University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

The effect of this scene was prodigious upon the whole assem
bly. Its events were just of that sort to fill the minds and excite
the imaginations of such a swelling, earnest, grave yet passionate
people as the Spaniards; and, for awhile, they were all hushed,
as if overwhelmed with emotion, and still expecting other events
of even greater excitement to follow. They were conquered by
the Portuguese. The deportment of Philip de Vasconselos had
been such as to impress every spectator with the full sense
of his noble character and perfect heroism, and there were
none now so bold as to challenge his triumph or his fame!
Verily, he had gone through the most fearful of all trials for such
a soul. He had survived them, though he suffered from them
still. He had overcome those worst enemies, his own passions,
which, wronged on every hand, and fiercely assailed by the one,
above all others, who should have approached them with nothing
but love and veneration, had been able to subdue themselves
within just limits, and permitted him to rise equally above his
enemies and his own rebellious blood! This was not lost upon the
spectators. Their hush was only the prelude to their applause.
Their instincts, kept in lively play all the while, and making them
forgetful of all their former dislikes and jealousies, had brought their
final judgments right. Their souls, as they beheld, became fully
conscious of the rare beauty of his carriage and his performances

throughout; and the gentle humanity, which, at the closing
scene, had appeared so conspicuously in unison with the most
determined courage and the coolest conduct. The wildest shouts
testified their admiration, and declared the complete triumph of
the hero of the day, not only over all opponents, but over their
own stubborn and ungenerous prejudices. They did not see the
bitter smile that mantled the face of Philip as he heard these uproars
of admiration. He knew the value of popular applause,
and quietly remounting his steed, he stood in silence waiting for
the summons of the warder, to the foot of the dais, where the
Adelantado was to place the crown upon the lance of the conqueror,
who was required, in turn, to lay it at the foot of the
lady whom he should designate as the Queen of Love and Beauty.
It was her task to accept the tribute, and, lifting up the trophy so
deposited, to place it on the head of her champion.

There was no reluctance, now, on the part of the Adelantado,
to do justice to the knight of the Falcon. De Soto, it is true,
had his prejudices as well as his people; and his pride had been
somewhat stung by the reserve which had been exhibited towards
him by Philip de Vasconselos; to say nothing of the offence
which the latter had given, in announcing his doubts in respect to
his farther connection with the expedition to Florida. But,
though a proud and selfish person, De Soto was not a base one.
He had his moments of prejudice and passion, but was by no
means insensible to greatness of soul and heroic character, even
in the instance of an enemy. He was thoroughly disarmed by
the conduct of Philip; and some compunctious visitings of conscience
now made him anxious to atone, as far as possible, by
the most prompt acknowledgment, for his past coldness and neglect.
He bade the warder do his duty, and, at a signal given,
and amidst a passionate fanfare from the whole corps of trumpeters,
the knight of the Falcon was led up to the foot of the dais.
Here he dismounted, uncovered his head, ascended the rude
steps, which had been hastily placed for the purpose, and presented
his lance at the bidding of De Soto, who, in a warm and
graceful speech, of a few sentences, placed upon it the trophy assigned

to the conqueror. This was a beautiful coronet, or cap,
of rich purple velvet, encircled with a chaplet of pearls, in the
centre of which flamed a single but large diamond, surrounded
by rubies and other precious stones. Don Philip received the
prize with the most graceful obeisance, but in profound silence;
then advancing to the foot of the seat occupied by Olivia de Alvaro,
he knelt, and laid the coronet before her, dropping his lance
at the same moment beside him. Again the trumpets sounded
in a soft but capricious Saracenic strain, while the heralds cried
aloud the name of the lady; and De Soto, rising, proclaimed
her the Queen and Beauty of the tournament. We shall say
nothing of the envy sparkling all the while in the eyes of the
other fair dames in that fair assemblage; in the breast of each
of whom, no doubt, there had lurked hopes more or less lively,
during the progress of the day. However slight their hopes,
when it was seen who was to be the successful champion, we can
still easily understand how there should be many disappointments.
Of course, there was much criticism, also, upon the choice
of the knight of Portugal; and while most of them could admit
cheerfully his superior claims as a warrior,—his skill, spirit,
and address, in the tourney,—there were not a few to regret
that so much heroism should be accompanied by so very bad a
taste. But the multitude applauded the taste, no less than the
valor and conduct of the knight.

It was now the task of Olivia de Alvaro to place the coronet
on the brows of her champion. This was no easy task, however
grateful. She had been an excited spectator of the scene; she
had felt, with constant tremblings of heart and frame, all the
vicissitudes of the conflict. These were rendered trebly acute in
consequence of that secret history of grief of which we know
something already; the action of which, on a system whose
nerves were all disordered, was of a sort to enfeeble and excite
at the same moment; so that but little strength was left her for
the performance of her task at the closing scene of the day. But
she arose, after a brief delay; the Knight of the Falcon still on
his knees before her. There was a dead silence now in the assembly.

All were curious to hear what she would say; for she
was not simply to place the crown upon the head of the champion,—she
was to accompany the act with words of acceptance
of the honor conferred upon herself,—to bestow applause upon
his performances, and to utter those exhortations to future deeds
of chivalry and valor, which are supposed naturally to follow,
where Beauty encourages, and Love is the gentle counsellor.
She arose slowly, amid that general hush of expectation, which,
by the way, increased her confusion; stooped to the crown which
rested upon the footstool where Philip had laid it; lifted it, and
advanced a step, in order to place it on his head. At this moment
their eyes met; a sudden and ashen paleness overspread
her cheeks; her heart, beating wildly but a moment before,
seemed at once frozen within her; and she tottered, sunk forwards,
and would have fallen to the floor, but that the swift arms
of her lover caught and sustained her. She had fainted from the
conflict of emotions which she could no longer sustain and live!