Norma C Plummer Stories
Prince Bernard and the Wenceslas Triptych
Queen Wenceslas knew she worried too much, but on Christmas Eve everyone
seemed to expect something special to happen. And her son's hope for the
future depended on acceptance of this triptych for the village church.
Perhaps it all began indirectly when she decided her youngest son,
Prince Bernard, was old enough at fourteen to accompany her on
occasional visits to some village shop. If Bernard had missed some
schooling due to illness, and had failed to become a strong rider and
hunter, as expected of a Prince, he made up for this lack with a sharp
mind, and a keen appreciation of everything beautiful. Although he had a
thin, pale face, his thick thatch of fair hair, deep brown eyes, and
ready smile, combined to make him a favourite.
They would enter the bakery, for instance, purchase some delicacies for
the royal supper, and be invited into the back parlour for refreshments.
This simple scheme gave the Wenceslas family a sense of how others
lived, and of their problems, all without fanfare. As citizens found
that here was a means of airing their concerns informally, they began to
drop by soon after the carriage arrived. The talk would flow, and
eventually the matter at hand would be dealt with.
During these visits Bernard would sit quite still, listening to the
conversation. Then as the bustling hostess would leave the room to fetch
more dollops of fresh whipped cream to top their strudel, he would
whisper his ideas in his mother's ear.
For example, in the spring the village was expecting a pilgrimage to
pass through. The pilgrims would be billeted around, but the village
church was too small to hold them all for worship. Bernard whispered to
his mother about the forgotten ruins of the ancient abbey, an area
frequented only by tinkers and Romany folk now. Still, it was
consecrated ground, where the circling hillocks could form a natural
amphitheatre if properly groomed.
When that momentous day came, a solemn assembly met at the ruined abbey
to hear the sacred words proclaimed. As the benediction was pronounced,
the sunset added its own spectacular benediction. Framed by the open
stone tracery of the abbey windows, a stream of light blazed through in
hues of gold and apricot, as if to shame the art of stained glass. The
people stayed on quietly until the last of the colour had faded away.
Prince Bernard had been in attendance, and had prayed earnestly for the
good of all, and also for direction in his own aimless life. In a
roundabout way his prayer was answered.
A thoughtful and pious nobleman had been moved by the abbey experience
to commission a side altar with a triptych above, for the village
church. The theme would be 'The Nativity'. Chosen for the enterprise was
a husky fellow named Ustov. Before long this balding, middle-aged man
with the loose flowing brown robe became a familiar figure along the
village streets. When the matter of suitable studio space for Ustov's
painting was discussed in the butcher's parlour, Bernard immediately
urged his mother the Queen to invite Ustov to stay at the Castle.
After the very satisfactory completion of the richly coloured triptych
of the manger scene, Ustov remained there to become a mentor to Bernard.
They travelled about to study fine buildings, holy pictures and
sculptures, murals and tapestries. Bernard began to put all his talent
towards sacred paintings.
This phase of his artistic development reminded the Queen of her little
daughter when she had first learned to make pot holders, until almost
everyone with a pot in the kingdom had one. Now everyone in the
Wenceslas family had a sacred painting in their room. But the quality of
the saintly faces gradually improved over the years, and Bernard became
more than a dilettante.
About this time the King decided to commission a matching side altar for
the village church to be ready at Christmas. Again Ustov was asked to
paint the second triptych. In preparation he read the gospels and
meditated in the Chapel. Only then did he make his rough sketches,
refining them day by day. The three wooden panels, to be set later
within the hinged triptych, were delivered. At that point, however,
Ustov took sick with the ague. At first his illness seemed slight, but
he would recover enough to walk about, only to relapse into fever and
weakness.
One day Ustov took Bernard aside and begged him to finish the project
for him, saying he believed him to be fully capable. The villagers, he
said, who were mostly simple, devout people, looked forward especially
to this occasion on Christmas Eve.
Now it was Bernard's turn to spend time in the Chapel making his
decision about whether to take on the task. In those days the artists
dedicated their talent to the glory of God. Thus Bernard felt a heavy
responsibility. Nevertheless, he took up his brushes and began his work.
Christmas Eve arrived. The royal party took their places up in the small
side gallery reserved for them. At the appointed time the new altar was
dedicated, and the triptych unfolded to the worshippers' view.
On the left panel, towering above his advisors, stood the ominous figure
of King Herod, as he raged at his soldiers to seek out the Child. All
was dark and evil. The central panel was devoted to the flight of The
Holy Family into Egypt. Mary, wearing a cloak of blue, rode a donkey led
by Joseph, garbed in a drab gray robe. Both Mary and Joseph slumped
forward with weariness and anxiety. Yet Mary looked down with tenderness
at the Christ Child nestled in her arms. His face shone with a golden
radiance as He clutched the edge of His Mother's cloak with one chubby
hand, as if anchoring himself to earthly things; while the other hand
stretched upwards to His Father's Angels, where they hovered in the
third panel in shining robes and halos, their wings lined in heavenly
blue, beckoning them all forward to safety.
Prince Bernard had created a more natural expression on the faces,
departing from the custom of depicting dull, static faces intended to
denote a separate spiritual world. Here instead was drama, warmth and
life, balanced with tasteful restraint.
Bernard wondered if he just imagined a catch of breath as the triptych
was revealed. After the last Amen had died away, there was a pause when
those of higher rank at the front usually left the sanctuary first. No
one seemed to know what was required, until the nobleman who had
presented the first side altar, rose and walking reverently to the new
altar, knelt down and prayed, and then retired quietly. Others followed
his example. It had been a most gracious tribute, and the Queen ceased
to worry. When Bernard returned to the Castle, he went directly to see
Ustov in order to thank him for this wonderful opportunity he had
generously bestowed upon him.
On Christmas morning word was received at the Castle, that after the
Christmas Eve ceremonies at the church, a little boy had placed on the
new altar his toy bugle for the Baby Jesus. The Good King was touched by
this unselfish, innocent gesture, and requested that the toy be secured
permanently at the side of the altar.
And so, Prince Bernard found his true vocation, and the Triptych became
known affectionately as the Bambino of the Bugle.
by Norma C. Plummer