names being known only to the _roi d'armes_
who passes upon their qualifications), will you not tell me the device
which you have chosen?"
"Choose my device for me," he said, "and I will cause it to be blazoned
on my shield and embroidered on my pennant."
"It has been foretold," she answered pensively, "that I shall wed the
King of Cups. Therefore, if you honestly desire to win choose that
emblem."
"My cup runneth over," he murmured--and their lips met.
Ere they parted there was heard a sound of laughter, as it were the
crackling of light flame, for there was no mirth in the sound, and
Aldobrandino stood before them regarding the pair with a derisive leer.
"There is an old proverb which it were well you should both remember,"
he said. "If I mistake not it runneth in this wise, 'There is many a
slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.' It were meet that the cup you blazon
should be a spilling one."
"Better spilling than swilling," cried Richard, his eyes aflame, and
Sancie affrighted ran away.
"I forgive you those stolen sweets for this once," said Aldobrandino,
"for you had great provocation. Said I not rightly a peach-blossom? Nay,
a peach rather, ripe and luscious. Watered not your mouth in that game
of ball when the strain of her deep breathing and the violent turning
and twisting of her lithe body burst the lacing of her corsage and half
her fair bosom broke covert? What a pillow was that for a bridegroom,
eh, Ricciardo?"
"Nay," retorted Richard, "while she repaired that accident I lifted not
my eyes above the hem of her robe, that so her rare modesty might take
no offence."
"And had you kept them there throughout the game you would have seen
much to admire," continued Aldobrandino. "Ah! the pretty little feet,
the shapely ankles! But marked you those of her sisters? Cranes and
ostriches! storks and sandpipers! And they call themselves not
water-fowl but women!"
"Swine!" said Richard to himself, "hog, not another word or I shall
burst. And what unspeakable villainy is this that I should have taken
service to deliver so pure and precious a maiden into the power of such
a beast!"
This feeling grew upon him in the short space of time before the
tournament, for he met her daily, and as he marked her,--the flicker of
her eyelashes upon her cheeks and the quick in-drawing of breath through
her sensitive nostrils when the tales of the trouveres and jests of the
jongleurs offended her exquisite modesty--his heart swelled with pain
intolerable that so pure a flower should be set up as a prize for the
hardest fighter to snuff at. Not so, he made bold to express his mind to
Aldobrandino, should such a maid be won.
"How then," snorted the other in astonishment. "What method were fairer,
I ask you?"
"What than to appeal to her own heart," Richard made answer, "and that
by gentle observance, delicate attentions, and such refinements of
self-sacrifice as in their practice might elevate a lover to some
worthiness of the honour he courts?"
Aldobrandino sniffed his scorn. "Appeal to her heart in the last resort
I grant you, but only thus: Lady, will you have me? An she will _not_,
what would your servility gain? An she _will_, it is needless. In either
case it is ridiculous. Trust me, a woman sets more store by the man who
compels her admiration than by him who sues for it. If he breaks the
bones of other men to win her, that is compliment enough and mark you
well, Ricciardo, it is all that I demand of you in my service."
So the week sped before the tournament; and Richard loved Sancie more
and more, and ever Aldobrandino was at his side taunting him until he
burst forth into many a torrent of indignation, whereat the other but
laughed and leered, so that Richard loathed and hated him to the death.
At last came the great day, and among the pennons of the challenging
knights, which made gay the ancient amphitheatre of Arles where the
lists were staked, there fluttered one bearing the device of a golden
cup from which ran a stream of silver water. Also when Richard, with
visor drawn and all in mail of shining steel, caracoled in the field, he
was hailed Knight of the Spilling Cup, and Sancie's hand at that sign
trembled so that had it held a beaker her robe would have been well
besprinkled.
As the prize of this joust was a peculiar one, so was the manner of its
contention. King Rene had not then formulated his rules for the conduct
of a tourney, and the public tournaments at this time were of so savage
a character that King Louis held them in reprehension and was determined
that this trial of arms, which was but a friendly joust, should be a
model of chivalric self-restraint and courtesy. There was much grumbling
when the rules were published by the heralds that there was to be no
fighting to the death with weapons of war, no sharp steel points to the
lances, nor hacking with battle-axes, and though the mace was allowed
this bludgeon was shorn of its iron knobs and points.
But when it was known that the King had stricken out the melee, or
pitched battle of the second day, when all comers gentle and simple were
by ancient custom allowed to range themselves in two parties under the
banners of the victorious knight and him who stood second, all were of
one opinion, namely that Louis had so emasculated the sport of all its
zest that now was neither opportunity for young and unknown knights to
distinguish themselves or a spectacle sufficiently diverting to keep the
ladies from yawning.
Nevertheless the King would not budge from his ruling, and the
descendants of the very barbarians for whom Caesar had built the
amphitheatre in order that their savage instincts might be sated came
sulkily to their seats ready to deride this gentle passage at arms. But
certes they had more thrilling sensations than they had counted upon,
more of tingling along the spine and lifting of the hair as knight after
knight went down and esquires dragged their masters from the tawny dust
clouds that hid the plunging chaos. Tender maids, noble ladies, yea, and
strong men felt their hearts stop and their stomachs turn as these pale,
blood-bedabbled contestants were carried away, their heads wagging from
limp necks, to the pavilion where the leeches provided by Raymond
Berenger awaited them. But I do anticipate the order of my relation.
Eight noble knights, lords of neighbouring provinces and some as well of
foreign countries, all sumptuously accoutred and mounted on gaily
caparisoned steeds, entered the arena in procession, and, having saluted
the King and the ladies, took their positions in two companies at either
extremity of the lists. For in this wise had it been ordered--that they
should tilt in single combat, their adversaries having been previously
determined by lot, one couple succeeding another until each knight had
fought once.
And after these four trial courses had been run, the four knights
adjudged to have won therein the greatest glory must be matched again in
two other duels, whereof the two victors might contest in the final
combat for the great prize of the tourney.
Hautboys and trumpets sounded shrilly the onset, and the first pair of
knights, laying their lances in rest, rushed to the encounter.
It may well be understood that in this series of preliminary single
combats, Sancie had eyes alone for that in which Richard figured. Easy
was his victory, for charging against young Raymond of Toulouse (seventh
of that name) so violent was the shock of his spear against his
opponent's shield that both Raymond and his steed rolled upon the
ground. Fortunate was that knight to have broken only his thigh, a
mischance which Richard strove to mitigate by most assiduous tendance
during Raymond's convalescence. But now for the glory of the feat he was
apportioned a weightier warrior, Barral des Baux, who had won like
renown in the trial contest, having thrust his antagonist out of his
saddle in such wise that he dinted the field with the back of his head,
and to such effect that thereafter he had no memory either for good or
ill, no, not so much as of this astounding adventure or of his
sweetheart's face. When Richard met the redoutable Des Baux their
lance-heads were planted squarely each upon the shield of the other, but
the polished curving surface offering no purchase both lances slipped,
and Barral's splintering and glancing downward was thrust into the
haunch of Richard's horse. The creature uttered a piteous, human-like
cry which was echoed by Sancie, and Richard hearing that wail and
feeling himself sinking so that his feet touched the ground, believed
that he had lost the day. But even then a roar echoed around the concave
of the amphitheatre: "The cup hath it, the cup! the cup!" and he saw the
Lord of Les Baux lying at a little distance with blood trickling upon
the sand from the bars of his helmet. For Richard's lance had slipped
upward and penetrating between gorget and helmet had pierced and
dislocated Barral's jaw. This alone was enough to give Richard his
second victory, but there were three added points of humiliation for the
Knight of Les Baux, namely: his lance had been broken, he had been
unhorsed, and, with maladroitness worthy of the merest tyro, had injured
a horse when he had aimed at its rider.
On the other hand Richard was untouched in person, his arms also in good
condition, and he could not be said even to have quit his saddle since
he remained astride his steed with his feet still in the stirrups.
But Alphonso of Aragon, had also won laurels for the second time, for
though his lance had slipped on the shield of his opponent precisely as
Richard's had done, it had wrought far greater damage, for, tearing away
the visor from the helmet of his antagonist it had blinded and
disfigured him for life.
Therefore honours remained equal between these two champions who must
now run the final and deciding course.
But Richard's good horse was cruelly maimed and could scarce be gotten
from the arena, nor had he thought to have another ready outside the
lists. Raymond Berenger sent a page to his own stables for his best
horse, but ere he returned the loss was repaired by another, and Richard
entered upon a powerful coal black stallion, tricked with scarlet
housings. A noise of clapping greeted his entrance for the favourite
horse of Aldobrandino had been recognised and it was supposed (though in
this they much mistook their man), that by this courtesy he signified
his renunciation of any intention to compete.
The heralds also made proclamation that if the knights chose they might
fight this last passage at arms with swords or maces, and swords being
chosen each spurred toward the other, their good blades flashing in the
sunshine and Richard with a sweep of his arm sheared the plume from his
adversary's crest. But Alphonso, who missed his proper stroke, dealt him
a dirty thrust in the side as he was passing. It pricked through
Richard's armour but scratched him only and roused him to such energy
that he swung around, clasped Alphonso in his arms, and all on horseback
as they were, wrestled with him till he threw him over his charger's
crupper to the earth.
Then the King asked Sancie loudly: "Are you content to give your hand to
the winner of this contest?" and the herald shouted her answer so that
all heard it: "The high and puissant Lady, Sancie, willingly grants her
hand as prize to the victor."
But even as he cried, all were aware that the end was not yet, for the
_roi d'armes_ pricked to the King's balcony and again the herald blew
his trumpet and announced that another challenger, delayed from
appearing at the first, contested this decision. Having been bidden
enter, a burly knight mounted upon a giant percheron rode into the
lists, all cased in sable armour and carrying a shield which displayed
Atlas supporting the globe.
Then Charles of Anjou, who fought not, but sat by the side of his
betrothed, scoffed, "Ho, mountain of flesh, globe of blubber, and
colossus of conceit, here is a whale indeed among fishes, a
world-bearing monster, who fancieth that all the affairs of this earth
rest upon his shoulders. 'Tis a cup which our gallant knight will soon
spill for him. Hold fast, fair ladies, for the globe is about to topple
from its foundations!"
But, to the astonishment of the speaker and of all present, the knight
of Atlas riding full tilt against him of the Spilling Cup, drove him
backward, as it seemed, by his sheer weight, so that the barrier crashed
behind his horse's haunches, and the rider, letting fall his lance
acknowledged himself vanquished.
Only Richard himself knew what that submission cost him. For while their
spears were crossed, the head of Aldobrandino's tapping his opponent's
shield, it was with a weak and wavering touch; while Richard's had found
a joint in the armour of the knight of Atlas, and had he not generously
and dexterously withdrawn his lance, Aldobrandino by the very force of
his onset, would have transpierced himself upon it.
For the moment he had his adversary in his power, and even as he
withheld the spear he cried to Aldobrandino, "What hinders me from
rolling you in the dust and myself winning that prize inestimable?"
Aldobrandino, knowing well in what emergency he stood, replied calmly,
"But one thing hinders--your word as a belted knight," and at that
answer Richard's head drooped and he sank to earth as one sore wounded.
But the spectators knew naught of this byplay. Hearing not the words,
they put their own construction on the pantomime. Judge then what was
their surprise, what the vexation of the two Queens and the despair of
the fair Sancie, when the knight of Atlas, raising his visor, displayed
the features of Aldobrandino.
King Louis announced him victor, though it was noted that he had never
done anything with so ill a grace, and indeed the good King's
conscience smote him so sorely, knowing himself a partner in the trick,
that he could never have made the ruling but that he hoped it would be
reversed in the poetical contest yet to come.
III
THE "FLORAL GAMES"
O for a draught of vintage that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth.
KEATS.
The tournament of wits seemed to give, Richard one more chance to win
the prize he coveted; for this purpose it was originally instituted, and
it seemed to the luckless knight himself that here at last he had fair
play, since he was under no obligation to Aldobrandino to defer to him
in this contention, nor did he believe that Aldobrandino's talents were
superior to his own. The only other knight who had registered for this
contest was Barral des Baux, and this in despite of his bandaged visage,
for though his hurt permitted him not either to sing or to speak, yet by
good fortune he could write, having been instructed by the monks of
Mont Majour, and being violently in love with the fair Sancie, he would
bate no effort to win her. So though all the nine who had taken part in
the passage-at-arms were eligible, there were but three competitors, for
five had been so desperately wounded that they could not stand, and
Alphonso of Aragon so shamed and furious that he refused to take part.
But when his friends congratulated Richard that this was so, and
especially that Raymond of Toulouse was out of the reckoning (for he of
all the nine was the only troubadour of repute and the one likely to be
a formidable antagonist) though Richard's heart at first leapt at their
news, he liked it the less as he gave it more consideration. For he had
it on his conscience that he was responsible for Raymond's
incapacitation, and he wished not to win a victory on such terms.
Therefore he went to his wounded rival, tended and encouraged him, and
in the end brought him to the contest in a litter, thereby gravely
jeopardising his own chance of success. Richard, never at any time a
glib jingler of rhymes, was in sorry case, for now that he had most need
of his wits, his passion instead of sharpening them seemed to have
removed them utterly. If he had but known it, he had a good friend in
Queen Eleanor, who was determined that he should win, and she fancied
that she had hit upon a scheme which would aid him.
Angry was she that such an accomplished poet as Raymond of Toulouse must
be admitted to the contest. "But, at all events," she told her sisters,
"that renowned minstrel shall bring no polished work of long study to
match against the untutored outpourings of my favourite's heart. Already
have I ordained, with my assistant judges, that since some one of the
contestants may be tempted to present a poem not his own, plagiarism
shall be counted the one unpardonable crime, and, to guard against it,
we demand that no verses of any sort be brought to the games, but that
the competitors improvise on the instant upon one and the same theme to
be given out after their assembling."
This proposal pleased her three sisters. "They shall recite or sing to
us, 'poesies on the flowers we wear,'" said Queen Marguerite, "and shall
thus rank and compare our own qualifications for esteem. Clever will he
be who can do this without offending any of us. But let us each beware
of imparting to any one this information."
Even while she thus spoke Marguerite's right eyelid, the one nearest to
Queen Eleanor, quivered ever so slightly, and her foot pressed Sancie's.
The kindly plotter counted that the girl would straightway convey this
news to Richard, and she, poor child, was sorely tempted to do so. But
she knew instinctively that he would refuse to profit by such advantage,
therefore she told him not so much as the flower which she would herself
wear, though she had chosen a spray of blossoming peach because he had
once said it was his favourite, and because in her heart of hearts she
hoped that rhymes concerning these sweet blooms might be already in his
mind. But Richard, suspecting nothing of this, came to the Floral Games
empty headed and as ignorant as the others as to the programme; and when
he saw the brilliant and distinguished company waiting to pass verdict
upon his poor verse he was filled with confusion. At the right of Queen
Eleanor, sat the troubadour Sordello, the friend of Charles of Anjou who
might easily have vanquished all present in the framing of _coblas_,
_sirenas_, _sirventes_ and all kinds of poems, as well as in the ruder
feats which may become a knight; but he for love of his fair Cunizza
had disdained the prize of the present contest, and had come solely to
assist the Queen in her decision. Also in the raised arbour by the side
of Eleanor sat her uncle Boniface of Savoy, whom the King of England had
made Archbishop of Canterbury. His grace was said to have no little
skill in the framing of love sonnets, though chants and canticles would
have better beseemed a churchman.
The pleasance was all abloom with flowers, for the month was May, but
the ladies in their gauzy robes of delicate rainbow hues were lovelier
far than the favourites of Flora.
Eleanor having announced the terms of the contest, she and her three
sisters displayed the flowers which they had chosen as themes for the
controversy, and the challengers drew lots for order of precedence, with
the result that Barral des Baux came first, Aldobrandino second, Raymond
of Toulouse third, and Richard last.
Barral had composed and committed to memory a _sirvente_ or song of
battle which he proposed to write out, paper and quill being permitted
him in deference to his broken jaw. Great was his discomfiture to find
that it fitted not to the theme prescribed, but he cut his cloth to the
new pattern to the best of his ability. He retained the most effective
portions of his poem, its high-sounding phrases, and picturesque
descriptions of marshalling knights, the very category of whose arms,
plumed helms, hauberks, blazoned shields, flaunting pennons, inlaid
gauntlets, cross-hiked swords, golden spurs, and caparisoned steeds was
in itself a pageant. True he gave these champions as a motive for their
deeds of high emprise the demonstration of the supremacy of the
differing and rival charms of the four sisters as typified by the
flowers they affected; but he implied too plainly that those of the
peach-bloom were alone worthy of such contention. Himself he figured as
her accepted knight, hacking, slaying, scaling fortresses, pillaging,
burning, putting to torture or ransoming prisoners, and scorning with
brutal insults her sisters' flowers. This _sirvente_ which was
apparently composed during a brief interval during which the jongleurs
amused the company, was read in a sonorous voice by Archbishop Boniface.
But had Barral's desire been to antagonise all the daughters of Raymond
Berenger he could not better have succeeded, and when the Archbishop
took his seat a glance at the face of Queen Eleanor told des Baux that
he had lost the prize.
Aldobrandino was no more fortunate. He cast his poem in the form of a
_serena_ or night song, and spoke sadly and sentimentally of the evening
of old age, dusky and drear, and of that night of death which he saw
approaching. Strangely enough, he made no plea for present happiness,
but begged the flowers, or their ladies, to drop tears upon his grave
when he declared that he would sleep content.
Though chanted in all earnestness this grave-yard ditty chimed not in
with the joyous temper of the company. There was sly nudging and
smiling, a snicker from an ill-mannered page, and the only sighs were
those of relief when he ended.
It was now the opportunity of Raymond of Toulouse. Besides being an
accomplished technician in all forms of writing he was a man of shrewd
and lively apprehension, and his wound had by no means injured his wits.
As he lay upon the litter engaging the sympathy of the ladies and the
leniency of the judges he had divined rightly the reason of the
discomforture of each of his rivals. He saw that Aldobrandino had made
shipwreck by reason of his indifference to the charms of all, and des
Baux on account of his zeal for one at the expense of the others, for
not a single protestation of esteem, not a compliment even had any one
of Sancie's sisters received, and this in face of the well known fact
that all were beautiful and eager for appreciation.
In avoiding the conspicuous lapses of his predecessors Raymond with all
his guile fell into another pitfall. He lauded the Rose, the Daisy, the
Garland of Vine Leaves worn by Eleanor, Marguerite, and Beatrice in
three canzonets so perfect in form, so exquisite in diction that they
rivalled the ditties of Thibault of Champagne, who was hitherto
accounted as having written "the most delightful and most melodious
canzonets that at any time were heard."
But in doing this he exhausted all terms of endearment and admiration
which he could command, and when he attempted to celebrate the Peach
Blossom he could only repeat utterances already made, so that his
conclusion was an anticlimax, bad in art and unfortunately giving the
impression that he was more enamoured of Sancie's sisters than of
herself.
The insincerity of his graceful verse was apparent to all. Sordello and
Boniface who had nodded their appreciation at the conclusion of the
first, second, and third canzonets, scowled and coughed at the fourth,
and though there was applause sufficient to gratify this poet's vanity
it misled him as to the impression which he had made upon his judges.
Richard knew not that Raymond had over-shot his mark; it seemed to him
that he had surely won, and that it was useless for him to offer his
halting verses, save as a tribute of genuine feeling. Such they were,
and honesty even in literature and courtship is some whiles best policy.
But one thought had sunk itself in his distracted brain since noting
what flower his beloved carried, how that Sancie was Flower o' the Peach
and be the others what they might she was the flower of all flowers to
him. He had no knowledge of the complicated metres with which Provencal
troubadours played so deftly, but he had been in Italy and had marked
how the peasants bandied back and forth their bright _stornelli_ as
though the quick play were that of ball, the thought striking the fancy
and deftly handled as it leapt from one to the other of the players.
Therefore he modestly announced that he would strive to imitate in the
_langue d'oc_ certain of these _stornelli a fiore_ trusting that their
rudeness and brevity might be forgiven.[7]
Queen Eleanor was crowned with roses and was throned beneath a canopy of
those royal flowers. To her Richard, accompanying himself upon the lute,
addressed his first _stornello_:
"Flower o' the Briar--
Though high on her trellis the Rose o' the Briar,
Sits supreme o'er the garden my heart clambers higher."
"How may that be," laughed Eleanor, "if I am 'supreme o'er the garden?'
'Tis enough for me; but I see not how you can o'ertop that compliment.
Let me hear what you have to say to my sister of France."
Marguerite, as befitting her name, wore daisies, and squaring his
shoulders Richard sang lustily,
"Flower o' the Marguerite;
Queen of the garden, fair Reine Marguerite,
If my heart were not captive 't would lie at your feet."
"'Tis Beatrice then who holds your heart in thrall?" bantered the
queen, for she was malicious enough to plunge him in further difficulty.
Here also was a coil for Beatrice was jealous of Sancie's beauty, and
her lover, Charles of Anjou, sat beside her quick to resent any
aspersion upon his mistress.
Beatrice, like a bacchante, had bound her brows with vine leaves one of
which Charles now broke off and handed to the competing minstrel. With a
gallant bow and a smile which atoned for the quizzical reservation,
Richard sang,
"Flower o' the Vine;
For you, merry Charles, the chaplet of vine
'T is a guerdon all envy, so pray grant me mine."
Laughter resounded from every side of the pleasance mingled with cries,
"Your flower! Name your favourite flower."
Then Richard knelt before Sancie, who hid her face behind the blossoms
which so well matched her blushes, and sang from his heart:
"Flower o' the Peach,
Flower o' the Peach, dearest Flower o' the Peach,
A flower for each fancy--his own love for each."
Brief was the consultation between the judges. Queen Eleanor descended
from her throne and amid clappings and bravoes gave Richard the stalk
of lilies which had served her for sceptre and was now his palm of
victory.
[Illustration: The Floral Games
From the painting by Jacques Wagrez. Permission of Braun,
Clement & Co.]
Ere he could take it from her hand, however, with a snort and bellow
like that of a bull, my lord Aldobrandino faced the Queen.
"Gramercy," he cried, "shall so fair a prize be won foully by false
plagiarism?"
"What charge is this you make," demanded Queen Eleanor.
"That yon traitor stole from me that songlet of the peach, and though he
has trussed it out of countenance with gawds of his own invention still
the root of the matter is mine."
"What answer you to this accusation, Richard?" asked the Queen.
"That he speaks truly," Richard replied, "mine is indeed a spilling
cup."
The queen was loth to give judgment against her favourite and there was
wrangling between her advisors as to what amount of theft were
admissible in literature, but their opinion was stricter than I pray
yours may be, most gentle reader, and they gave their verdict, "The
prize is to Prince Aldobrandino."
At that verdict Sancie fainted in the arms of Queen Marguerite, and
Richard hid his face in his hands, crying, "I cannot bear it."
Then Prince Aldobrandino spoke and they saw how they had misjudged the
man.
"You cannot bear this disappointment, say you, Ricciardo? Look you at
the device upon my shield, Atlas, and the motto, _Sustino omnes_. I can
bear all things, even such loss as this, and, since I see well that the
lady loves me not, of my own motive yield I the prize to you, Ricciardo,
who well deserve what you have truly won."
"Nay," cried Richard, for admiration of so great magnanimity fired his
emulation, and he would not be outdone. "Nay, my lord, the judgment of
this court cannot be thus lightly set aside. 'The prize' it has decreed,
'must be to Prince Aldobrandino.' Thy oath also that the Lady Sancie
shall be mother of the Aldobrandini is registered in heaven."
"I would forfeit neither prize nor oath," replied Aldobrandino, "but
there is a scripture on which I have pondered much of late--'Who
knoweth,' quoth the wise man, 'who shall reign after thee, and whether
thy son shall be a fool?' So might he well be if he resembled me, and
against such ill-chancing will I now be assured. A son after my own
heart do I find in thee, Ricciardo, for I have probed and proved thee,
taking the measure of thy mind until I know thee clean of soul as thou
art strong of body. I go in fulfilment of a secret vow, neither recently
nor lightly made, to end my days with the brotherhood of St. Benedict,
but first I do adopt thee son, and heir to all my estates. Let the
judgment of this court stand and the prize be to Prince Aldobrandino for
henceforth that is thy name and title."
The good man could not be swerved from this resolution. The lawyers drew
up the act of relinquishment, Archbishop Boniface blessed the happy
pair, who spent their honeymoon in their villa at Frascati, and from
thence was Richard called by election to be King of the Romans. It was
an honour which he held not long, nor did children of his continue the
line of the Aldobrandini. Too careless was he of his own advantage when
it ran counter to the desires of another; but in the magnificent
Frascati villa, where he made such short tarrying, you may still find
Richard's fountain not far from that of Atlas.
To his estates in Cornwall he shortly returned; and testimony to his
character corroborative of this story, and as credible as that of the
Italian authorities we have quoted (Sacchetti and Ser Giovanni), you
may read in the ballad of
ERL RICHARD, KING OF GOOD FELLOWS.
"His wine was for others' sipping,
For lightly he gave it up,
There's slipping 'twixt pouring and lipping
And his was a spilling cup.
"But ne'er for the lost good liquor
Was Richard heard to sigh.
'I shall not bicker so friends grow thicker,
And the cup of love hold I.'
"So in praise of that loser willing
They carved his cup awry,--
Spilling----but aye re-filling
To witness if I lie!"
[Illustration: _Alinari_
Villa d'Este, at Tivoli--Present State]