Judge, 1922-02-04 · page 10 of 36
Judge — February 4, 1922 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Ballade of the Oldest Duel in the World" This is a romantic poem by Richard Le Gallienne illustrated by Poirot, presenting a witty metaphor: a sword duel as courtship. The "fight" is between lovers, with swordplay representing flirtation and romantic combat. The poem references **Cyrano de Bergerac**—the famous fictional swordsman-poet who fought while composing elaborate compliments. Here, the speaker similarly mingles dueling technique with romantic declarations ("I fight you, darling, for your heart"). The illustrations show figures in various fencing poses, emphasizing both martial skill and sensual elegance. The conceit is that love, like swordplay, involves risk, wit, vulnerability ("Love's wounds are real"), and playful danger. The "oldest duel" is love itself—timeless and universal. This represents *fin de siècle* aesthetic sensibility: blending literature, art, and romance into sophisticated entertainment for Judge's educated readership.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Ballade of the Oldest Duel in the World By Richard Le Gallienne Sketches by Porint BATTERED swordsman, slashed and scarred, I scarce had thought to fight again, But love of the old game dies hard, So to't, my lady, if you're fain, I'm scarce the mettle to restrain: I'll ask no quarter from your art— But what if we should both be slain! I fight you, darling, for your heart. I warn you, though, be on your guard. Nor an old swordsman's craft dis- dain: Bard? the pain; If we should die of love, we twain! You laugh—en garde then—so we start— Cyrano-like, here’s my refrain: I fight you, darling, for your heart. If compliments I interlard ‘Twixt feint and lunge, you'll not complain: Lacking your eyes, the Night's unstarred! The rose is beautiful in vain, In vain smells sweet, Rose-in- the-Brain, Dizzying the world—a touch!— sweet smart!— Only the envoi doth remain: I fight you, darling, for your heart. Envoi Princess, I'm yours, the rose-red rain Pours from my side—but see! I dart Within your guard—poor pretty vein! I fight you, darling, for your heart. He jests at scars ... what saith the | Love's wounds are real, and fierce Y i