A Ballad for Charles the Affable

I wrote this for performance in the Society for Creative Anachronism, but there are probably other places it could work, since it's based on real life. It's set to the tune of the 16th century Italian piece "Bizarria D'Amore" by Cesare Negri--a midi file can be found here.

I see an English face or two,
So now this tale I'll chance:
The tragic life and comic death
Of Charles the Eighth of France.
But if you wear a fleur-de-lys,
I beg indulgence, too,
For every word I tell you now
Is absolutely true.

Now, Charles the Great he wasn't, but,
You know, he really tried,
And the lad was just thirteen years old
When the king his father died.
He wasn't bold, or all that bright,
Or good-looking, or large--
They called him Charles the Affable
And they put his sister in charge.

The future queen was all picked out--
A king-size bed gets cold--
But cool it must, for Princess Maggie
Was only three years old.
The Holy Roman Emperor
Approved his daughter's match,
But by the time they came of age,
Charles found a better catch.

For over west, in Brittany,
We find the Duchess Anne,
Who, to save her father's lands, arranged
A careful marriage plan.
But if she weds the Emperor
Then what becomes of France?
A bold approach is needed here--
First conquer, then romance!

So duchess now becomes the queen,
But all would know her mind.
When Anne arrived that blessed day,
Her attendants came behind,
And high upon their shoulders rode
A statement loud and clear:
One bed for me, and one for you.
Do you get the message, dear?

Now, I know that some might think young Charlie
An opportunist cad,
But politics is politics,
And the man was not all bad.
Remember Margaret, his intended?
After a year or three,
When none of his friends wanted her,
The good king set her free!

Well, time rolls on, and work rolls in,
And someone might invade.
There's treaties to be written and
Concessions to be made.
Artillery and war machines
Are all the latest craze--
We'll find the money somewhere, so
Let's get this army raised!

While away from southward Italy
Came a rumble of unrest,
And the Holy Father beckoned France
On a most intriguing quest.
The throne of Naples took its warmth
From a most unworthy source,
Whose enemies would welcome Charles
If he stormed the land by force.

Now, such an invitation is
A youthful monarch's dream!
He sallied forth in glory,
Sword ablaze and eyes agleam.
He swept the lands before him,
Leaving town and fortress bare,
He crushed the opposition 'til
There was no one left who'd dare.

As he barreled through to Naples,
Even his allies had to pause;
When the dirty work was over,
They would be trapped between his jaws.
That simple boy would soon be Roy
Of an awful lot of land,
And nobody looks affable
With a dripping sword in hand.

The neighbors talked it over,
And, for once, they all agreed:
They'd let this go too far,
And now it was time to intercede.
Without a word of gratitude
For Charles' useful crime,
They spanked him back to France
With barely a penny for his time.

So alas, our hero finds himself
In a most depressing state--
Exactly where he started from,
But nine months out of date,
With nothing much to show for it
But a heaping pile of debt.
Perhaps one day he'll try again,
But he can't afford it yet.

Well, even when you're feeling down,
It's good to be the king.
To cheer you up, a tennis match
Might be the very thing!
So one fine morning, Charles
Headed out to watch the game,
But passing through the doorway
Smacked his head against the frame.

Oh, rend your cloaks, ye maids of France,
And to heaven raise your cries!
By this loathsome, grievous injury,
Your king and sovereign dies!
Without a son, at twenty-seven,
Every penny used,
He died the way he lived--
Randomly, and quite confused.

So now you know the story!
Tell your children. Tell your friends.
May each of us make careful use
Of every day life sends.
I thank you lords and ladies,
And the man of whom I sing:
The Laughable, the Affable,
And the Epitaphable King.

© Rachel Spitler
Finished April 2014