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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1578-h.zip b/1578-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..76b913c --- /dev/null +++ b/1578-h.zip diff --git a/1578-h/1578-h.htm b/1578-h/1578-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..05d66d0 --- /dev/null +++ b/1578-h/1578-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1964 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Aucassin and Nicolete</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Aucassin and Nicolete, by Andrew Lang</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Aucassin and Nicolete, by Andrew Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Aucassin and Nicolete + +Author: Andrew Lang + +Release Date: March 17, 2005 [eBook #1578] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1910 David Nutt edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE</h1> +<p>Dedicated to the Hon. James Russell Lowell.</p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<p>There is nothing in artistic poetry quite akin to “Aucassin +and Nicolete.”</p> +<p>By a rare piece of good fortune the one manuscript of the Song-Story +has escaped those waves of time, which have wrecked the bark of Menander, +and left of Sappho but a few floating fragments. The very form +of the tale is peculiar; we have nothing else from the twelfth or thirteenth +century in the alternate prose and verse of the <i>cante-fable</i>. +<a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a> We have fabliaux +in verse, and prose Arthurian romances. We have <i>Chansons de +Geste</i>, heroic poems like “Roland,” unrhymed assonant +<i>laisses</i>, but we have not the alternations of prose with <i>laisses</i> +in seven-syllabled lines. It cannot be certainly known whether +the form of “Aucassin and Nicolete” was a familiar form—used +by many <i>jogleors</i>, or wandering minstrels and story-tellers such +as Nicolete, in the tale, feigned herself to be,—or whether this +is a solitary experiment by “the old captive” its author, +a contemporary, as M. Gaston Paris thinks him, of Louis VII (1130). +He was original enough to have invented, or adopted from popular tradition, +a form for himself; his originality declares itself everywhere in his +one surviving masterpiece. True, he uses certain traditional formulae, +that have survived in his time, as they survived in Homer’s, from +the manner of purely popular poetry, of <i>Volkslieder</i>. Thus +he repeats snatches of conversation always in the same, or very nearly +the same words. He has a stereotyped form, like Homer, for saying +that one person addressed another, “ains traist au visconte de +la vile si l’apela” τον δαπαyειβομενος +προσεφε . . . Like Homer, and +like popular song, he deals in recurrent epithets, and changeless courtesies. +To Aucassin the hideous plough-man is “Biax frère,” +“fair brother,” just as the treacherous Aegisthus is αμυμων +in Homer; these are complimentary terms, with no moral sense in particular. +The <i>jogleor</i> is not more curious than Homer, or than the poets +of the old ballads, about giving novel descriptions of his characters. +As Homer’s ladies are “fair-tressed,” so Nicolete +and Aucassin have, each of them, close yellow curls, eyes of vair (whatever +that may mean), and red lips. War cannot be mentioned except as +war “where knights do smite and are smitten,” and so forth. +The author is absolutely conventional in such matters, according to +the convention of his age and profession.</p> +<p>Nor is his matter more original. He tells a story of thwarted +and finally fortunate love, and his hero is “a Christened knight”—like +Tamlane,—his heroine a Paynim lady. To be sure, Nicolete +was baptized before the tale begins, and it is she who is a captive +among Christians, not her lover, as usual, who is a captive among Saracens. +The author has reversed the common arrangement, and he appears to have +cared little more than his reckless hero, about creeds and differences +of faith. He is not much interested in the recognition of Nicolete +by her great Paynim kindred, nor indeed in any of the “business” +of the narrative, the fighting, the storms and tempests, and the burlesque +of the kingdom of Torelore.</p> +<p>What the nameless author does care for, is his telling of the love-story, +the passion of Aucassin and Nicolete. His originality lies in +his charming medley of sentiment and humour, of a smiling compassion +and sympathy with a touch of mocking mirth. The love of Aucassin +and Nicolete—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Des grans paines qu’il soufri,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>that is the one thing serious to him in the whole matter, and that +is not so very serious. <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a> +The story-teller is no Mimnermus, Love and Youth are the best things +he knew,—“deport du viel caitif,”—and now he +has “come to forty years,” and now they are with him no +longer. But he does not lament like Mimnermus, like Alcman, like +Llwyarch Hen. “What is Life, what is delight without golden +Aphrodite? May I die!” says Mimnermus, “when I am +no more conversant with these, with secret love, and gracious gifts, +and the bed of desire.” And Alcman, when his limbs waver +beneath him, is only saddened by the faces and voices of girls, and +would change his lot for the sea-birds. <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a></p> +<blockquote><p>“Maidens with voices like honey for sweetness that +breathe desire,<br /> +Would that I were a sea-bird with limbs that never could tire,<br /> +Over the foam-flowers flying with halcyons ever on wing,<br /> +Keeping a careless heart, a sea-blue bird of the spring.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But our old captive, having said farewell to love, has yet a kindly +smiling interest in its fever and folly. Nothing better has he +met, even now that he knows “a lad is an ass.” He +tells a love story, a story of love overmastering, without conscience +or care of aught but the beloved. And the <i>viel caitif</i> tells +it with sympathy, and with a smile. “Oh folly of fondness,” +he seems to cry, “oh merry days of desolation”</p> +<blockquote><p>“When I was young as you are young,<br /> +When lutes were touched and songs were sung,<br /> +And love lamps in the windows hung.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is the very tone of Thackeray, when Thackeray is tender, and the +world heard it first from this elderly, nameless minstrel, strolling +with his viol and his singing boys, perhaps, like a blameless d’Assoucy, +from castle to castle in “the happy poplar land.” +One seems to see him and hear him in the twilight, in the court of some +château of Picardy, while the ladies on silken cushions sit around +him listening, and their lovers, fettered with silver chains, lie at +their feet. They listen, and look, and do not think of the minstrel +with his grey head and his green heart, but we think of him. It +is an old man’s work, and a weary man’s work. You +can easily tell the places where he has lingered, and been pleased as +he wrote. They are marked, like the bower Nicolete built, with +flowers and broken branches wet with dew. Such a passage is the +description of Nicolete at her window, in the strangely painted chamber,</p> +<blockquote><p>“ki faite est par grant devisse<br /> +panturee a miramie.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Thence</p> +<blockquote><p> “she saw the roses blow,<br /> +Heard the birds sing loud and low.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Again, the minstrel speaks out what many must have thought, in those +incredulous ages of Faith, about Heaven and Hell, Hell where the gallant +company makes up for everything. When he comes to a battle-piece +he makes Aucassin “mightily and knightly hurl through the press,” +like one of Malory’s men. His hero must be a man of his +hands, no mere sighing youth incapable of arms. But the minstrels +heart is in other things, for example, in the verses where Aucassin +transfers to Beauty the wonder-working powers of Holiness, and makes +the sight of his lady heal the palmer, as the shadow of the Apostle, +falling on the sick people, healed them by the Gate Beautiful. +The Flight of Nicolete is a familiar and beautiful picture, the daisy +flowers look black in the ivory moonlight against her feet, fair as +Bombyca’s “feet of carven ivory” in the Sicilian idyll, +long ago. <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a> It is +characteristic of the poet that the two lovers begin to wrangle about +which loves best, in the very mouth of danger, while Aucassin is yet +in prison, and the patrol go down the moonlit street, with swords in +their hands, sworn to slay Nicolete. That is the place and time +chosen for this ancient controversy. Aucassin’s threat that +if he loses Nicolete he will not wait for sword or knife, but will dash +his head against a wall, is in the very temper of the prisoned warrior-poet, +who actually chose this way of death. Then the night scene, with +its fantasy, and shadow, and moonlight on flowers and street, yields +to a picture of the day, with the birds singing, and the shepherds laughing, +in the green links between wood and water. There the shepherds +take Nicolete for a fairy, so bright a beauty shines about her. +Their mockery, their independence, may make us consider again our ideas +of early Feudalism. Probably they were in the service of townsmen, +whose good town treated the Count as no more than an equal of its corporate +dignity. The bower of branches built by Nicolete is certainly +one of the places where the minstrel himself has rested and been pleased +with his work. One can feel it still, the cool of that clear summer +night, the sweet smell of broken boughs, and trodden grass, and deep +dew, and the shining of the star that Aucassin deemed was the translated +spirit of his lady. Romance has touched the book here with her +magic, as she has touched the lines where we read how Consuelo came +by moonlight to the Canon’s garden and the white flowers. +The pleasure here is the keener for contrast with the luckless hind +whom Aucassin encountered in the forest: the man who had lost his master’s +ox, the ungainly man who wept, because his mother’s bed had been +taken from under her to pay his debt. This man was in that estate +which Achilles, in Hades, preferred above the kingship of the dead outworn. +He was hind and hireling to a villein,</p> +<blockquote><p>ανδρι παρ ακληρω</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is an unexpected touch of pity for the people, and for other than +love-sorrows, in a poem intended for the great and courtly people of +chivalry.</p> +<p>At last the lovers meet, in the lodge of flowers beneath the stars. +Here the story should end, though one could ill spare the pretty lecture +the girl reads her lover as they ride at adventure, and the picture +of Nicolete, with her brown stain, and jogleor’s attire, and her +viol, playing before Aucassin in his own castle of Biaucaire. +The burlesque interlude of the country of Torelore is like a page out +of Rabelais, stitched into the <i>cante-fable</i> by mistake. +At such lands as Torelore Pantagruel and Panurge touched many a time +in their vague voyaging. Nobody, perhaps, can care very much about +Nicolete’s adventures in Carthage, and her recognition by her +Paynim kindred. If the old captive had been a prisoner among the +Saracens, he was too indolent or incurious to make use of his knowledge. +He hurries on to his journey’s end;</p> +<blockquote><p>“Journeys end in lovers meeting.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So he finishes the tale. What lives in it, what makes it live, +is the touch of poetry, of tender heart, of humorous resignation. +The old captive says the story will gladden sad men:-</p> +<blockquote><p>“Nus hom n’est si esbahis,<br /> +tant dolans ni entrepris,<br /> +de grant mal amaladis,<br /> +se il l’oit, ne soit garis,<br /> +et de joie resbaudis,<br /> + tant par est douce.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This service it did for M. Bida, the painter, as he tells us when +he translated Aucassin in 1870. In dark and darkening days, <i>patriai +tempore iniquo</i>, we too have turned to <i>Aucassin et Nicolete</i>. +<a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a></p> +<h2>BALLADE OF AUCASSIN</h2> +<p>Where smooth the Southern waters run<br /> + Through rustling leagues of poplars gray,<br /> +Beneath a veiled soft Southern sun,<br /> + We wandered out of Yesterday;<br /> + Went Maying in that ancient May<br /> +Whose fallen flowers are fragrant yet,<br /> + And lingered by the fountain spray<br /> +With Aucassin and Nicolete.</p> +<p>The grassgrown paths are trod of none<br /> + Where through the woods they went astray;<br /> +The spider’s traceries are spun<br /> + Across the darkling forest way;<br /> + There come no Knights that ride to slay,<br /> +No Pilgrims through the grasses wet,<br /> + No shepherd lads that sang their say<br /> +With Aucassin and Nicolete.</p> +<p>’Twas here by Nicolete begun<br /> + Her lodge of boughs and blossoms gay;<br /> +’Scaped from the cell of marble dun<br /> + ’Twas here the lover found the Fay;<br /> + O lovers fond, O foolish play!<br /> +How hard we find it to forget,<br /> + Who fain would dwell with them as they,<br /> +With Aucassin and Nicolete.</p> +<p>ENVOY.</p> +<p>Prince, ’tis a melancholy lay!<br /> + For Youth, for Life we both regret:<br /> +How fair they seem; how far away,<br /> + With Aucassin and Nicolete.</p> +<p>A. L.</p> +<h2>BALLADE OF NICOLETE</h2> +<p>All bathed in pearl and amber light<br /> +She rose to fling the lattice wide,<br /> +And leaned into the fragrant night,<br /> +Where brown birds sang of summertide;<br /> +(’Twas Love’s own voice that called and cried)<br /> +“Ah, Sweet!” she said, “I’ll seek thee yet,<br /> +Though thorniest pathways should betide<br /> +The fair white feet of Nicolete.”</p> +<p>They slept, who would have stayed her flight;<br /> +(Full fain were they the maid had died!)<br /> +She dropped adown her prison’s height<br /> +On strands of linen featly tied.<br /> +And so she passed the garden-side<br /> +With loose-leaved roses sweetly set,<br /> +And dainty daisies, dark beside<br /> +The fair white feet of Nicolete!</p> +<p>Her lover lay in evil plight<br /> +(So many lovers yet abide!)<br /> +I would my tongue could praise aright<br /> +Her name, that should be glorified.<br /> +Those lovers now, whom foes divide<br /> +A little weep,—and soon forget.<br /> +How far from these faint lovers glide<br /> +The fair white feet of Nicolete.</p> +<p>ENVOY.</p> +<p>My Princess, doff thy frozen pride,<br /> +Nor scorn to pay Love’s golden debt,<br /> +Through his dim woodland take for guide<br /> +The fair white feet of Nicolete.</p> +<p>GRAHAM R. TOMSON</p> +<h2>THE SONG-STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE</h2> +<p>’Tis of Aucassin and Nicolete.</p> +<blockquote><p>Who would list to the good lay<br /> +Gladness of the captive grey?<br /> +’Tis how two young lovers met,<br /> +Aucassin and Nicolete,<br /> +Of the pains the lover bore<br /> +And the sorrows he outwore,<br /> +For the goodness and the grace,<br /> +Of his love, so fair of face.</p> +<p>Sweet the song, the story sweet,<br /> +There is no man hearkens it,<br /> +No man living ’neath the sun,<br /> +So outwearied, so foredone,<br /> +Sick and woful, worn and sad,<br /> +But is healèd, but is glad<br /> + ’Tis so sweet.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So say they, speak they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>How the Count Bougars de Valence made war on Count Garin de Biaucaire, +war so great, and so marvellous, and so mortal that never a day dawned +but alway he was there, by the gates and walls, and barriers of the +town with a hundred knights, and ten thousand men at arms, horsemen +and footmen: so burned he the Count’s land, and spoiled his country, +and slew his men. Now the Count Garin de Biaucaire was old and +frail, and his good days were gone over. No heir had he, neither +son nor daughter, save one young man only; such an one as I shall tell +you. Aucassin was the name of the damoiseau: fair was he, goodly, +and great, and featly fashioned of his body, and limbs. His hair +was yellow, in little curls, his eyes blue and laughing, his face beautiful +and shapely, his nose high and well set, and so richly seen was he in +all things good, that in him was none evil at all. But so suddenly +overtaken was he of Love, who is a great master, that he would not, +of his will, be dubbed knight, nor take arms, nor follow tourneys, nor +do whatsoever him beseemed. Therefore his father and mother said +to him;</p> +<p>“Son, go take thine arms, mount thy horse, and hold thy land, +and help thy men, for if they see thee among them, more stoutly will +they keep in battle their lives, and lands, and thine, and mine.”</p> +<p>“Father,” said Aucassin, “I marvel that you will +be speaking. Never may God give me aught of my desire if I be +made knight, or mount my horse, or face stour and battle wherein knights +smite and are smitten again, unless thou give me Nicolete, my true love, +that I love so well.”</p> +<p>“Son,” said the father, “this may not be. +Let Nicolete go, a slave girl she is, out of a strange land, and the +captain of this town bought her of the Saracens, and carried her hither, +and hath reared her and let christen the maid, and took her for his +daughter in God, and one day will find a young man for her, to win her +bread honourably. Herein hast thou naught to make or mend, but +if a wife thou wilt have, I will give thee the daughter of a King, or +a Count. There is no man so rich in France, but if thou desire +his daughter, thou shalt have her.”</p> +<p>“Faith! my father,” said Aucassin, “tell me where +is the place so high in all the world, that Nicolete, my sweet lady +and love, would not grace it well? If she were Empress of Constantinople +or of Germany, or Queen of France or England, it were little enough +for her; so gentle is she and courteous, and debonaire, and compact +of all good qualities.”</p> +<p><i>Here singeth one</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Aucassin was of Biaucaire<br /> +Of a goodly castle there,<br /> +But from Nicolete the fair<br /> +None might win his heart away<br /> +Though his father, many a day,<br /> +And his mother said him nay,<br /> +“Ha! fond child, what wouldest thou?<br /> +Nicolete is glad enow!<br /> +Was from Carthage cast away,<br /> +Paynims sold her on a day!<br /> +Wouldst thou win a lady fair<br /> +Choose a maid of high degree<br /> +Such an one is meet for thee.”<br /> +“Nay of these I have no care,<br /> +Nicolete is debonaire,<br /> +Her body sweet and the face of her<br /> +Take my heart as in a snare,<br /> +Loyal love is but her share<br /> + That is so sweet.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>When the Count Garin de Biaucaire knew that he would avail not to +withdraw Aucassin his son from the love of Nicolete, he went to the +Captain of the city, who was his man, and spake to him, saying:</p> +<p>“Sir Count; away with Nicolete thy daughter in God; cursed +be the land whence she was brought into this country, for by reason +of her do I lose Aucassin, that will neither be dubbed knight, nor do +aught of the things that fall to him to be done. And wit ye well,” +he said, “that if I might have her at my will, I would burn her +in a fire, and yourself might well be sore adread.”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the Captain, “this is grievous to me +that he comes and goes and hath speech with her. I had bought +the maiden at mine own charges, and nourished her, and baptized, and +made her my daughter in God. Yea, I would have given her to a +young man that should win her bread honourably. With this had +Aucassin thy son naught to make or mend. But, sith it is thy will +and thy pleasure, I will send her into that land and that country where +never will he see her with his eyes.”</p> +<p>“Have a heed to thyself,” said the Count Garin, “thence +might great evil come on thee.”</p> +<p>So parted they each from other. Now the Captain was a right +rich man: so had he a rich palace with a garden in face of it; in an +upper chamber thereof he let place Nicolete, with one old woman to keep +her company, and in that chamber put bread and meat and wine and such +things as were needful. Then he let seal the door, that none might +come in or go forth, save that there was one window, over against the +garden, and strait enough, where through came to them a little air.</p> +<p><i>Here singeth one</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Nicolete as ye heard tell<br /> +Prisoned is within a cell<br /> +That is painted wondrously<br /> +With colours of a far countrie,<br /> +And the window of marble wrought,<br /> +There the maiden stood in thought,<br /> +With straight brows and yellow hair<br /> +Never saw ye fairer fair!<br /> +On the wood she gazed below,<br /> +And she saw the roses blow,<br /> +Heard the birds sing loud and low,<br /> +Therefore spoke she wofully:<br /> +“Ah me, wherefore do I lie<br /> +Here in prison wrongfully:<br /> +Aucassin, my love, my knight,<br /> +Am I not thy heart’s delight,<br /> +Thou that lovest me aright!<br /> +’Tis for thee that I must dwell<br /> +In the vaulted chamber cell,<br /> +Hard beset and all alone!<br /> +By our Lady Mary’s Son<br /> +Here no longer will I wonn,<br /> + If I may flee!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>Nicolete was in prison, as ye have heard soothly, in the chamber. +And the noise and bruit of it went through all the country and all the +land, how that Nicolete was lost. Some said she had fled the country, +and some that the Count Garin de Biaucaire had let slay her. Whosoever +had joy thereof, Aucassin had none, so he went to the Captain of the +town and spoke to him, saying:</p> +<p>“Sir Captain, what hast thou made of Nicolete, my sweet lady +and love, the thing that best I love in all the world? Hast thou +carried her off or ravished her away from me? Know well that if +I die of it, the price shall be demanded of thee, and that will be well +done, for it shall be even as if thou hadst slain me with thy two hands, +for thou hast taken from me the thing that in this world I loved the +best.”</p> +<p>“Fair Sir,” said the Captain, “let these things +be. Nicolete is a captive that I did bring from a strange country. +Yea, I bought her at my own charges of the Saracens, and I bred her +up and baptized her, and made her my daughter in God. And I have +cherished her, and one of these days I would have given her a young +man, to win her bread honourably. With this hast thou naught to +make, but do thou take the daughter of a King or a Count. Nay +more, what wouldst thou deem thee to have gained, hadst thou made her +thy leman, and taken her to thy bed? Plentiful lack of comfort +hadst thou got thereby, for in Hell would thy soul have lain while the +world endures, and into Paradise wouldst thou have entered never.”</p> +<p>“In Paradise what have I to win? Therein I seek not to +enter, but only to have Nicolete, my sweet lady that I love so well. +For into Paradise go none but such folk as I shall tell thee now: Thither +go these same old priests, and halt old men and maimed, who all day +and night cower continually before the altars, and in the crypts; and +such folk as wear old amices and old clouted frocks, and naked folk +and shoeless, and covered with sores, perishing of hunger and thirst, +and of cold, and of little ease. These be they that go into Paradise, +with them have I naught to make. But into Hell would I fain go; +for into Hell fare the goodly clerks, and goodly knights that fall in +tourneys and great wars, and stout men at arms, and all men noble. +With these would I liefly go. And thither pass the sweet ladies +and courteous that have two lovers, or three, and their lords also thereto. +Thither goes the gold, and the silver, and cloth of vair, and cloth +of gris, and harpers, and makers, and the prince of this world. +With these I would gladly go, let me but have with me, Nicolete, my +sweetest lady.”</p> +<p>“Certes,” quoth the Captain, “in vain wilt thou +speak thereof, for never shalt thou see her; and if thou hadst word +with her, and thy father knew it, he would let burn in a fire both her +and me, and thyself might well be sore adread.”</p> +<p>“That is even what irketh me,” quoth Aucassin. +So he went from the Captain sorrowing.</p> +<p><i>Here singeth one</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Aucassin did so depart<br /> +Much in dole and heavy at heart<br /> +For his love so bright and dear,<br /> +None might bring him any cheer,<br /> +None might give good words to hear,<br /> +To the palace doth he fare<br /> +Climbeth up the palace-stair,<br /> +Passeth to a chamber there,<br /> +Thus great sorrow doth he bear,<br /> +For his lady and love so fair.</p> +<p>“Nicolete how fair art thou,<br /> +Sweet thy foot-fall, sweet thine eyes,<br /> +Sweet the mirth of thy replies,<br /> +Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face,<br /> +Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow,<br /> +And the touch of thine embrace,<br /> +All for thee I sorrow now,<br /> +Captive in an evil place,<br /> +Whence I ne’er may go my ways<br /> +Sister, sweet friend!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So say they, speak they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>While Aucassin was in the chamber sorrowing for Nicolete his love, +even then the Count Bougars de Valence, that had his war to wage, forgat +it no whit, but had called up his horsemen and his footmen, so made +he for the castle to storm it. And the cry of battle arose, and +the din, and knights and men at arms busked them, and ran to walls and +gates to hold the keep. And the towns-folk mounted to the battlements, +and cast down bolts and pikes. Then while the assault was great, +and even at its height, the Count Garin de Biaucaire came into the chamber +where Aucassin was making lament, sorrowing for Nicolete, his sweet +lady that he loved so well.</p> +<p>“Ha! son,” quoth he, “how caitiff art thou, and +cowardly, that canst see men assail thy goodliest castle and strongest. +Know thou that if thou lose it, thou losest all. Son, go to, take +arms, and mount thy horse, and defend thy land, and help thy men, and +fare into the stour. Thou needst not smite nor be smitten. +If they do but see thee among them, better will they guard their substance, +and their lives, and thy land and mine. And thou art so great, +and hardy of thy hands, that well mightst thou do this thing, and to +do it is thy devoir.”</p> +<p>“Father,” said Aucassin, “what is this thou sayest +now? God grant me never aught of my desire, if I be dubbed knight, +or mount steed, or go into the stour where knights do smite and are +smitten, if thou givest me not Nicolete, my sweet lady, whom I love +so well.”</p> +<p>“Son,” quoth his father, “this may never be: rather +would I be quite disinherited and lose all that is mine, than that thou +shouldst have her to thy wife, or to love <i>par amours</i>.”</p> +<p>So he turned him about. But when Aucassin saw him going he +called to him again, saying,</p> +<p>“Father, go to now, I will make with thee fair covenant.”</p> +<p>“What covenant, fair son?”</p> +<p>“I will take up arms, and go into the stour, on this covenant, +that, if God bring me back sound and safe, thou wilt let me see Nicolete +my sweet lady, even so long that I may have of her two words or three, +and one kiss.”</p> +<p>“That will I grant,” said his father.</p> +<p>At this was Aucassin glad.</p> +<p>Here one singeth:</p> +<blockquote><p>Of the kiss heard Aucassin<br /> +That returning he shall win.<br /> +None so glad would he have been<br /> +Of a myriad marks of gold<br /> +Of a hundred thousand told.<br /> +Called for raiment brave of steel,<br /> +Then they clad him, head to heel,<br /> +Twyfold hauberk doth he don,<br /> +Firmly braced the helmet on.<br /> +Girt the sword with hilt of gold,<br /> +Horse doth mount, and lance doth wield,<br /> +Looks to stirrups and to shield,<br /> +Wondrous brave he rode to field.<br /> +Dreaming of his lady dear<br /> +Setteth spurs to the destrere,<br /> +Rideth forward without fear,<br /> +Through the gate and forth away<br /> + To the fray.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>Aucassin was armed and mounted as ye have heard tell. God! +how goodly sat the shield on his shoulder, the helm on his head, and +the baldric on his left haunch! And the damoiseau was tall, fair, +featly fashioned, and hardy of his hands, and the horse whereon he rode +swift and keen, and straight had he spurred him forth of the gate. +Now believe ye not that his mind was on kine, nor cattle of the booty, +nor thought he how he might strike a knight, nor be stricken again: +nor no such thing. Nay, no memory had Aucassin of aught of these; +rather he so dreamed of Nicolete, his sweet lady, that he dropped his +reins, forgetting all there was to do, and his horse that had felt the +spur, bore him into the press and hurled among the foe, and they laid +hands on him all about, and took him captive, and seized away his spear +and shield, and straightway they led him off a prisoner, and were even +now discoursing of what death he should die.</p> +<p>And when Aucassin heard them,</p> +<p>“Ha! God,” said he, “sweet Saviour. Be these +my deadly enemies that have taken me, and will soon cut off my head? +And once my head is off, no more shall I speak with Nicolete, my sweet +lady, that I love so well. Natheless have I here a good sword, +and sit a good horse unwearied. If now I keep not my head for +her sake, God help her never, if she love me more!”</p> +<p>The damoiseau was tall and strong, and the horse whereon he sat was +right eager. And he laid hand to sword, and fell a-smiting to +right and left, and smote through helm and <i>nasal</i>, and arm and +clenched hand, making a murder about him, like a wild boar when hounds +fall on him in the forest, even till he struck down ten knights, and +seven be hurt, and straightway he hurled out of the press, and rode +back again at full speed, sword in hand. The Count Bougars de +Valence heard say they were about hanging Aucassin, his enemy, so he +came into that place, and Aucassin was ware of him, and gat his sword +into his hand, and lashed at his helm with such a stroke that he drave +it down on his head, and he being stunned, fell grovelling. And +Aucassin laid hands on him, and caught him by the <i>nasal</i> of his +helmet, and gave him to his father.</p> +<p>“Father,” quoth Aucassin, “lo here is your mortal +foe, who hath so warred on you with all malengin. Full twenty +years did this war endure, and might not be ended by man.”</p> +<p>“Fair son,” said his father, “thy feats of youth +shouldst thou do, and not seek after folly.”</p> +<p>“Father,” saith Aucassin, “sermon me no sermons, +but fulfil my covenant.”</p> +<p>“Ha! what covenant, fair son?”</p> +<p>“What, father, hast thou forgotten it? By mine own head, +whosoever forgets, will I not forget it, so much it hath me at heart. +Didst thou not covenant with me when I took up arms, and went into the +stour, that if God brought me back safe and sound, thou wouldst let +me see Nicolete, my sweet lady, even so long that I may have of her +two words or three, and one kiss? So didst thou covenant, and +my mind is that thou keep thy word.”</p> +<p>“I!” quoth the father, “God forsake me when I keep +this covenant! Nay, if she were here, I would let burn her in +the fire, and thyself shouldst be sore adread.”</p> +<p>“Is this thy last word?” quoth Aucassin.</p> +<p>“So help me God,” quoth his father, “yea!”</p> +<p>“Certes,” quoth Aucassin, “this is a sorry thing +meseems, when a man of thine age lies!”</p> +<p>“Count of Valence,” quoth Aucassin, “I took thee?”</p> +<p>“In sooth, Sir, didst thou,” saith the Count.</p> +<p>“Give me thy hand,” saith Aucassin.</p> +<p>“Sir, with good will.”</p> +<p>So he set his hand in the other’s.</p> +<p>“Now givest thou me thy word,” saith Aucassin, “that +never whiles thou art living man wilt thou avail to do my father dishonour, +or harm him in body, or in goods, but do it thou wilt?”</p> +<p>“Sir, in God’s name,” saith he, “mock me +not, but put me to my ransom; ye cannot ask of me gold nor silver, horses +nor palfreys, <i>vair</i> nor <i>gris</i>, hawks nor hounds, but I will +give you them.”</p> +<p>“What?” quoth Aucassin. “Ha, knowest thou +not it was I that took thee?”</p> +<p>“Yea, sir,” quoth the Count Bougars.</p> +<p>“God help me never, but I will make thy head fly from thy shoulders, +if thou makest not troth,” said Aucassin.</p> +<p>“In God’s name,” said he, “I make what promise +thou wilt.”</p> +<p>So they did the oath, and Aucassin let mount him on a horse, and +took another and so led him back till he was all in safety.</p> +<p>Here one singeth:</p> +<blockquote><p>When the Count Garin doth know<br /> +That his child would ne’er forego<br /> +Love of her that loved him so,<br /> +Nicolete, the bright of brow,<br /> +In a dungeon deep below<br /> +Childe Aucassin did he throw.<br /> +Even there the Childe must dwell<br /> +In a dun-walled marble cell.<br /> +There he waileth in his woe<br /> +Crying thus as ye shall know.</p> +<p>“Nicolete, thou lily white,<br /> +My sweet lady, bright of brow,<br /> +Sweeter than the grape art thou,<br /> +Sweeter than sack posset good<br /> +In a cup of maple wood!<br /> +Was it not but yesterday<br /> +That a palmer came this way,<br /> +Out of Limousin came he,<br /> +And at ease he might not be,<br /> +For a passion him possessed<br /> +That upon his bed he lay,<br /> +Lay, and tossed, and knew not rest<br /> +In his pain discomforted.<br /> +But thou camest by the bed,<br /> +Where he tossed amid his pain,<br /> +Holding high thy sweeping train,<br /> +And thy kirtle of ermine,<br /> +And thy smock of linen fine,<br /> +Then these fair white limbs of thine,<br /> +Did he look on, and it fell<br /> +That the palmer straight was well,<br /> +Straight was hale—and comforted,<br /> +And he rose up from his bed,<br /> +And went back to his own place,<br /> +Sound and strong, and full of face!<br /> +My sweet lady, lily white,<br /> +Sweet thy footfall, sweet thine eyes,<br /> +And the mirth of thy replies.<br /> +Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face,<br /> +Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow,<br /> +And the touch of thine embrace.<br /> +Who but doth in thee delight?<br /> +I for love of thee am bound<br /> +In this dungeon underground,<br /> +All for loving thee must lie<br /> +Here where loud on thee I cry,<br /> +Here for loving thee must die<br /> + For thee, my love.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>Aucassin was cast into prison as ye have heard tell, and Nicolete, +of her part, was in the chamber. Now it was summer time, the month +of May, when days are warm, and long, and clear, and the night still +and serene. Nicolete lay one night on her bed, and saw the moon +shine clear through a window, yea, and heard the nightingale sing in +the garden, so she minded her of Aucassin her lover whom she loved so +well. Then fell she to thoughts of Count Garin de Biaucaire, that +hated her to the death; therefore deemed she that there she would no +longer abide, for that, if she were told of, and the Count knew whereas +she lay, an ill death would he make her die. Now she knew that +the old woman slept who held her company. Then she arose, and +clad her in a mantle of silk she had by her, very goodly, and took napkins, +and sheets of the bed, and knotted one to the other, and made therewith +a cord as long as she might, so knitted it to a pillar in the window, +and let herself slip down into the garden, then caught up her raiment +in both hands, behind and before, and kilted up her kirtle, because +of the dew that she saw lying deep on the grass, and so went her way +down through the garden.</p> +<p>Her locks were yellow and curled, her eyes blue and smiling, her +face featly fashioned, the nose high and fairly set, the lips more red +than cherry or rose in time of summer, her teeth white and small; her +breasts so firm that they bore up the folds of her bodice as they had +been two apples; so slim she was in the waist that your two hands might +have clipped her, and the daisy flowers that brake beneath her as she +went tip-toe, and that bent above her instep, seemed black against her +feet, so white was the maiden. She came to the postern gate, and +unbarred it, and went out through the streets of Biaucaire, keeping +always on the shadowy side, for the moon was shining right clear, and +so wandered she till she came to the tower where her lover lay. +The tower was flanked with buttresses, and she cowered under one of +them, wrapped in her mantle. Then thrust she her head through +a crevice of the tower that was old and worn, and so heard she Aucassin +wailing within, and making dole and lament for the sweet lady he loved +so well. And when she had listened to him she began to say:</p> +<p>Here one singeth:</p> +<blockquote><p>Nicolete the bright of brow<br /> +On a pillar leanest thou,<br /> +All Aucassin’s wail dost hear<br /> +For his love that is so dear,<br /> +Then thou spakest, shrill and clear,<br /> +“Gentle knight withouten fear<br /> +Little good befalleth thee,<br /> +Little help of sigh or tear,<br /> +Ne’er shalt thou have joy of me.<br /> +Never shalt thou win me; still<br /> +Am I held in evil will<br /> +Of thy father and thy kin,<br /> +Therefore must I cross the sea,<br /> +And another land must win.”<br /> +Then she cut her curls of gold,<br /> +Cast them in the dungeon hold,<br /> +Aucassin doth clasp them there,<br /> +Kissed the curls that were so fair,<br /> +Them doth in his bosom bear,<br /> +Then he wept, even as of old,<br /> + All for his love!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>When Aucassin heard Nicolete say that she would pass into a far country, +he was all in wrath.</p> +<p>“Fair sweet friend,” quoth he, “thou shalt not +go, for then wouldst thou be my death. And the first man that +saw thee and had the might withal, would take thee straightway into +his bed to be his leman. And once thou camest into a man’s +bed, and that bed not mine, wit ye well that I would not tarry till +I had found a knife to pierce my heart and slay myself. Nay, verily, +wait so long I would not: but would hurl myself on it so soon as I could +find a wall, or a black stone, thereon would I dash my head so mightily, +that the eyes would start, and my brain burst. Rather would I +die even such a death, than know thou hadst lain in a man’s bed, +and that bed not mine.”</p> +<p>“Aucassin,” she said, “I trow thou lovest me not +as much as thou sayest, but I love thee more than thou lovest me.”</p> +<p>“Ah, fair sweet friend,” said Aucassin, “it may +not be that thou shouldst love me even as I love thee. Woman may +not love man as man loves woman, for a woman’s love lies in the +glance of her eye, and the bud of her breast, and her foot’s tip-toe, +but the love of man is in his heart planted, whence it can never issue +forth and pass away.”</p> +<p>Now while Aucassin and Nicolete held this parley together, the town’s +guards came down a street, with swords drawn beneath their cloaks, for +the Count Garin had charged them that if they could take her they should +slay her. But the sentinel that was on the tower saw them coming, +and heard them speaking of Nicolete as they went, and threatening to +slay her.</p> +<p>“God!” quoth he, “this were great pity to slay +so fair a maid! Right great charity it were if I could say aught +to her, and they perceive it not, and she should be on her guard against +them, for if they slay her, then were Aucassin, my damoiseau, dead, +and that were great pity.”</p> +<p><i>Here one singeth</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Valiant was the sentinel,<br /> +Courteous, kind, and practised well,<br /> +So a song did sing and tell<br /> +Of the peril that befell.<br /> +“Maiden fair that lingerest here,<br /> +Gentle maid of merry cheer,<br /> +Hair of gold, and eyes as clear<br /> +As the water in a mere,<br /> +Thou, meseems, hast spoken word<br /> +To thy lover and thy lord,<br /> +That would die for thee, his dear;<br /> +Now beware the ill accord,<br /> +Of the cloaked men of the sword,<br /> +These have sworn and keep their word,<br /> +They will put thee to the sword<br /> + Save thou take heed!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>“Ha!” quoth Nicolete, “be the soul of thy father +and the soul of thy mother in the rest of Paradise, so fairly and so +courteously hast thou spoken me! Please God, I will be right ware +of them, God keep me out of their hands.”</p> +<p>So she shrank under her mantle into the shadow of the pillar till +they had passed by, and then took she farewell of Aucassin, and so fared +till she came unto the castle wall. Now that wall was wasted and +broken, and some deal mended, so she clomb thereon till she came between +wall and fosse, and so looked down, and saw that the fosse was deep +and steep, whereat she was sore adread.</p> +<p>“Ah God,” saith she, “sweet Saviour! If I +let myself fall hence, I shall break my neck, and if here I abide, to-morrow +they will take me and burn me in a fire. Yet liefer would I perish +here than that to-morrow the folk should stare on me for a gazing-stock.”</p> +<p>Then she crossed herself, and so let herself slip into the fosse, +and when she had come to the bottom, her fair feet, and fair hands that +had not custom thereof, were bruised and frayed, and the blood springing +from a dozen places, yet felt she no pain nor hurt, by reason of the +great dread wherein she went. But if she were in cumber to win +there, in worse was she to win out. But she deemed that there +to abide was of none avail, and she found a pike sharpened, that they +of the city had thrown out to keep the hold. Therewith made she +one stepping place after another, till, with much travail, she climbed +the wall. Now the forest lay within two crossbow shots, and the +forest was of thirty leagues this way and that. Therein also were +wild beasts, and beasts serpentine, and she feared that if she entered +there they would slay her. But anon she deemed that if men found +her there they would hale her back into the town to burn her.</p> +<p><i>Here one singeth</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Nicolete, the fair of face,<br /> +Climbed upon the coping stone,<br /> +There made she lament and moan<br /> +Calling on our Lord alone<br /> +For his mercy and his grace.</p> +<p>“Father, king of Majesty,<br /> +Listen, for I nothing know<br /> +Where to flee or whither go.<br /> +If within the wood I fare,<br /> +Lo, the wolves will slay me there,<br /> +Boars and lions terrible,<br /> +Many in the wild wood dwell,<br /> +But if I abide the day,<br /> +Surely worse will come of it,<br /> +Surely will the fire be lit<br /> +That shall burn my body away,<br /> +Jesus, lord of Majesty,<br /> +Better seemeth it to me,<br /> +That within the wood I fare,<br /> +Though the wolves devour me there<br /> +Than within the town to go,<br /> + Ne’er be it so!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>Nicolete made great moan, as ye have heard; then commended she herself +to God, and anon fared till she came unto the forest. But to go +deep in it she dared not, by reason of the wild beasts, and beasts serpentine. +Anon crept she into a little thicket, where sleep came upon her, and +she slept till prime next day, when the shepherds issued forth from +the town and drove their bestial between wood and water. Anon +came they all into one place by a fair fountain which was on the fringe +of the forest, thereby spread they a mantle, and thereon set bread. +So while they were eating, Nicolete wakened, with the sound of the singing +birds, and the shepherds, and she went unto them, saying, “Fair +boys, our Lord keep you!”</p> +<p>“God bless thee,” quoth he that had more words to his +tongue than the rest.</p> +<p>“Fair boys,” quoth she, “know ye Aucassin, the +son of Count Garin de Biaucaire?”</p> +<p>“Yea, well we know him.”</p> +<p>“So may God help you, fair boys,” quoth she, “tell +him there is a beast in this forest, and bid him come chase it, and +if he can take it, he would not give one limb thereof for a hundred +marks of gold, nay, nor for five hundred, nor for any ransom.”</p> +<p>Then looked they on her, and saw her so fair that they were all astonied.</p> +<p>“Will I tell him thereof?” quoth he that had more words +to his tongue than the rest; “foul fall him who speaks of the +thing or tells him the tidings. These are but visions ye tell +of, for there is no beast so great in this forest, stag, nor lion, nor +boar, that one of his limbs is worth more than two deniers, or three +at the most, and ye speak of such great ransom. Foul fall him +that believes your word, and him that telleth Aucassin. Ye be +a Fairy, and we have none liking for your company, nay, hold on your +road.”</p> +<p>“Nay, fair boys,” quoth she, “nay, ye will do my +bidding. For this beast is so mighty of medicine that thereby +will Aucassin be healed of his torment. And lo! I have five +sols in my purse, take them, and tell him: for within three days must +he come hunting it hither, and if within three days he find it not, +never will he be healed of his torment.”</p> +<p>“My faith,” quoth he, “the money will we take, +and if he come hither we will tell him, but seek him we will not.”</p> +<p>“In God’s name,” quoth she; and so took farewell +of the shepherds, and went her way.</p> +<p><i>Here singeth one</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Nicolete the bright of brow<br /> +From the shepherds doth she pass<br /> +All below the blossomed bough<br /> +Where an ancient way there was,<br /> +Overgrown and choked with grass,<br /> +Till she found the cross-roads where<br /> +Seven paths do all way fare,<br /> +Then she deemeth she will try,<br /> +Should her lover pass thereby,<br /> +If he love her loyally.<br /> +So she gathered white lilies,<br /> +Oak-leaf, that in green wood is,<br /> +Leaves of many a branch I wis,<br /> +Therewith built a lodge of green,<br /> +Goodlier was never seen,<br /> +Swore by God who may not lie,<br /> +“If my love the lodge should spy,<br /> +He will rest awhile thereby<br /> +If he love me loyally.”<br /> +Thus his faith she deemed to try,<br /> +“Or I love him not, not I,<br /> + Nor he loves me!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>Nicolete built her lodge of boughs, as ye have heard, right fair +and feteously, and wove it well, within and without, of flowers and +leaves. So lay she hard by the lodge in a deep coppice to know +what Aucassin will do. And the cry and the bruit went abroad through +all the country and all the land, that Nicolete was lost. Some +told that she had fled, and some that the Count Garin had let slay her. +Whosoever had joy thereof, no joy had Aucassin. And the Count +Garin, his father, had taken him out of prison, and had sent for the +knights of that land, and the ladies, and let make a right great feast, +for the comforting of Aucassin his son. Now at the high time of +the feast, was Aucassin leaning from a gallery, all woful and discomforted. +Whatsoever men might devise of mirth, Aucassin had no joy thereof, nor +no desire, for he saw not her that he loved. Then a knight looked +on him, and came to him, and said:</p> +<p>“Aucassin, of that sickness of thine have I been sick, and +good counsel will I give thee, if thou wilt hearken to me—”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said Aucassin, “gramercy, good counsel would +I fain hear.”</p> +<p>“Mount thy horse,” quoth he, “and go take thy pastime +in yonder forest, there wilt thou see the good flowers and grass, and +hear the sweet birds sing. Perchance thou shalt hear some word, +whereby thou shalt be the better.”</p> +<p>“Sir,” quoth Aucassin, “gramercy, that will I do.”</p> +<p>He passed out of the hall, and went down the stairs, and came to +the stable where his horse was. He let saddle and bridle him, +and mounted, and rode forth from the castle, and wandered till he came +to the forest, so rode till he came to the fountain and found the shepherds +at point of noon. And they had a mantle stretched on the grass, +and were eating bread, and making great joy.</p> +<p><i>Here one singeth</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>There were gathered shepherds all,<br /> +Martin, Esmeric, and Hal,<br /> +Aubrey, Robin, great and small.<br /> +Saith the one, “Good fellows all,<br /> +God keep Aucassin the fair,<br /> +And the maid with yellow hair,<br /> +Bright of brow and eyes of vair.<br /> +She that gave us gold to ware.<br /> +Cakes therewith to buy ye know,<br /> +Goodly knives and sheaths also.<br /> +Flutes to play, and pipes to blow,<br /> + May God him heal!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>When Aucassin heard the shepherds, anon he bethought him of Nicolete, +his sweet lady he loved so well, and he deemed that she had passed thereby; +then set he spurs to his horse, and so came to the shepherds.</p> +<p>“Fair boys, God be with you.”</p> +<p>“God bless you,” quoth he that had more words to his +tongue than the rest.</p> +<p>“Fair boys,” quoth Aucassin, “say the song again +that anon ye sang.”</p> +<p>“Say it we will not,” quoth he that had more words to +his tongue than the rest, “foul fall him who will sing it again +for you, fair sir!”</p> +<p>“Fair boys,” quoth Aucassin, “know ye me not?”</p> +<p>“Yea, we know well that you are Aucassin, out damoiseau, natheless +we be not your men, but the Count’s.”</p> +<p>“Fair boys, yet sing it again, I pray you.”</p> +<p>“Hearken! by the Holy Heart,” quoth he, “wherefore +should I sing for you, if it likes me not? Lo, there is no such +rich man in this country, saving the body of Garin the Count, that dare +drive forth my oxen, or my cows, or my sheep, if he finds them in his +fields, or his corn, lest he lose his eyes for it, and wherefore should +I sing for you, if it likes me not?”</p> +<p>“God be your aid, fair boys, sing it ye will, and take ye these +ten sols I have here in a purse.”</p> +<p>“Sir, the money will we take, but never a note will I sing, +for I have given my oath, but I will tell thee a plain tale, if thou +wilt.”</p> +<p>“By God,” saith Aucassin, “I love a plain tale +better than naught.”</p> +<p>“Sir, we were in this place, a little time agone, between prime +and tierce, and were eating our bread by this fountain, even as now +we do, and a maid came past, the fairest thing in the world, whereby +we deemed that she should be a fay, and all the wood shone round about +her. Anon she gave us of that she had, whereby we made covenant +with her, that if ye came hither we would bid you hunt in this forest, +wherein is such a beast that, an ye might take him, ye would not give +one limb of him for five hundred marks of silver, nor for no ransom; +for this beast is so mighty of medicine, that, an ye could take him, +ye should be healed of your torment, and within three days must ye take +him, and if ye take him not then, never will ye look on him. So +chase ye the beast, an ye will, or an ye will let be, for my promise +have I kept with her.”</p> +<p>“Fair boys,” quoth Aucassin, “ye have said enough. +God grant me to find this quarry.”</p> +<p><i>Here one singeth</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Aucassin when he had heard,<br /> +Sore within his heart was stirred,<br /> +Left the shepherds on that word,<br /> +Far into the forest spurred<br /> +Rode into the wood; and fleet<br /> +Fled his horse through paths of it,<br /> +Three words spake he of his sweet,<br /> +“Nicolete the fair, the dear,<br /> +’Tis for thee I follow here<br /> +Track of boar, nor slot of deer,<br /> +But thy sweet body and eyes so clear,<br /> +All thy mirth and merry cheer,<br /> +That my very heart have slain,<br /> +So please God to me maintain<br /> +I shall see my love again,<br /> + Sweet sister, friend!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>Aucassin fared through the forest from path to path after Nicolete, +and his horse bare him furiously. Think ye not that the thorns +him spared, nor the briars, nay, not so, but tare his raiment, that +scarce a knot might be tied with the soundest part thereof, and the +blood sprang from his arms, and flanks, and legs, in forty places, or +thirty, so that behind the Childe men might follow on the track of his +blood in the grass. But so much he went in thoughts of Nicolete, +his lady sweet, that he felt no pain nor torment, and all the day hurled +through the forest in this fashion nor heard no word of her. And +when he saw Vespers draw nigh, he began to weep for that he found her +not. All down an old road, and grassgrown he fared, when anon, +looking along the way before him, he saw such an one as I shall tell +you. Tall was he, and great of growth, laidly and marvellous to +look upon: his head huge, and black as charcoal, and more than the breadth +of a hand between his two eyes, and great cheeks, and a big nose and +broad, big nostrils and ugly, and thick lips redder than a collop, and +great teeth yellow and ugly, and he was shod with hosen and shoon of +bull’s hide, bound with cords of bark over the knee, and all about +him a great cloak twy-fold, and he leaned on a grievous cudgel, and +Aucassin came unto him, and was afraid when he beheld him.</p> +<p>“Fair brother, God aid thee.”</p> +<p>“God bless you,” quoth he.</p> +<p>“As God he helpeth thee, what makest thou here?”</p> +<p>“What is that to thee?”</p> +<p>“Nay, naught, naught,” saith Aucassin, “I ask but +out of courtesy.”</p> +<p>“But for whom weepest thou,” quoth he, “and makest +such heavy lament? Certes, were I as rich a man as thou, the whole +world should not make me weep.”</p> +<p>“Ha! know ye me?” saith Aucassin.</p> +<p>“Yea, I know well that ye be Aucassin, the son of the Count, +and if ye tell me for why ye weep, then will I tell you what I make +here.”</p> +<p>“Certes,” quoth Aucassin, “I will tell you right +gladly. Hither came I this morning to hunt in this forest; and +with me a white hound, the fairest in the world; him have I lost, and +for him I weep.”</p> +<p>“By the Heart our Lord bare in his breast,” quoth he, +“are ye weeping for a stinking hound? Foul fall him that +holds thee high henceforth! for there is no such rich man in the land, +but if thy father asked it of him, he would give thee ten, or fifteen, +or twenty, and be the gladder for it. But I have cause to weep +and make dole.”</p> +<p>“Wherefore so, brother?”</p> +<p>“Sir, I will tell thee. I was hireling to a rich vilain, +and drove his plough; four oxen had he. But three days since came +on me great misadventure, whereby I lost the best of mine oxen, Roger, +the best of my team. Him go I seeking, and have neither eaten +nor drunken these three days, nor may I go to the town, lest they cast +me into prison, seeing that I have not wherewithal to pay. Out +of all the wealth of the world have I no more than ye see on my body. +A poor mother bare me, that had no more but one wretched bed; this have +they taken from under her, and she lies in the very straw. This +ails me more than mine own case, for wealth comes and goes; if now I +have lost, another tide will I gain, and will pay for mine ox whenas +I may; never for that will I weep. But you weep for a stinking +hound. Foul fall whoso thinks well of thee!”</p> +<p>“Certes thou art a good comforter, brother, blessed be thou! +And of what price was thine ox?”</p> +<p>“Sir, they ask me twenty sols for him, whereof I cannot abate +one doit.”</p> +<p>“Nay, then,” quoth Aucassin, “take these twenty +sols I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox.”</p> +<p>“Sir,” saith he, “gramercy. And God give +thee to find that thou seekest.”</p> +<p>So they parted each from other, and Aucassin rode on: the night was +fair and still, and so long he went that he came to the lodge of boughs, +that Nicolete had builded and woven within and without, over and under, +with flowers, and it was the fairest lodge that might be seen. +When Aucassin was ware of it, he stopped suddenly, and the light of +the moon fell therein.</p> +<p>“God!” quoth Aucassin, “here was Nicolete, my sweet +lady, and this lodge builded she with her fair hands. For the +sweetness of it, and for love of her, will I alight, and rest here this +night long.”</p> +<p>He drew forth his foot from the stirrup to alight, and the steed +was great and tall. He dreamed so much on Nicolete his right sweet +lady, that he slipped on a stone, and drave his shoulder out of his +place. Then knew he that he was hurt sore, natheless he bore him +with what force he might, and fastened with the other hand the mare’s +son to a thorn. Then turned he on his side, and crept backwise +into the lodge of boughs. And he looked through a gap in the lodge +and saw the stars in heaven, and one that was brighter than the rest; +so began he to say:</p> +<p><i>Here one singeth</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Star, that I from far behold,<br /> +Star, the Moon calls to her fold,<br /> +Nicolete with thee doth dwell,<br /> +My sweet love with locks of gold,<br /> +God would have her dwell afar,<br /> +Dwell with him for evening star,<br /> +Would to God, whate’er befell,<br /> +Would that with her I might dwell.<br /> +I would clip her close and strait,<br /> +Nay, were I of much estate,<br /> +Some king’s son desirable,<br /> +Worthy she to be my mate,<br /> +Me to kiss and clip me well,<br /> + Sister, sweet friend!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>When Nicolete heard Aucassin, right so came she unto him, for she +was not far away. She passed within the lodge, and threw her arms +about his neck, and clipped and kissed him.</p> +<p>“Fair sweet friend, welcome be thou.”</p> +<p>“And thou, fair sweet love, be thou welcome.”</p> +<p>So either kissed and clipped the other, and fair joy was them between.</p> +<p>“Ha! sweet love,” quoth Aucassin, “but now was +I sore hurt, and my shoulder wried, but I take no force of it, nor have +no hurt therefrom since I have thee.”</p> +<p>Right so felt she his shoulder and found it was wried from its place. +And she so handled it with her white hands, and so wrought in her surgery, +that by God’s will who loveth lovers, it went back into its place. +Then took she flowers, and fresh grass, and leaves green, and bound +these herbs on the hurt with a strip of her smock, and he was all healed.</p> +<p>“Aucassin,” saith she, “fair sweet love, take counsel +what thou wilt do. If thy father let search this forest to-morrow, +and men find me here, they will slay me, come to thee what will.”</p> +<p>“Certes, fair sweet love, therefore should I sorrow heavily, +but, an if I may, never shall they take thee.”</p> +<p>Anon gat he on his horse, and his lady before him, kissing and clipping +her, and so rode they at adventure.</p> +<p><i>Here one singeth</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Aucassin the frank, the fair,<br /> +Aucassin of the yellow hair,<br /> +Gentle knight, and true lover,<br /> +From the forest doth he fare,<br /> +Holds his love before him there,<br /> +Kissing cheek, and chin, and eyes,<br /> +But she spake in sober wise,<br /> +“Aucassin, true love and fair,<br /> +To what land do we repair?”<br /> +Sweet my love, I take no care,<br /> +Thou art with me everywhere!<br /> +So they pass the woods and downs,<br /> +Pass the villages and towns,<br /> +Hills and dales and open land,<br /> +Came at dawn to the sea sand,<br /> +Lighted down upon the strand,<br /> + Beside the sea.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>Aucassin lighted down and his love, as ye have heard sing. +He held his horse by the bridle, and his lady by the hands; so went +they along the sea shore, and on the sea they saw a ship, and he called +unto the sailors, and they came to him. Then held he such speech +with them, that he and his lady were brought aboard that ship, and when +they were on the high sea, behold a mighty wind and tyrannous arose, +marvellous and great, and drave them from land to land, till they came +unto a strange country, and won the haven of the castle of Torelore. +Then asked they what this land might be, and men told them that it was +the country of the King of Torelore. Then he asked what manner +of man was he, and was there war afoot, and men said,</p> +<p>“Yea, and mighty!”</p> +<p>Therewith took he farewell of the merchants, and they commended him +to God. Anon Aucassin mounted his horse, with his sword girt, +and his lady before him, and rode at adventure till he was come to the +castle. Then asked he where the King was, and they said that he +was in childbed.</p> +<p>“Then where is his wife?”</p> +<p>And they told him she was with the host, and had led with her all +the force of that country.</p> +<p>Now when Aucassin heard that saying, he made great marvel, and came +into the castle, and lighted down, he and his lady, and his lady held +his horse. Right so went he up into the castle, with his sword +girt, and fared hither and thither till he came to the chamber where +the King was lying.</p> +<p><i>Here one singeth</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Aucassin the courteous knight<br /> +To the chamber went forthright,<br /> +To the bed with linen dight<br /> +Even where the King was laid.<br /> +There he stood by him and said:<br /> +“Fool, what mak’st thou here abed?”<br /> +Quoth the King: “I am brought to bed<br /> +Of a fair son, and anon<br /> +When my month is over and gone,<br /> +And my healing fairly done,<br /> +To the Minster will I fare<br /> +And will do my churching there,<br /> +As my father did repair.<br /> +Then will sally forth to war,<br /> +Then will drive my foes afar<br /> + From my countrie!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>When Aucassin heard the King speak on this wise, he took all the +sheets that covered him, and threw them all abroad about the chamber. +Then saw he behind him a cudgel, and caught it into his hand, and turned, +and took the King, and beat him till he was well-nigh dead.</p> +<p>“Ha! fair sir,” quoth the King, “what would you +with me? Art thou beside thyself, that beatest me in mine own +house?”</p> +<p>“By God’s heart,” quoth Aucassin, “thou ill +son of an ill wench, I will slay thee if thou swear not that never shall +any man in all thy land lie in of child henceforth for ever.”</p> +<p>So he did that oath, and when he had done it,</p> +<p>“Sir,” said Aucassin, “bring me now where thy wife +is with the host.”</p> +<p>“Sir, with good will,” quoth the King.</p> +<p>He mounted his horse, and Aucassin gat on his own, and Nicolete abode +in the Queen’s chamber. Anon rode Aucassin and the King +even till they came to that place where the Queen was, and lo! men were +warring with baked apples, and with eggs, and with fresh cheeses, and +Aucassin began to look on them, and made great marvel.</p> +<p><i>Here one singeth</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Aucassin his horse doth stay,<br /> +From the saddle watched the fray,<br /> +All the stour and fierce array;<br /> +Right fresh cheeses carried they,<br /> +Apples baked, and mushrooms grey,<br /> +Whoso splasheth most the ford<br /> +He is master called and lord.<br /> +Aucassin doth gaze awhile,<br /> +Then began to laugh and smile<br /> + And made game.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>When Aucassin beheld these marvels, he came to the King, and said, +“Sir, be these thine enemies?”</p> +<p>“Yea, Sir,” quoth the King.</p> +<p>“And will ye that I should avenge you of them?”</p> +<p>“Yea,” quoth he, “with all my heart.”</p> +<p>Then Aucassin put hand to sword, and hurled among them, and began +to smite to the right hand and the left, and slew many of them. +And when the King saw that he slew them, he caught at his bridle and +said,</p> +<p>“Ha! fair sir, slay them not in such wise.”</p> +<p>“How,” quoth Aucassin, “will ye not that I should +avenge you of them?”</p> +<p>“Sir,” quoth the King, “overmuch already hast thou +avenged me. It is nowise our custom to slay each other.”</p> +<p>Anon turned they and fled. Then the King and Aucassin betook +them again to the castle of Torelore, and the folk of that land counselled +the King to put Aucassin forth, and keep Nicolete for his son’s +wife, for that she seemed a lady high of lineage. And Nicolete +heard them, and had no joy of it, so began to say:</p> +<p><i>Here singeth one</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Thus she spake the bright of brow:<br /> +“Lord of Torelore and king,<br /> +Thy folk deem me a light thing,<br /> +When my love doth me embrace,<br /> +Fair he finds me, in good case,<br /> +Then am I in such derray,<br /> +Neither harp, nor lyre, nor lay,<br /> +Dance nor game, nor rebeck play<br /> + Were so sweet.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>Aucassin dwelt in the castle of Torelore, in great ease and great +delight, for that he had with him Nicolete his sweet love, whom he loved +so well. Now while he was in such pleasure and such delight, came +a troop of Saracens by sea, and laid siege to the castle and took it +by main strength. Anon took they the substance that was therein +and carried off the men and maidens captives. They seized Nicolete +and Aucassin, and bound Aucassin hand and foot, and cast him into one +ship, and Nicolete into another. Then rose there a mighty wind +over sea, and scattered the ships. Now that ship wherein was Aucassin, +went wandering on the sea, till it came to the castle of Biaucaire, +and the folk of the country ran together to wreck her, and there found +they Aucassin, and they knew him again. So when they of Biaucaire +saw their damoiseau, they made great joy of him, for Aucassin had dwelt +full three years in the castle of Torelore, and his father and mother +were dead. So the people took him to the castle of Biaucaire, +and there were they all his men. And he held the land in peace.</p> +<p><i>Here singeth one</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Lo ye, Aucassin hath gone<br /> +To Biaucaire that is his own,<br /> +Dwelleth there in joy and ease<br /> +And the kingdom is at peace.<br /> +Swears he by the Majesty<br /> +Of our Lord that is most high,<br /> +Rather would he they should die<br /> +All his kin and parentry,<br /> +So that Nicolete were nigh.<br /> +“Ah sweet love, and fair of brow,<br /> +I know not where to seek thee now,<br /> +God made never that countrie,<br /> +Not by land, and not by sea,<br /> +Where I would not search for thee,<br /> + If that might be!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>Now leave we Aucassin, and speak we of Nicolete. The ship wherein +she was cast pertained to the King of Carthage, and he was her father, +and she had twelve brothers, all princes or kings. When they beheld +Nicolete, how fair she was, they did her great worship, and made much +joy of her, and many times asked her who she was, for surely seemed +she a lady of noble line and high parentry. But she might not +tell them of her lineage, for she was but a child when men stole her +away. So sailed they till they won the City of Carthage, and when +Nicolete saw the walls of the castle, and the country-side, she knew +that there had she been nourished and thence stolen away, being but +a child. Yet was she not so young a child but that well she knew +she had been daughter of the King of Carthage; and of her nurture in +that city.</p> +<p><i>Here singeth one</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>Nicolete the good and true<br /> +To the land hath come anew,<br /> +Sees the palaces and walls,<br /> +And the houses and the halls!<br /> +Then she spake and said, “Alas!<br /> +That of birth so great I was,<br /> +Cousin of the Amiral<br /> +And the very child of him<br /> +Carthage counts King of Paynim,<br /> +Wild folk hold me here withal;<br /> +Nay Aucassin, love of thee<br /> +Gentle knight, and true, and free,<br /> +Burns and wastes the heart of me.<br /> +Ah God grant it of his grace,<br /> +That thou hold me, and embrace,<br /> +That thou kiss me on the face<br /> + Love and lord!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>When the King of Carthage heard Nicolete speak in this wise, he cast +his arms about her neck.</p> +<p>“Fair sweet love,” saith he, “tell me who thou +art, and be not adread of me.”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said she, “I am daughter to the King of +Carthage, and was taken, being then a little child, it is now fifteen +years gone.”</p> +<p>When all they of the court heard her speak thus, they knew well that +she spake sooth: so made they great joy of her, and led her to the castle +in great honour, as the King’s daughter. And they would +have given her to her lord a King of Paynim, but she had no mind to +marry. There dwelt she three days or four. And she considered +by what means she might seek for Aucassin. Then she got her a +viol, and learned to play on it, till they would have married her on +a day to a great King of Paynim, and she stole forth by night, and came +to the sea-port, and dwelt with a poor woman thereby. Then took +she a certain herb, and therewith smeared her head and her face, till +she was all brown and stained. And she let make coat, and mantle, +and smock, and hose, and attired herself as if she had been a harper. +So took she the viol and went to a mariner, and so wrought on him that +he took her aboard his vessel. Then hoisted they sail, and fared +on the high seas even till they came to the land of Provence. +And Nicolete went forth and took the viol, and went playing through +all that country, even till she came to the castle of Biaucaire, where +Aucassin lay.</p> +<p><i>Here singeth one</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>At Biaucaire below the tower<br /> +Sat Aucassin, on an hour,<br /> +Heard the bird, and watched the flower,<br /> +With his barons him beside,<br /> +Then came on him in that tide,<br /> +The sweet influence of love<br /> +And the memory thereof;<br /> +Thought of Nicolete the fair,<br /> +And the dainty face of her<br /> +He had loved so many years,<br /> +Then was he in dule and tears!<br /> +Even then came Nicolete<br /> +On the stair a foot she set,<br /> +And she drew the viol bow<br /> +Through the strings and chanted so;<br /> +“Listen, lords and knights, to me,<br /> +Lords of high or low degree,<br /> +To my story list will ye<br /> +All of Aucassin and her<br /> +That was Nicolete the fair?<br /> +And their love was long to tell<br /> +Deep woods through he sought her well,<br /> +Paynims took them on a day<br /> +In Torelore and bound they lay.<br /> +Of Aucassin nought know we,<br /> +But fair Nicolete the free<br /> +Now in Carthage doth she dwell,<br /> +There her father loves her well,<br /> +Who is king of that countrie.<br /> +Her a husband hath he found,<br /> +Paynim lord that serves Mahound!<br /> +Ne’er with him the maid will go,<br /> +For she loves a damoiseau,<br /> +Aucassin, that ye may know,<br /> +Swears to God that never mo<br /> +With a lover will she go<br /> +Save with him she loveth so<br /> + In long desire.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:</p> +<p>When Aucassin heard Nicolete speak in this wise, he was right joyful, +and drew her on one side, and spoke, saying:</p> +<p>“Sweet fair friend, know ye nothing of this Nicolete, of whom +ye have thus sung?”</p> +<p>“Yea, Sir, I know her for the noblest creature, and the most +gentle, and the best that ever was born on ground. She is daughter +to the King of Carthage that took her there where Aucassin was taken, +and brought her into the city of Carthage, till he knew that verily +she was his own daughter, whereon he made right great mirth. Anon +wished he to give her for her lord one of the greatest kings of all +Spain, but she would rather let herself be hanged or burned, than take +any lord, how great soever.”</p> +<p>“Ha! fair sweet friend,” quoth the Count Aucassin, “if +thou wilt go into that land again, and bid her come and speak to me, +I will give thee of my substance, more than thou wouldst dare to ask +or take. And know ye, that for the sake of her, I have no will +to take a wife, howsoever high her lineage. So wait I for her, +and never will I have a wife, but her only. And if I knew where +to find her, no need would I have to seek her.”</p> +<p>“Sir,” quoth she, “if ye promise me that, I will +go in quest of her for your sake, and for hers, that I love much.”</p> +<p>So he sware to her, and anon let give her twenty livres, and she +departed from him, and he wept for the sweetness of Nicolete. +And when she saw him weeping, she said:</p> +<p>“Sir, trouble not thyself so much withal. For in a little +while shall I have brought her into this city, and ye shall see her.”</p> +<p>When Aucassin heard that, he was right glad thereof. And she +departed from him, and went into the city to the house of the Captain’s +wife, for the Captain her father in God was dead. So she dwelt +there, and told all her tale; and the Captain’s wife knew her, +and knew well that she was Nicolete that she herself had nourished. +Then she let wash and bathe her, and there rested she eight full days. +Then took she an herb that was named <i>Eyebright</i> and anointed herself +therewith, and was as fair as ever she had been all the days of her +life. Then she clothed herself in rich robes of silk whereof the +lady had great store, and then sat herself in the chamber on a silken +coverlet, and called the lady and bade her go and bring Aucassin her +love, and she did even so. And when she came to the Palace she +found Aucassin weeping, and making lament for Nicolete his love, for +that she delayed so long. And the lady spake unto him and said:</p> +<p>“Aucassin, sorrow no more, but come thou on with me, and I +will shew thee the thing in the world that thou lovest best; even Nicolete +thy dear love, who from far lands hath come to seek of thee.” +And Aucassin was right glad.</p> +<p><i>Here singeth one</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>When Aucassin heareth now<br /> +That his lady bright of brow<br /> +Dwelleth in his own countrie,<br /> +Never man was glad as he.<br /> +To her castle doth he hie<br /> +With the lady speedily,<br /> +Passeth to the chamber high,<br /> +Findeth Nicolete thereby.<br /> +Of her true love found again<br /> +Never maid was half so fain.<br /> +Straight she leaped upon her feet:<br /> +When his love he saw at last,<br /> +Arms about her did he cast,<br /> +Kissed her often, kissed her sweet<br /> +Kissed her lips and brows and eyes.<br /> +Thus all night do they devise,<br /> +Even till the morning white.<br /> +Then Aucassin wedded her,<br /> +Made her Lady of Biaucaire.<br /> +Many years abode they there,<br /> +Many years in shade or sun,<br /> +In great gladness and delight<br /> +Ne’er hath Aucassin regret<br /> +Nor his lady Nicolete.<br /> +Now my story all is done,<br /> + Said and sung!</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>NOTES</h2> +<p>“THE BLENDING”—of alternate prose and verse—“is +not unknown in various countries.” Thus in Dr. Steere’s +<i>Swahili Tales</i> (London, 1870), p. vii. we read: “It is a +constant characteristic of popular native tales to have a sort of burden, +which all join in singing. Frequently the skeleton of the story +seems to be contained in these snatches of singing, which the story-teller +connects by an extemporized account of the intervening history . . . +Almost all these stories had sung parts, and of some of these, even +those who sung them could scarcely explain the meaning . . . I have +heard stories partly told, in which the verse parts were in the Yao +and Nyamwezi languages.” The examples given (<i>Sultan Majnun</i>) +are only verses supposed to be chanted by the characters in the tale. +It is improbable that the Yaos and Nyamwezis borrowed the custom of +inserting verse into prose tales from Arab literature, where the intercalated +verse is usually of a moral and reflective character.</p> +<p>Mr. Jamieson, in <i>Illustrations of Northern Antiquities</i> (p. +379), preserved a <i>cante-fable</i> called <i>Rosmer Halfman</i>, or +<i>The Merman Rosmer</i>. Mr. Motherwell remarks (<i>Minstrelsy</i>, +Glasgow, 1827, p. xv.): “Thus I have heard the ancient ballad +of <i>Young Beichan and Susy Pye</i> dilated by a story-teller into +a tale of remarkable dimensions—a paragraph of prose and then +a <i>screed</i> of rhyme alternately given.” The example +published by Mr. Motherwell gives us the very form <i>of Aucassin and +Nicolete</i>, surviving in Scotch folk lore:-</p> +<p>“Well ye must know that in the Moor’s Castle, there was +a mafsymore, which is a dark deep dungeon for keeping prisoners. +It was twenty feet below the ground, and into this hole they closed +poor Beichan. There he stood, night and day, up to his waist in +puddle-water; but night or day it was all one to him, for no ae styme +of light ever got in. So he lay there a lang and weary while, +and thinking on his heavy weird, he made a murnfu’ sang to pass +the time—and this was the sang that he made, and grat when he +sang it, for he never thought of escaping from the mafsymore, or of +seeing his ain countrie again:</p> +<blockquote><p>“My hounds they all run masterless,<br /> +My hawks they flee from tree to tree;<br /> +My youngest brother will heir my lands,<br /> +And fair England again I’ll never see.</p> +<p>“O were I free as I hae been,<br /> +And my ship swimming once more on sea,<br /> +I’d turn my face to fair England,<br /> +And sail no more to a strange countrie.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Now the cruel Moor had a beautiful daughter called Susy Pye, +who was accustomed to take a walk every morning in her garden, and as +she was walking ae day she heard the sough o’ Beichan’s +sang, coming as it were from below the ground.”</p> +<p>All this is clearly analogous in form no less than in matter to our +<i>cante-fable</i>. Mr. Motherwell speaks of <i>fabliaux</i>, +intended partly for recitation, and partly for being sung; but does +not refer by name to <i>Aucassin and Nicolete</i>. If we may judge +by analogy, then, the form of the <i>cante-fable</i> is probably an +early artistic adaptation of a popular narrative method.</p> +<p>STOUR; an ungainly word enough, familiar in Scotch with the sense +of wind-driven dust, it may be dust of battle. The French is <i>Estor</i>.</p> +<p>BIAUCAIRE, opposite Tarascon, also celebrated for its local hero, +the deathless Tartarin. There is a great deal of learning about +Biaucaire; probably the author of the <i>cante-fable</i> never saw the +place, but he need not have thought it was on the sea-shore, as (p. +39) he seems to do. There he makes the people of Beaucaire set +out to wreck a ship. Ships do not go up the Rhone, and get wrecked +there, after escaping the perils of the deep.</p> +<p>On p. 42, the poet clearly thinks that Nicolete, after landing from +her barque, had to travel a considerable distance before reaching Biaucaire. +The fact is that the poet is perfectly reckless of geography, like him +who wrote of the set-shore of Bohemia.</p> +<p>PAINTED WONDROUSLY. No one knows what is really meant by à +<i>miramie</i>.</p> +<p>PLENTIFUL LACK OF COMFORT: rather freely for <i>Mout i aries peu +conquis</i>.</p> +<p>MALENGIN: a favourite word of Sir Thomas Malory: “mischievous +intent.”</p> +<p>FEATS OF YOUTH: ENFANCES, the regular term for the romance of a knight’s +early prowess.</p> +<p>TWO APPLES; nois gauges in the original. But <i>walnuts</i> +sound inadequate.</p> +<p>Here the MS. has a <i>lacuna</i>.</p> +<p>There is much useless learning about the realm of <i>Torelore</i>. +It is somewhere between Kôr and Laputa. The custom of the +<i>Couvade</i> was dimly known to the poet. The feigned lying-in +of the father may have been either a recognition of paternity (as in +the sham birth whereby Hera adopted Heracles) or may have been caused +by the belief that the health of the father at the time of the child’s +birth affected that of the child. Either origin of the <i>Couvade</i> +is consistent with early beliefs and customs.</p> +<p>EYEBRIGHT. This is a purely fanciful rendering of <i>Esclaire</i>.</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> Gaston +Paris, in M. Bida’s edition, p. xii. Paris, 1878. +The blending is not unknown in various countries. See note at +end of Translation.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> I know +not if I unconsciously transferred this criticism from M. Gaston Paris.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> “Love +in Idleness.” London, 1883, p. 169.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> Theocritus, +x. 37.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> I have +not thought it necessary to discuss the conjectures,—they are +no more,—about the Greek or Arabic origin of the cante-fable, +about the derivation of Aucassin’s name, the supposed copying +of <i>Floire et Blancheflor</i>, the longitude and latitude of the land +of Torelore, and so forth. In truth “we are in Love’s +land to-day,” where the ships sail without wind or compass, like +the barques of the Phaeacians. Brunner and Suchier add nothing +positive to our knowledge, and M. Gaston Paris pretends to cast but +little light on questions which it is too curious to consider at all. +In revising the translation I have used with profit the versions of +M. Bida, of Mr. Bourdillon, the glossary of Suchier, and Mr. Bourdillon’s +glossary. As for the style I have attempted, if not Old English, +at least English which is elderly, with a memory of Malory.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1578-h.htm or 1578-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/7/1578 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Aucassin and Nicolete + +Author: Andrew Lang + +Release Date: March 17, 2005 [eBook #1578] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE*** + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1910 David Nutt edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE + + +Dedicated to the Hon. James Russell Lowell. + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +There is nothing in artistic poetry quite akin to "Aucassin and +Nicolete." + +By a rare piece of good fortune the one manuscript of the Song-Story has +escaped those waves of time, which have wrecked the bark of Menander, and +left of Sappho but a few floating fragments. The very form of the tale +is peculiar; we have nothing else from the twelfth or thirteenth century +in the alternate prose and verse of the _cante-fable_. {1} We have +fabliaux in verse, and prose Arthurian romances. We have _Chansons de +Geste_, heroic poems like "Roland," unrhymed assonant _laisses_, but we +have not the alternations of prose with _laisses_ in seven-syllabled +lines. It cannot be certainly known whether the form of "Aucassin and +Nicolete" was a familiar form--used by many _jogleors_, or wandering +minstrels and story-tellers such as Nicolete, in the tale, feigned +herself to be,--or whether this is a solitary experiment by "the old +captive" its author, a contemporary, as M. Gaston Paris thinks him, of +Louis VII (1130). He was original enough to have invented, or adopted +from popular tradition, a form for himself; his originality declares +itself everywhere in his one surviving masterpiece. True, he uses +certain traditional formulae, that have survived in his time, as they +survived in Homer's, from the manner of purely popular poetry, of +_Volkslieder_. Thus he repeats snatches of conversation always in the +same, or very nearly the same words. He has a stereotyped form, like +Homer, for saying that one person addressed another, "ains traist au +visconte de la vile si l'apela" [Greek text] . . . Like Homer, and like +popular song, he deals in recurrent epithets, and changeless courtesies. +To Aucassin the hideous plough-man is "Biax frere," "fair brother," just +as the treacherous Aegisthus is [Greek text] in Homer; these are +complimentary terms, with no moral sense in particular. The _jogleor_ is +not more curious than Homer, or than the poets of the old ballads, about +giving novel descriptions of his characters. As Homer's ladies are "fair- +tressed," so Nicolete and Aucassin have, each of them, close yellow +curls, eyes of vair (whatever that may mean), and red lips. War cannot +be mentioned except as war "where knights do smite and are smitten," and +so forth. The author is absolutely conventional in such matters, +according to the convention of his age and profession. + +Nor is his matter more original. He tells a story of thwarted and +finally fortunate love, and his hero is "a Christened knight"--like +Tamlane,--his heroine a Paynim lady. To be sure, Nicolete was baptized +before the tale begins, and it is she who is a captive among Christians, +not her lover, as usual, who is a captive among Saracens. The author has +reversed the common arrangement, and he appears to have cared little more +than his reckless hero, about creeds and differences of faith. He is not +much interested in the recognition of Nicolete by her great Paynim +kindred, nor indeed in any of the "business" of the narrative, the +fighting, the storms and tempests, and the burlesque of the kingdom of +Torelore. + +What the nameless author does care for, is his telling of the love-story, +the passion of Aucassin and Nicolete. His originality lies in his +charming medley of sentiment and humour, of a smiling compassion and +sympathy with a touch of mocking mirth. The love of Aucassin and +Nicolete-- + + "Des grans paines qu'il soufri," + +that is the one thing serious to him in the whole matter, and that is not +so very serious. {2} The story-teller is no Mimnermus, Love and Youth are +the best things he knew,--"deport du viel caitif,"--and now he has "come +to forty years," and now they are with him no longer. But he does not +lament like Mimnermus, like Alcman, like Llwyarch Hen. "What is Life, +what is delight without golden Aphrodite? May I die!" says Mimnermus, +"when I am no more conversant with these, with secret love, and gracious +gifts, and the bed of desire." And Alcman, when his limbs waver beneath +him, is only saddened by the faces and voices of girls, and would change +his lot for the sea-birds. {3} + + "Maidens with voices like honey for sweetness that breathe desire, + Would that I were a sea-bird with limbs that never could tire, + Over the foam-flowers flying with halcyons ever on wing, + Keeping a careless heart, a sea-blue bird of the spring." + +But our old captive, having said farewell to love, has yet a kindly +smiling interest in its fever and folly. Nothing better has he met, even +now that he knows "a lad is an ass." He tells a love story, a story of +love overmastering, without conscience or care of aught but the beloved. +And the _viel caitif_ tells it with sympathy, and with a smile. "Oh +folly of fondness," he seems to cry, "oh merry days of desolation" + + "When I was young as you are young, + When lutes were touched and songs were sung, + And love lamps in the windows hung." + +It is the very tone of Thackeray, when Thackeray is tender, and the world +heard it first from this elderly, nameless minstrel, strolling with his +viol and his singing boys, perhaps, like a blameless d'Assoucy, from +castle to castle in "the happy poplar land." One seems to see him and +hear him in the twilight, in the court of some chateau of Picardy, while +the ladies on silken cushions sit around him listening, and their lovers, +fettered with silver chains, lie at their feet. They listen, and look, +and do not think of the minstrel with his grey head and his green heart, +but we think of him. It is an old man's work, and a weary man's work. +You can easily tell the places where he has lingered, and been pleased as +he wrote. They are marked, like the bower Nicolete built, with flowers +and broken branches wet with dew. Such a passage is the description of +Nicolete at her window, in the strangely painted chamber, + + "ki faite est par grant devisse + panturee a miramie." + +Thence + + "she saw the roses blow, + Heard the birds sing loud and low." + +Again, the minstrel speaks out what many must have thought, in those +incredulous ages of Faith, about Heaven and Hell, Hell where the gallant +company makes up for everything. When he comes to a battle-piece he +makes Aucassin "mightily and knightly hurl through the press," like one +of Malory's men. His hero must be a man of his hands, no mere sighing +youth incapable of arms. But the minstrels heart is in other things, for +example, in the verses where Aucassin transfers to Beauty the +wonder-working powers of Holiness, and makes the sight of his lady heal +the palmer, as the shadow of the Apostle, falling on the sick people, +healed them by the Gate Beautiful. The Flight of Nicolete is a familiar +and beautiful picture, the daisy flowers look black in the ivory +moonlight against her feet, fair as Bombyca's "feet of carven ivory" in +the Sicilian idyll, long ago. {4} It is characteristic of the poet that +the two lovers begin to wrangle about which loves best, in the very mouth +of danger, while Aucassin is yet in prison, and the patrol go down the +moonlit street, with swords in their hands, sworn to slay Nicolete. That +is the place and time chosen for this ancient controversy. Aucassin's +threat that if he loses Nicolete he will not wait for sword or knife, but +will dash his head against a wall, is in the very temper of the prisoned +warrior-poet, who actually chose this way of death. Then the night +scene, with its fantasy, and shadow, and moonlight on flowers and street, +yields to a picture of the day, with the birds singing, and the shepherds +laughing, in the green links between wood and water. There the shepherds +take Nicolete for a fairy, so bright a beauty shines about her. Their +mockery, their independence, may make us consider again our ideas of +early Feudalism. Probably they were in the service of townsmen, whose +good town treated the Count as no more than an equal of its corporate +dignity. The bower of branches built by Nicolete is certainly one of the +places where the minstrel himself has rested and been pleased with his +work. One can feel it still, the cool of that clear summer night, the +sweet smell of broken boughs, and trodden grass, and deep dew, and the +shining of the star that Aucassin deemed was the translated spirit of his +lady. Romance has touched the book here with her magic, as she has +touched the lines where we read how Consuelo came by moonlight to the +Canon's garden and the white flowers. The pleasure here is the keener +for contrast with the luckless hind whom Aucassin encountered in the +forest: the man who had lost his master's ox, the ungainly man who wept, +because his mother's bed had been taken from under her to pay his debt. +This man was in that estate which Achilles, in Hades, preferred above the +kingship of the dead outworn. He was hind and hireling to a villein, + + [Greek text] + +It is an unexpected touch of pity for the people, and for other than love- +sorrows, in a poem intended for the great and courtly people of chivalry. + +At last the lovers meet, in the lodge of flowers beneath the stars. Here +the story should end, though one could ill spare the pretty lecture the +girl reads her lover as they ride at adventure, and the picture of +Nicolete, with her brown stain, and jogleor's attire, and her viol, +playing before Aucassin in his own castle of Biaucaire. The burlesque +interlude of the country of Torelore is like a page out of Rabelais, +stitched into the _cante-fable_ by mistake. At such lands as Torelore +Pantagruel and Panurge touched many a time in their vague voyaging. +Nobody, perhaps, can care very much about Nicolete's adventures in +Carthage, and her recognition by her Paynim kindred. If the old captive +had been a prisoner among the Saracens, he was too indolent or incurious +to make use of his knowledge. He hurries on to his journey's end; + + "Journeys end in lovers meeting." + +So he finishes the tale. What lives in it, what makes it live, is the +touch of poetry, of tender heart, of humorous resignation. The old +captive says the story will gladden sad men:- + + "Nus hom n'est si esbahis, + tant dolans ni entrepris, + de grant mal amaladis, + se il l'oit, ne soit garis, + et de joie resbaudis, + tant par est douce." + +This service it did for M. Bida, the painter, as he tells us when he +translated Aucassin in 1870. In dark and darkening days, _patriai +tempore iniquo_, we too have turned to _Aucassin et Nicolete_. {5} + + + + +BALLADE OF AUCASSIN + + +Where smooth the Southern waters run + Through rustling leagues of poplars gray, +Beneath a veiled soft Southern sun, + We wandered out of Yesterday; + Went Maying in that ancient May +Whose fallen flowers are fragrant yet, + And lingered by the fountain spray +With Aucassin and Nicolete. + +The grassgrown paths are trod of none + Where through the woods they went astray; +The spider's traceries are spun + Across the darkling forest way; + There come no Knights that ride to slay, +No Pilgrims through the grasses wet, + No shepherd lads that sang their say +With Aucassin and Nicolete. + +'Twas here by Nicolete begun + Her lodge of boughs and blossoms gay; +'Scaped from the cell of marble dun + 'Twas here the lover found the Fay; + O lovers fond, O foolish play! +How hard we find it to forget, + Who fain would dwell with them as they, +With Aucassin and Nicolete. + +ENVOY. + +Prince, 'tis a melancholy lay! + For Youth, for Life we both regret: +How fair they seem; how far away, + With Aucassin and Nicolete. + +A. L. + + + + +BALLADE OF NICOLETE + + +All bathed in pearl and amber light +She rose to fling the lattice wide, +And leaned into the fragrant night, +Where brown birds sang of summertide; +('Twas Love's own voice that called and cried) +"Ah, Sweet!" she said, "I'll seek thee yet, +Though thorniest pathways should betide +The fair white feet of Nicolete." + +They slept, who would have stayed her flight; +(Full fain were they the maid had died!) +She dropped adown her prison's height +On strands of linen featly tied. +And so she passed the garden-side +With loose-leaved roses sweetly set, +And dainty daisies, dark beside +The fair white feet of Nicolete! + +Her lover lay in evil plight +(So many lovers yet abide!) +I would my tongue could praise aright +Her name, that should be glorified. +Those lovers now, whom foes divide +A little weep,--and soon forget. +How far from these faint lovers glide +The fair white feet of Nicolete. + +ENVOY. + +My Princess, doff thy frozen pride, +Nor scorn to pay Love's golden debt, +Through his dim woodland take for guide +The fair white feet of Nicolete. + +GRAHAM R. TOMSON + + + + +THE SONG-STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE + + +'Tis of Aucassin and Nicolete. + + Who would list to the good lay + Gladness of the captive grey? + 'Tis how two young lovers met, + Aucassin and Nicolete, + Of the pains the lover bore + And the sorrows he outwore, + For the goodness and the grace, + Of his love, so fair of face. + + Sweet the song, the story sweet, + There is no man hearkens it, + No man living 'neath the sun, + So outwearied, so foredone, + Sick and woful, worn and sad, + But is healed, but is glad + 'Tis so sweet. + +So say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: + +How the Count Bougars de Valence made war on Count Garin de Biaucaire, +war so great, and so marvellous, and so mortal that never a day dawned +but alway he was there, by the gates and walls, and barriers of the town +with a hundred knights, and ten thousand men at arms, horsemen and +footmen: so burned he the Count's land, and spoiled his country, and slew +his men. Now the Count Garin de Biaucaire was old and frail, and his +good days were gone over. No heir had he, neither son nor daughter, save +one young man only; such an one as I shall tell you. Aucassin was the +name of the damoiseau: fair was he, goodly, and great, and featly +fashioned of his body, and limbs. His hair was yellow, in little curls, +his eyes blue and laughing, his face beautiful and shapely, his nose high +and well set, and so richly seen was he in all things good, that in him +was none evil at all. But so suddenly overtaken was he of Love, who is a +great master, that he would not, of his will, be dubbed knight, nor take +arms, nor follow tourneys, nor do whatsoever him beseemed. Therefore his +father and mother said to him; + +"Son, go take thine arms, mount thy horse, and hold thy land, and help +thy men, for if they see thee among them, more stoutly will they keep in +battle their lives, and lands, and thine, and mine." + +"Father," said Aucassin, "I marvel that you will be speaking. Never may +God give me aught of my desire if I be made knight, or mount my horse, or +face stour and battle wherein knights smite and are smitten again, unless +thou give me Nicolete, my true love, that I love so well." + +"Son," said the father, "this may not be. Let Nicolete go, a slave girl +she is, out of a strange land, and the captain of this town bought her of +the Saracens, and carried her hither, and hath reared her and let +christen the maid, and took her for his daughter in God, and one day will +find a young man for her, to win her bread honourably. Herein hast thou +naught to make or mend, but if a wife thou wilt have, I will give thee +the daughter of a King, or a Count. There is no man so rich in France, +but if thou desire his daughter, thou shalt have her." + +"Faith! my father," said Aucassin, "tell me where is the place so high in +all the world, that Nicolete, my sweet lady and love, would not grace it +well? If she were Empress of Constantinople or of Germany, or Queen of +France or England, it were little enough for her; so gentle is she and +courteous, and debonaire, and compact of all good qualities." + +_Here singeth one_: + + Aucassin was of Biaucaire + Of a goodly castle there, + But from Nicolete the fair + None might win his heart away + Though his father, many a day, + And his mother said him nay, + "Ha! fond child, what wouldest thou? + Nicolete is glad enow! + Was from Carthage cast away, + Paynims sold her on a day! + Wouldst thou win a lady fair + Choose a maid of high degree + Such an one is meet for thee." + "Nay of these I have no care, + Nicolete is debonaire, + Her body sweet and the face of her + Take my heart as in a snare, + Loyal love is but her share + That is so sweet." + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When the Count Garin de Biaucaire knew that he would avail not to +withdraw Aucassin his son from the love of Nicolete, he went to the +Captain of the city, who was his man, and spake to him, saying: + +"Sir Count; away with Nicolete thy daughter in God; cursed be the land +whence she was brought into this country, for by reason of her do I lose +Aucassin, that will neither be dubbed knight, nor do aught of the things +that fall to him to be done. And wit ye well," he said, "that if I might +have her at my will, I would burn her in a fire, and yourself might well +be sore adread." + +"Sir," said the Captain, "this is grievous to me that he comes and goes +and hath speech with her. I had bought the maiden at mine own charges, +and nourished her, and baptized, and made her my daughter in God. Yea, I +would have given her to a young man that should win her bread honourably. +With this had Aucassin thy son naught to make or mend. But, sith it is +thy will and thy pleasure, I will send her into that land and that +country where never will he see her with his eyes." + +"Have a heed to thyself," said the Count Garin, "thence might great evil +come on thee." + +So parted they each from other. Now the Captain was a right rich man: so +had he a rich palace with a garden in face of it; in an upper chamber +thereof he let place Nicolete, with one old woman to keep her company, +and in that chamber put bread and meat and wine and such things as were +needful. Then he let seal the door, that none might come in or go forth, +save that there was one window, over against the garden, and strait +enough, where through came to them a little air. + +_Here singeth one_: + + Nicolete as ye heard tell + Prisoned is within a cell + That is painted wondrously + With colours of a far countrie, + And the window of marble wrought, + There the maiden stood in thought, + With straight brows and yellow hair + Never saw ye fairer fair! + On the wood she gazed below, + And she saw the roses blow, + Heard the birds sing loud and low, + Therefore spoke she wofully: + "Ah me, wherefore do I lie + Here in prison wrongfully: + Aucassin, my love, my knight, + Am I not thy heart's delight, + Thou that lovest me aright! + 'Tis for thee that I must dwell + In the vaulted chamber cell, + Hard beset and all alone! + By our Lady Mary's Son + Here no longer will I wonn, + If I may flee! + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Nicolete was in prison, as ye have heard soothly, in the chamber. And +the noise and bruit of it went through all the country and all the land, +how that Nicolete was lost. Some said she had fled the country, and some +that the Count Garin de Biaucaire had let slay her. Whosoever had joy +thereof, Aucassin had none, so he went to the Captain of the town and +spoke to him, saying: + +"Sir Captain, what hast thou made of Nicolete, my sweet lady and love, +the thing that best I love in all the world? Hast thou carried her off +or ravished her away from me? Know well that if I die of it, the price +shall be demanded of thee, and that will be well done, for it shall be +even as if thou hadst slain me with thy two hands, for thou hast taken +from me the thing that in this world I loved the best." + +"Fair Sir," said the Captain, "let these things be. Nicolete is a +captive that I did bring from a strange country. Yea, I bought her at my +own charges of the Saracens, and I bred her up and baptized her, and made +her my daughter in God. And I have cherished her, and one of these days +I would have given her a young man, to win her bread honourably. With +this hast thou naught to make, but do thou take the daughter of a King or +a Count. Nay more, what wouldst thou deem thee to have gained, hadst +thou made her thy leman, and taken her to thy bed? Plentiful lack of +comfort hadst thou got thereby, for in Hell would thy soul have lain +while the world endures, and into Paradise wouldst thou have entered +never." + +"In Paradise what have I to win? Therein I seek not to enter, but only +to have Nicolete, my sweet lady that I love so well. For into Paradise +go none but such folk as I shall tell thee now: Thither go these same old +priests, and halt old men and maimed, who all day and night cower +continually before the altars, and in the crypts; and such folk as wear +old amices and old clouted frocks, and naked folk and shoeless, and +covered with sores, perishing of hunger and thirst, and of cold, and of +little ease. These be they that go into Paradise, with them have I +naught to make. But into Hell would I fain go; for into Hell fare the +goodly clerks, and goodly knights that fall in tourneys and great wars, +and stout men at arms, and all men noble. With these would I liefly go. +And thither pass the sweet ladies and courteous that have two lovers, or +three, and their lords also thereto. Thither goes the gold, and the +silver, and cloth of vair, and cloth of gris, and harpers, and makers, +and the prince of this world. With these I would gladly go, let me but +have with me, Nicolete, my sweetest lady." + +"Certes," quoth the Captain, "in vain wilt thou speak thereof, for never +shalt thou see her; and if thou hadst word with her, and thy father knew +it, he would let burn in a fire both her and me, and thyself might well +be sore adread." + +"That is even what irketh me," quoth Aucassin. So he went from the +Captain sorrowing. + +_Here singeth one_: + + Aucassin did so depart + Much in dole and heavy at heart + For his love so bright and dear, + None might bring him any cheer, + None might give good words to hear, + To the palace doth he fare + Climbeth up the palace-stair, + Passeth to a chamber there, + Thus great sorrow doth he bear, + For his lady and love so fair. + + "Nicolete how fair art thou, + Sweet thy foot-fall, sweet thine eyes, + Sweet the mirth of thy replies, + Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face, + Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow, + And the touch of thine embrace, + All for thee I sorrow now, + Captive in an evil place, + Whence I ne'er may go my ways + Sister, sweet friend!" + +So say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: + +While Aucassin was in the chamber sorrowing for Nicolete his love, even +then the Count Bougars de Valence, that had his war to wage, forgat it no +whit, but had called up his horsemen and his footmen, so made he for the +castle to storm it. And the cry of battle arose, and the din, and +knights and men at arms busked them, and ran to walls and gates to hold +the keep. And the towns-folk mounted to the battlements, and cast down +bolts and pikes. Then while the assault was great, and even at its +height, the Count Garin de Biaucaire came into the chamber where Aucassin +was making lament, sorrowing for Nicolete, his sweet lady that he loved +so well. + +"Ha! son," quoth he, "how caitiff art thou, and cowardly, that canst see +men assail thy goodliest castle and strongest. Know thou that if thou +lose it, thou losest all. Son, go to, take arms, and mount thy horse, +and defend thy land, and help thy men, and fare into the stour. Thou +needst not smite nor be smitten. If they do but see thee among them, +better will they guard their substance, and their lives, and thy land and +mine. And thou art so great, and hardy of thy hands, that well mightst +thou do this thing, and to do it is thy devoir." + +"Father," said Aucassin, "what is this thou sayest now? God grant me +never aught of my desire, if I be dubbed knight, or mount steed, or go +into the stour where knights do smite and are smitten, if thou givest me +not Nicolete, my sweet lady, whom I love so well." + +"Son," quoth his father, "this may never be: rather would I be quite +disinherited and lose all that is mine, than that thou shouldst have her +to thy wife, or to love _par amours_." + +So he turned him about. But when Aucassin saw him going he called to him +again, saying, + +"Father, go to now, I will make with thee fair covenant." + +"What covenant, fair son?" + +"I will take up arms, and go into the stour, on this covenant, that, if +God bring me back sound and safe, thou wilt let me see Nicolete my sweet +lady, even so long that I may have of her two words or three, and one +kiss." + +"That will I grant," said his father. + +At this was Aucassin glad. + +Here one singeth: + + Of the kiss heard Aucassin + That returning he shall win. + None so glad would he have been + Of a myriad marks of gold + Of a hundred thousand told. + Called for raiment brave of steel, + Then they clad him, head to heel, + Twyfold hauberk doth he don, + Firmly braced the helmet on. + Girt the sword with hilt of gold, + Horse doth mount, and lance doth wield, + Looks to stirrups and to shield, + Wondrous brave he rode to field. + Dreaming of his lady dear + Setteth spurs to the destrere, + Rideth forward without fear, + Through the gate and forth away + To the fray. + +So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Aucassin was armed and mounted as ye have heard tell. God! how goodly +sat the shield on his shoulder, the helm on his head, and the baldric on +his left haunch! And the damoiseau was tall, fair, featly fashioned, and +hardy of his hands, and the horse whereon he rode swift and keen, and +straight had he spurred him forth of the gate. Now believe ye not that +his mind was on kine, nor cattle of the booty, nor thought he how he +might strike a knight, nor be stricken again: nor no such thing. Nay, no +memory had Aucassin of aught of these; rather he so dreamed of Nicolete, +his sweet lady, that he dropped his reins, forgetting all there was to +do, and his horse that had felt the spur, bore him into the press and +hurled among the foe, and they laid hands on him all about, and took him +captive, and seized away his spear and shield, and straightway they led +him off a prisoner, and were even now discoursing of what death he should +die. + +And when Aucassin heard them, + +"Ha! God," said he, "sweet Saviour. Be these my deadly enemies that have +taken me, and will soon cut off my head? And once my head is off, no +more shall I speak with Nicolete, my sweet lady, that I love so well. +Natheless have I here a good sword, and sit a good horse unwearied. If +now I keep not my head for her sake, God help her never, if she love me +more!" + +The damoiseau was tall and strong, and the horse whereon he sat was right +eager. And he laid hand to sword, and fell a-smiting to right and left, +and smote through helm and _nasal_, and arm and clenched hand, making a +murder about him, like a wild boar when hounds fall on him in the forest, +even till he struck down ten knights, and seven be hurt, and straightway +he hurled out of the press, and rode back again at full speed, sword in +hand. The Count Bougars de Valence heard say they were about hanging +Aucassin, his enemy, so he came into that place, and Aucassin was ware of +him, and gat his sword into his hand, and lashed at his helm with such a +stroke that he drave it down on his head, and he being stunned, fell +grovelling. And Aucassin laid hands on him, and caught him by the +_nasal_ of his helmet, and gave him to his father. + +"Father," quoth Aucassin, "lo here is your mortal foe, who hath so warred +on you with all malengin. Full twenty years did this war endure, and +might not be ended by man." + +"Fair son," said his father, "thy feats of youth shouldst thou do, and +not seek after folly." + +"Father," saith Aucassin, "sermon me no sermons, but fulfil my covenant." + +"Ha! what covenant, fair son?" + +"What, father, hast thou forgotten it? By mine own head, whosoever +forgets, will I not forget it, so much it hath me at heart. Didst thou +not covenant with me when I took up arms, and went into the stour, that +if God brought me back safe and sound, thou wouldst let me see Nicolete, +my sweet lady, even so long that I may have of her two words or three, +and one kiss? So didst thou covenant, and my mind is that thou keep thy +word." + +"I!" quoth the father, "God forsake me when I keep this covenant! Nay, +if she were here, I would let burn her in the fire, and thyself shouldst +be sore adread." + +"Is this thy last word?" quoth Aucassin. + +"So help me God," quoth his father, "yea!" + +"Certes," quoth Aucassin, "this is a sorry thing meseems, when a man of +thine age lies!" + +"Count of Valence," quoth Aucassin, "I took thee?" + +"In sooth, Sir, didst thou," saith the Count. + +"Give me thy hand," saith Aucassin. + +"Sir, with good will." + +So he set his hand in the other's. + +"Now givest thou me thy word," saith Aucassin, "that never whiles thou +art living man wilt thou avail to do my father dishonour, or harm him in +body, or in goods, but do it thou wilt?" + +"Sir, in God's name," saith he, "mock me not, but put me to my ransom; ye +cannot ask of me gold nor silver, horses nor palfreys, _vair_ nor _gris_, +hawks nor hounds, but I will give you them." + +"What?" quoth Aucassin. "Ha, knowest thou not it was I that took thee?" + +"Yea, sir," quoth the Count Bougars. + +"God help me never, but I will make thy head fly from thy shoulders, if +thou makest not troth," said Aucassin. + +"In God's name," said he, "I make what promise thou wilt." + +So they did the oath, and Aucassin let mount him on a horse, and took +another and so led him back till he was all in safety. + +Here one singeth: + + When the Count Garin doth know + That his child would ne'er forego + Love of her that loved him so, + Nicolete, the bright of brow, + In a dungeon deep below + Childe Aucassin did he throw. + Even there the Childe must dwell + In a dun-walled marble cell. + There he waileth in his woe + Crying thus as ye shall know. + + "Nicolete, thou lily white, + My sweet lady, bright of brow, + Sweeter than the grape art thou, + Sweeter than sack posset good + In a cup of maple wood! + Was it not but yesterday + That a palmer came this way, + Out of Limousin came he, + And at ease he might not be, + For a passion him possessed + That upon his bed he lay, + Lay, and tossed, and knew not rest + In his pain discomforted. + But thou camest by the bed, + Where he tossed amid his pain, + Holding high thy sweeping train, + And thy kirtle of ermine, + And thy smock of linen fine, + Then these fair white limbs of thine, + Did he look on, and it fell + That the palmer straight was well, + Straight was hale--and comforted, + And he rose up from his bed, + And went back to his own place, + Sound and strong, and full of face! + My sweet lady, lily white, + Sweet thy footfall, sweet thine eyes, + And the mirth of thy replies. + Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face, + Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow, + And the touch of thine embrace. + Who but doth in thee delight? + I for love of thee am bound + In this dungeon underground, + All for loving thee must lie + Here where loud on thee I cry, + Here for loving thee must die + For thee, my love." + +Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: + +Aucassin was cast into prison as ye have heard tell, and Nicolete, of her +part, was in the chamber. Now it was summer time, the month of May, when +days are warm, and long, and clear, and the night still and serene. +Nicolete lay one night on her bed, and saw the moon shine clear through a +window, yea, and heard the nightingale sing in the garden, so she minded +her of Aucassin her lover whom she loved so well. Then fell she to +thoughts of Count Garin de Biaucaire, that hated her to the death; +therefore deemed she that there she would no longer abide, for that, if +she were told of, and the Count knew whereas she lay, an ill death would +he make her die. Now she knew that the old woman slept who held her +company. Then she arose, and clad her in a mantle of silk she had by +her, very goodly, and took napkins, and sheets of the bed, and knotted +one to the other, and made therewith a cord as long as she might, so +knitted it to a pillar in the window, and let herself slip down into the +garden, then caught up her raiment in both hands, behind and before, and +kilted up her kirtle, because of the dew that she saw lying deep on the +grass, and so went her way down through the garden. + +Her locks were yellow and curled, her eyes blue and smiling, her face +featly fashioned, the nose high and fairly set, the lips more red than +cherry or rose in time of summer, her teeth white and small; her breasts +so firm that they bore up the folds of her bodice as they had been two +apples; so slim she was in the waist that your two hands might have +clipped her, and the daisy flowers that brake beneath her as she went tip- +toe, and that bent above her instep, seemed black against her feet, so +white was the maiden. She came to the postern gate, and unbarred it, and +went out through the streets of Biaucaire, keeping always on the shadowy +side, for the moon was shining right clear, and so wandered she till she +came to the tower where her lover lay. The tower was flanked with +buttresses, and she cowered under one of them, wrapped in her mantle. +Then thrust she her head through a crevice of the tower that was old and +worn, and so heard she Aucassin wailing within, and making dole and +lament for the sweet lady he loved so well. And when she had listened to +him she began to say: + +Here one singeth: + + Nicolete the bright of brow + On a pillar leanest thou, + All Aucassin's wail dost hear + For his love that is so dear, + Then thou spakest, shrill and clear, + "Gentle knight withouten fear + Little good befalleth thee, + Little help of sigh or tear, + Ne'er shalt thou have joy of me. + Never shalt thou win me; still + Am I held in evil will + Of thy father and thy kin, + Therefore must I cross the sea, + And another land must win." + Then she cut her curls of gold, + Cast them in the dungeon hold, + Aucassin doth clasp them there, + Kissed the curls that were so fair, + Them doth in his bosom bear, + Then he wept, even as of old, + All for his love! + +Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: + +When Aucassin heard Nicolete say that she would pass into a far country, +he was all in wrath. + +"Fair sweet friend," quoth he, "thou shalt not go, for then wouldst thou +be my death. And the first man that saw thee and had the might withal, +would take thee straightway into his bed to be his leman. And once thou +camest into a man's bed, and that bed not mine, wit ye well that I would +not tarry till I had found a knife to pierce my heart and slay myself. +Nay, verily, wait so long I would not: but would hurl myself on it so +soon as I could find a wall, or a black stone, thereon would I dash my +head so mightily, that the eyes would start, and my brain burst. Rather +would I die even such a death, than know thou hadst lain in a man's bed, +and that bed not mine." + +"Aucassin," she said, "I trow thou lovest me not as much as thou sayest, +but I love thee more than thou lovest me." + +"Ah, fair sweet friend," said Aucassin, "it may not be that thou shouldst +love me even as I love thee. Woman may not love man as man loves woman, +for a woman's love lies in the glance of her eye, and the bud of her +breast, and her foot's tip-toe, but the love of man is in his heart +planted, whence it can never issue forth and pass away." + +Now while Aucassin and Nicolete held this parley together, the town's +guards came down a street, with swords drawn beneath their cloaks, for +the Count Garin had charged them that if they could take her they should +slay her. But the sentinel that was on the tower saw them coming, and +heard them speaking of Nicolete as they went, and threatening to slay +her. + +"God!" quoth he, "this were great pity to slay so fair a maid! Right +great charity it were if I could say aught to her, and they perceive it +not, and she should be on her guard against them, for if they slay her, +then were Aucassin, my damoiseau, dead, and that were great pity." + +_Here one singeth_: + + Valiant was the sentinel, + Courteous, kind, and practised well, + So a song did sing and tell + Of the peril that befell. + "Maiden fair that lingerest here, + Gentle maid of merry cheer, + Hair of gold, and eyes as clear + As the water in a mere, + Thou, meseems, hast spoken word + To thy lover and thy lord, + That would die for thee, his dear; + Now beware the ill accord, + Of the cloaked men of the sword, + These have sworn and keep their word, + They will put thee to the sword + Save thou take heed!" + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +"Ha!" quoth Nicolete, "be the soul of thy father and the soul of thy +mother in the rest of Paradise, so fairly and so courteously hast thou +spoken me! Please God, I will be right ware of them, God keep me out of +their hands." + +So she shrank under her mantle into the shadow of the pillar till they +had passed by, and then took she farewell of Aucassin, and so fared till +she came unto the castle wall. Now that wall was wasted and broken, and +some deal mended, so she clomb thereon till she came between wall and +fosse, and so looked down, and saw that the fosse was deep and steep, +whereat she was sore adread. + +"Ah God," saith she, "sweet Saviour! If I let myself fall hence, I shall +break my neck, and if here I abide, to-morrow they will take me and burn +me in a fire. Yet liefer would I perish here than that to-morrow the +folk should stare on me for a gazing-stock." + +Then she crossed herself, and so let herself slip into the fosse, and +when she had come to the bottom, her fair feet, and fair hands that had +not custom thereof, were bruised and frayed, and the blood springing from +a dozen places, yet felt she no pain nor hurt, by reason of the great +dread wherein she went. But if she were in cumber to win there, in worse +was she to win out. But she deemed that there to abide was of none +avail, and she found a pike sharpened, that they of the city had thrown +out to keep the hold. Therewith made she one stepping place after +another, till, with much travail, she climbed the wall. Now the forest +lay within two crossbow shots, and the forest was of thirty leagues this +way and that. Therein also were wild beasts, and beasts serpentine, and +she feared that if she entered there they would slay her. But anon she +deemed that if men found her there they would hale her back into the town +to burn her. + +_Here one singeth_: + + Nicolete, the fair of face, + Climbed upon the coping stone, + There made she lament and moan + Calling on our Lord alone + For his mercy and his grace. + + "Father, king of Majesty, + Listen, for I nothing know + Where to flee or whither go. + If within the wood I fare, + Lo, the wolves will slay me there, + Boars and lions terrible, + Many in the wild wood dwell, + But if I abide the day, + Surely worse will come of it, + Surely will the fire be lit + That shall burn my body away, + Jesus, lord of Majesty, + Better seemeth it to me, + That within the wood I fare, + Though the wolves devour me there + Than within the town to go, + Ne'er be it so!" + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Nicolete made great moan, as ye have heard; then commended she herself to +God, and anon fared till she came unto the forest. But to go deep in it +she dared not, by reason of the wild beasts, and beasts serpentine. Anon +crept she into a little thicket, where sleep came upon her, and she slept +till prime next day, when the shepherds issued forth from the town and +drove their bestial between wood and water. Anon came they all into one +place by a fair fountain which was on the fringe of the forest, thereby +spread they a mantle, and thereon set bread. So while they were eating, +Nicolete wakened, with the sound of the singing birds, and the shepherds, +and she went unto them, saying, "Fair boys, our Lord keep you!" + +"God bless thee," quoth he that had more words to his tongue than the +rest. + +"Fair boys," quoth she, "know ye Aucassin, the son of Count Garin de +Biaucaire?" + +"Yea, well we know him." + +"So may God help you, fair boys," quoth she, "tell him there is a beast +in this forest, and bid him come chase it, and if he can take it, he +would not give one limb thereof for a hundred marks of gold, nay, nor for +five hundred, nor for any ransom." + +Then looked they on her, and saw her so fair that they were all astonied. + +"Will I tell him thereof?" quoth he that had more words to his tongue +than the rest; "foul fall him who speaks of the thing or tells him the +tidings. These are but visions ye tell of, for there is no beast so +great in this forest, stag, nor lion, nor boar, that one of his limbs is +worth more than two deniers, or three at the most, and ye speak of such +great ransom. Foul fall him that believes your word, and him that +telleth Aucassin. Ye be a Fairy, and we have none liking for your +company, nay, hold on your road." + +"Nay, fair boys," quoth she, "nay, ye will do my bidding. For this beast +is so mighty of medicine that thereby will Aucassin be healed of his +torment. And lo! I have five sols in my purse, take them, and tell him: +for within three days must he come hunting it hither, and if within three +days he find it not, never will he be healed of his torment." + +"My faith," quoth he, "the money will we take, and if he come hither we +will tell him, but seek him we will not." + +"In God's name," quoth she; and so took farewell of the shepherds, and +went her way. + +_Here singeth one_: + + Nicolete the bright of brow + From the shepherds doth she pass + All below the blossomed bough + Where an ancient way there was, + Overgrown and choked with grass, + Till she found the cross-roads where + Seven paths do all way fare, + Then she deemeth she will try, + Should her lover pass thereby, + If he love her loyally. + So she gathered white lilies, + Oak-leaf, that in green wood is, + Leaves of many a branch I wis, + Therewith built a lodge of green, + Goodlier was never seen, + Swore by God who may not lie, + "If my love the lodge should spy, + He will rest awhile thereby + If he love me loyally." + Thus his faith she deemed to try, + "Or I love him not, not I, + Nor he loves me!" + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Nicolete built her lodge of boughs, as ye have heard, right fair and +feteously, and wove it well, within and without, of flowers and leaves. +So lay she hard by the lodge in a deep coppice to know what Aucassin will +do. And the cry and the bruit went abroad through all the country and +all the land, that Nicolete was lost. Some told that she had fled, and +some that the Count Garin had let slay her. Whosoever had joy thereof, +no joy had Aucassin. And the Count Garin, his father, had taken him out +of prison, and had sent for the knights of that land, and the ladies, and +let make a right great feast, for the comforting of Aucassin his son. Now +at the high time of the feast, was Aucassin leaning from a gallery, all +woful and discomforted. Whatsoever men might devise of mirth, Aucassin +had no joy thereof, nor no desire, for he saw not her that he loved. Then +a knight looked on him, and came to him, and said: + +"Aucassin, of that sickness of thine have I been sick, and good counsel +will I give thee, if thou wilt hearken to me--" + +"Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy, good counsel would I fain hear." + +"Mount thy horse," quoth he, "and go take thy pastime in yonder forest, +there wilt thou see the good flowers and grass, and hear the sweet birds +sing. Perchance thou shalt hear some word, whereby thou shalt be the +better." + +"Sir," quoth Aucassin, "gramercy, that will I do." + +He passed out of the hall, and went down the stairs, and came to the +stable where his horse was. He let saddle and bridle him, and mounted, +and rode forth from the castle, and wandered till he came to the forest, +so rode till he came to the fountain and found the shepherds at point of +noon. And they had a mantle stretched on the grass, and were eating +bread, and making great joy. + +_Here one singeth_: + + There were gathered shepherds all, + Martin, Esmeric, and Hal, + Aubrey, Robin, great and small. + Saith the one, "Good fellows all, + God keep Aucassin the fair, + And the maid with yellow hair, + Bright of brow and eyes of vair. + She that gave us gold to ware. + Cakes therewith to buy ye know, + Goodly knives and sheaths also. + Flutes to play, and pipes to blow, + May God him heal!" + +Here speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When Aucassin heard the shepherds, anon he bethought him of Nicolete, his +sweet lady he loved so well, and he deemed that she had passed thereby; +then set he spurs to his horse, and so came to the shepherds. + +"Fair boys, God be with you." + +"God bless you," quoth he that had more words to his tongue than the +rest. + +"Fair boys," quoth Aucassin, "say the song again that anon ye sang." + +"Say it we will not," quoth he that had more words to his tongue than the +rest, "foul fall him who will sing it again for you, fair sir!" + +"Fair boys," quoth Aucassin, "know ye me not?" + +"Yea, we know well that you are Aucassin, out damoiseau, natheless we be +not your men, but the Count's." + +"Fair boys, yet sing it again, I pray you." + +"Hearken! by the Holy Heart," quoth he, "wherefore should I sing for you, +if it likes me not? Lo, there is no such rich man in this country, +saving the body of Garin the Count, that dare drive forth my oxen, or my +cows, or my sheep, if he finds them in his fields, or his corn, lest he +lose his eyes for it, and wherefore should I sing for you, if it likes me +not?" + +"God be your aid, fair boys, sing it ye will, and take ye these ten sols +I have here in a purse." + +"Sir, the money will we take, but never a note will I sing, for I have +given my oath, but I will tell thee a plain tale, if thou wilt." + +"By God," saith Aucassin, "I love a plain tale better than naught." + +"Sir, we were in this place, a little time agone, between prime and +tierce, and were eating our bread by this fountain, even as now we do, +and a maid came past, the fairest thing in the world, whereby we deemed +that she should be a fay, and all the wood shone round about her. Anon +she gave us of that she had, whereby we made covenant with her, that if +ye came hither we would bid you hunt in this forest, wherein is such a +beast that, an ye might take him, ye would not give one limb of him for +five hundred marks of silver, nor for no ransom; for this beast is so +mighty of medicine, that, an ye could take him, ye should be healed of +your torment, and within three days must ye take him, and if ye take him +not then, never will ye look on him. So chase ye the beast, an ye will, +or an ye will let be, for my promise have I kept with her." + +"Fair boys," quoth Aucassin, "ye have said enough. God grant me to find +this quarry." + +_Here one singeth_: + + Aucassin when he had heard, + Sore within his heart was stirred, + Left the shepherds on that word, + Far into the forest spurred + Rode into the wood; and fleet + Fled his horse through paths of it, + Three words spake he of his sweet, + "Nicolete the fair, the dear, + 'Tis for thee I follow here + Track of boar, nor slot of deer, + But thy sweet body and eyes so clear, + All thy mirth and merry cheer, + That my very heart have slain, + So please God to me maintain + I shall see my love again, + Sweet sister, friend!" + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Aucassin fared through the forest from path to path after Nicolete, and +his horse bare him furiously. Think ye not that the thorns him spared, +nor the briars, nay, not so, but tare his raiment, that scarce a knot +might be tied with the soundest part thereof, and the blood sprang from +his arms, and flanks, and legs, in forty places, or thirty, so that +behind the Childe men might follow on the track of his blood in the +grass. But so much he went in thoughts of Nicolete, his lady sweet, that +he felt no pain nor torment, and all the day hurled through the forest in +this fashion nor heard no word of her. And when he saw Vespers draw +nigh, he began to weep for that he found her not. All down an old road, +and grassgrown he fared, when anon, looking along the way before him, he +saw such an one as I shall tell you. Tall was he, and great of growth, +laidly and marvellous to look upon: his head huge, and black as charcoal, +and more than the breadth of a hand between his two eyes, and great +cheeks, and a big nose and broad, big nostrils and ugly, and thick lips +redder than a collop, and great teeth yellow and ugly, and he was shod +with hosen and shoon of bull's hide, bound with cords of bark over the +knee, and all about him a great cloak twy-fold, and he leaned on a +grievous cudgel, and Aucassin came unto him, and was afraid when he +beheld him. + +"Fair brother, God aid thee." + +"God bless you," quoth he. + +"As God he helpeth thee, what makest thou here?" + +"What is that to thee?" + +"Nay, naught, naught," saith Aucassin, "I ask but out of courtesy." + +"But for whom weepest thou," quoth he, "and makest such heavy lament? +Certes, were I as rich a man as thou, the whole world should not make me +weep." + +"Ha! know ye me?" saith Aucassin. + +"Yea, I know well that ye be Aucassin, the son of the Count, and if ye +tell me for why ye weep, then will I tell you what I make here." + +"Certes," quoth Aucassin, "I will tell you right gladly. Hither came I +this morning to hunt in this forest; and with me a white hound, the +fairest in the world; him have I lost, and for him I weep." + +"By the Heart our Lord bare in his breast," quoth he, "are ye weeping for +a stinking hound? Foul fall him that holds thee high henceforth! for +there is no such rich man in the land, but if thy father asked it of him, +he would give thee ten, or fifteen, or twenty, and be the gladder for it. +But I have cause to weep and make dole." + +"Wherefore so, brother?" + +"Sir, I will tell thee. I was hireling to a rich vilain, and drove his +plough; four oxen had he. But three days since came on me great +misadventure, whereby I lost the best of mine oxen, Roger, the best of my +team. Him go I seeking, and have neither eaten nor drunken these three +days, nor may I go to the town, lest they cast me into prison, seeing +that I have not wherewithal to pay. Out of all the wealth of the world +have I no more than ye see on my body. A poor mother bare me, that had +no more but one wretched bed; this have they taken from under her, and +she lies in the very straw. This ails me more than mine own case, for +wealth comes and goes; if now I have lost, another tide will I gain, and +will pay for mine ox whenas I may; never for that will I weep. But you +weep for a stinking hound. Foul fall whoso thinks well of thee!" + +"Certes thou art a good comforter, brother, blessed be thou! And of what +price was thine ox?" + +"Sir, they ask me twenty sols for him, whereof I cannot abate one doit." + +"Nay, then," quoth Aucassin, "take these twenty sols I have in my purse, +and pay for thine ox." + +"Sir," saith he, "gramercy. And God give thee to find that thou +seekest." + +So they parted each from other, and Aucassin rode on: the night was fair +and still, and so long he went that he came to the lodge of boughs, that +Nicolete had builded and woven within and without, over and under, with +flowers, and it was the fairest lodge that might be seen. When Aucassin +was ware of it, he stopped suddenly, and the light of the moon fell +therein. + +"God!" quoth Aucassin, "here was Nicolete, my sweet lady, and this lodge +builded she with her fair hands. For the sweetness of it, and for love +of her, will I alight, and rest here this night long." + +He drew forth his foot from the stirrup to alight, and the steed was +great and tall. He dreamed so much on Nicolete his right sweet lady, +that he slipped on a stone, and drave his shoulder out of his place. Then +knew he that he was hurt sore, natheless he bore him with what force he +might, and fastened with the other hand the mare's son to a thorn. Then +turned he on his side, and crept backwise into the lodge of boughs. And +he looked through a gap in the lodge and saw the stars in heaven, and one +that was brighter than the rest; so began he to say: + +_Here one singeth_: + + "Star, that I from far behold, + Star, the Moon calls to her fold, + Nicolete with thee doth dwell, + My sweet love with locks of gold, + God would have her dwell afar, + Dwell with him for evening star, + Would to God, whate'er befell, + Would that with her I might dwell. + I would clip her close and strait, + Nay, were I of much estate, + Some king's son desirable, + Worthy she to be my mate, + Me to kiss and clip me well, + Sister, sweet friend!" + +So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When Nicolete heard Aucassin, right so came she unto him, for she was not +far away. She passed within the lodge, and threw her arms about his +neck, and clipped and kissed him. + +"Fair sweet friend, welcome be thou." + +"And thou, fair sweet love, be thou welcome." + +So either kissed and clipped the other, and fair joy was them between. + +"Ha! sweet love," quoth Aucassin, "but now was I sore hurt, and my +shoulder wried, but I take no force of it, nor have no hurt therefrom +since I have thee." + +Right so felt she his shoulder and found it was wried from its place. And +she so handled it with her white hands, and so wrought in her surgery, +that by God's will who loveth lovers, it went back into its place. Then +took she flowers, and fresh grass, and leaves green, and bound these +herbs on the hurt with a strip of her smock, and he was all healed. + +"Aucassin," saith she, "fair sweet love, take counsel what thou wilt do. +If thy father let search this forest to-morrow, and men find me here, +they will slay me, come to thee what will." + +"Certes, fair sweet love, therefore should I sorrow heavily, but, an if I +may, never shall they take thee." + +Anon gat he on his horse, and his lady before him, kissing and clipping +her, and so rode they at adventure. + +_Here one singeth_: + + Aucassin the frank, the fair, + Aucassin of the yellow hair, + Gentle knight, and true lover, + From the forest doth he fare, + Holds his love before him there, + Kissing cheek, and chin, and eyes, + But she spake in sober wise, + "Aucassin, true love and fair, + To what land do we repair?" + Sweet my love, I take no care, + Thou art with me everywhere! + So they pass the woods and downs, + Pass the villages and towns, + Hills and dales and open land, + Came at dawn to the sea sand, + Lighted down upon the strand, + Beside the sea. + +Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: + +Aucassin lighted down and his love, as ye have heard sing. He held his +horse by the bridle, and his lady by the hands; so went they along the +sea shore, and on the sea they saw a ship, and he called unto the +sailors, and they came to him. Then held he such speech with them, that +he and his lady were brought aboard that ship, and when they were on the +high sea, behold a mighty wind and tyrannous arose, marvellous and great, +and drave them from land to land, till they came unto a strange country, +and won the haven of the castle of Torelore. Then asked they what this +land might be, and men told them that it was the country of the King of +Torelore. Then he asked what manner of man was he, and was there war +afoot, and men said, + +"Yea, and mighty!" + +Therewith took he farewell of the merchants, and they commended him to +God. Anon Aucassin mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his lady +before him, and rode at adventure till he was come to the castle. Then +asked he where the King was, and they said that he was in childbed. + +"Then where is his wife?" + +And they told him she was with the host, and had led with her all the +force of that country. + +Now when Aucassin heard that saying, he made great marvel, and came into +the castle, and lighted down, he and his lady, and his lady held his +horse. Right so went he up into the castle, with his sword girt, and +fared hither and thither till he came to the chamber where the King was +lying. + +_Here one singeth_: + + Aucassin the courteous knight + To the chamber went forthright, + To the bed with linen dight + Even where the King was laid. + There he stood by him and said: + "Fool, what mak'st thou here abed?" + Quoth the King: "I am brought to bed + Of a fair son, and anon + When my month is over and gone, + And my healing fairly done, + To the Minster will I fare + And will do my churching there, + As my father did repair. + Then will sally forth to war, + Then will drive my foes afar + From my countrie!" + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When Aucassin heard the King speak on this wise, he took all the sheets +that covered him, and threw them all abroad about the chamber. Then saw +he behind him a cudgel, and caught it into his hand, and turned, and took +the King, and beat him till he was well-nigh dead. + +"Ha! fair sir," quoth the King, "what would you with me? Art thou beside +thyself, that beatest me in mine own house?" + +"By God's heart," quoth Aucassin, "thou ill son of an ill wench, I will +slay thee if thou swear not that never shall any man in all thy land lie +in of child henceforth for ever." + +So he did that oath, and when he had done it, + +"Sir," said Aucassin, "bring me now where thy wife is with the host." + +"Sir, with good will," quoth the King. + +He mounted his horse, and Aucassin gat on his own, and Nicolete abode in +the Queen's chamber. Anon rode Aucassin and the King even till they came +to that place where the Queen was, and lo! men were warring with baked +apples, and with eggs, and with fresh cheeses, and Aucassin began to look +on them, and made great marvel. + +_Here one singeth_: + + Aucassin his horse doth stay, + From the saddle watched the fray, + All the stour and fierce array; + Right fresh cheeses carried they, + Apples baked, and mushrooms grey, + Whoso splasheth most the ford + He is master called and lord. + Aucassin doth gaze awhile, + Then began to laugh and smile + And made game. + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When Aucassin beheld these marvels, he came to the King, and said, "Sir, +be these thine enemies?" + +"Yea, Sir," quoth the King. + +"And will ye that I should avenge you of them?" + +"Yea," quoth he, "with all my heart." + +Then Aucassin put hand to sword, and hurled among them, and began to +smite to the right hand and the left, and slew many of them. And when +the King saw that he slew them, he caught at his bridle and said, + +"Ha! fair sir, slay them not in such wise." + +"How," quoth Aucassin, "will ye not that I should avenge you of them?" + +"Sir," quoth the King, "overmuch already hast thou avenged me. It is +nowise our custom to slay each other." + +Anon turned they and fled. Then the King and Aucassin betook them again +to the castle of Torelore, and the folk of that land counselled the King +to put Aucassin forth, and keep Nicolete for his son's wife, for that she +seemed a lady high of lineage. And Nicolete heard them, and had no joy +of it, so began to say: + +_Here singeth one_: + + Thus she spake the bright of brow: + "Lord of Torelore and king, + Thy folk deem me a light thing, + When my love doth me embrace, + Fair he finds me, in good case, + Then am I in such derray, + Neither harp, nor lyre, nor lay, + Dance nor game, nor rebeck play + Were so sweet." + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Aucassin dwelt in the castle of Torelore, in great ease and great +delight, for that he had with him Nicolete his sweet love, whom he loved +so well. Now while he was in such pleasure and such delight, came a +troop of Saracens by sea, and laid siege to the castle and took it by +main strength. Anon took they the substance that was therein and carried +off the men and maidens captives. They seized Nicolete and Aucassin, and +bound Aucassin hand and foot, and cast him into one ship, and Nicolete +into another. Then rose there a mighty wind over sea, and scattered the +ships. Now that ship wherein was Aucassin, went wandering on the sea, +till it came to the castle of Biaucaire, and the folk of the country ran +together to wreck her, and there found they Aucassin, and they knew him +again. So when they of Biaucaire saw their damoiseau, they made great +joy of him, for Aucassin had dwelt full three years in the castle of +Torelore, and his father and mother were dead. So the people took him to +the castle of Biaucaire, and there were they all his men. And he held +the land in peace. + +_Here singeth one_: + + Lo ye, Aucassin hath gone + To Biaucaire that is his own, + Dwelleth there in joy and ease + And the kingdom is at peace. + Swears he by the Majesty + Of our Lord that is most high, + Rather would he they should die + All his kin and parentry, + So that Nicolete were nigh. + "Ah sweet love, and fair of brow, + I know not where to seek thee now, + God made never that countrie, + Not by land, and not by sea, + Where I would not search for thee, + If that might be!" + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Now leave we Aucassin, and speak we of Nicolete. The ship wherein she +was cast pertained to the King of Carthage, and he was her father, and +she had twelve brothers, all princes or kings. When they beheld +Nicolete, how fair she was, they did her great worship, and made much joy +of her, and many times asked her who she was, for surely seemed she a +lady of noble line and high parentry. But she might not tell them of her +lineage, for she was but a child when men stole her away. So sailed they +till they won the City of Carthage, and when Nicolete saw the walls of +the castle, and the country-side, she knew that there had she been +nourished and thence stolen away, being but a child. Yet was she not so +young a child but that well she knew she had been daughter of the King of +Carthage; and of her nurture in that city. + +_Here singeth one_: + + Nicolete the good and true + To the land hath come anew, + Sees the palaces and walls, + And the houses and the halls! + Then she spake and said, "Alas! + That of birth so great I was, + Cousin of the Amiral + And the very child of him + Carthage counts King of Paynim, + Wild folk hold me here withal; + Nay Aucassin, love of thee + Gentle knight, and true, and free, + Burns and wastes the heart of me. + Ah God grant it of his grace, + That thou hold me, and embrace, + That thou kiss me on the face + Love and lord!" + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When the King of Carthage heard Nicolete speak in this wise, he cast his +arms about her neck. + +"Fair sweet love," saith he, "tell me who thou art, and be not adread of +me." + +"Sir," said she, "I am daughter to the King of Carthage, and was taken, +being then a little child, it is now fifteen years gone." + +When all they of the court heard her speak thus, they knew well that she +spake sooth: so made they great joy of her, and led her to the castle in +great honour, as the King's daughter. And they would have given her to +her lord a King of Paynim, but she had no mind to marry. There dwelt she +three days or four. And she considered by what means she might seek for +Aucassin. Then she got her a viol, and learned to play on it, till they +would have married her on a day to a great King of Paynim, and she stole +forth by night, and came to the sea-port, and dwelt with a poor woman +thereby. Then took she a certain herb, and therewith smeared her head +and her face, till she was all brown and stained. And she let make coat, +and mantle, and smock, and hose, and attired herself as if she had been a +harper. So took she the viol and went to a mariner, and so wrought on +him that he took her aboard his vessel. Then hoisted they sail, and +fared on the high seas even till they came to the land of Provence. And +Nicolete went forth and took the viol, and went playing through all that +country, even till she came to the castle of Biaucaire, where Aucassin +lay. + +_Here singeth one_: + + At Biaucaire below the tower + Sat Aucassin, on an hour, + Heard the bird, and watched the flower, + With his barons him beside, + Then came on him in that tide, + The sweet influence of love + And the memory thereof; + Thought of Nicolete the fair, + And the dainty face of her + He had loved so many years, + Then was he in dule and tears! + Even then came Nicolete + On the stair a foot she set, + And she drew the viol bow + Through the strings and chanted so; + "Listen, lords and knights, to me, + Lords of high or low degree, + To my story list will ye + All of Aucassin and her + That was Nicolete the fair? + And their love was long to tell + Deep woods through he sought her well, + Paynims took them on a day + In Torelore and bound they lay. + Of Aucassin nought know we, + But fair Nicolete the free + Now in Carthage doth she dwell, + There her father loves her well, + Who is king of that countrie. + Her a husband hath he found, + Paynim lord that serves Mahound! + Ne'er with him the maid will go, + For she loves a damoiseau, + Aucassin, that ye may know, + Swears to God that never mo + With a lover will she go + Save with him she loveth so + In long desire." + +So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When Aucassin heard Nicolete speak in this wise, he was right joyful, and +drew her on one side, and spoke, saying: + +"Sweet fair friend, know ye nothing of this Nicolete, of whom ye have +thus sung?" + +"Yea, Sir, I know her for the noblest creature, and the most gentle, and +the best that ever was born on ground. She is daughter to the King of +Carthage that took her there where Aucassin was taken, and brought her +into the city of Carthage, till he knew that verily she was his own +daughter, whereon he made right great mirth. Anon wished he to give her +for her lord one of the greatest kings of all Spain, but she would rather +let herself be hanged or burned, than take any lord, how great soever." + +"Ha! fair sweet friend," quoth the Count Aucassin, "if thou wilt go into +that land again, and bid her come and speak to me, I will give thee of my +substance, more than thou wouldst dare to ask or take. And know ye, that +for the sake of her, I have no will to take a wife, howsoever high her +lineage. So wait I for her, and never will I have a wife, but her only. +And if I knew where to find her, no need would I have to seek her." + +"Sir," quoth she, "if ye promise me that, I will go in quest of her for +your sake, and for hers, that I love much." + +So he sware to her, and anon let give her twenty livres, and she departed +from him, and he wept for the sweetness of Nicolete. And when she saw +him weeping, she said: + +"Sir, trouble not thyself so much withal. For in a little while shall I +have brought her into this city, and ye shall see her." + +When Aucassin heard that, he was right glad thereof. And she departed +from him, and went into the city to the house of the Captain's wife, for +the Captain her father in God was dead. So she dwelt there, and told all +her tale; and the Captain's wife knew her, and knew well that she was +Nicolete that she herself had nourished. Then she let wash and bathe +her, and there rested she eight full days. Then took she an herb that +was named _Eyebright_ and anointed herself therewith, and was as fair as +ever she had been all the days of her life. Then she clothed herself in +rich robes of silk whereof the lady had great store, and then sat herself +in the chamber on a silken coverlet, and called the lady and bade her go +and bring Aucassin her love, and she did even so. And when she came to +the Palace she found Aucassin weeping, and making lament for Nicolete his +love, for that she delayed so long. And the lady spake unto him and +said: + +"Aucassin, sorrow no more, but come thou on with me, and I will shew thee +the thing in the world that thou lovest best; even Nicolete thy dear +love, who from far lands hath come to seek of thee." And Aucassin was +right glad. + +_Here singeth one_: + + When Aucassin heareth now + That his lady bright of brow + Dwelleth in his own countrie, + Never man was glad as he. + To her castle doth he hie + With the lady speedily, + Passeth to the chamber high, + Findeth Nicolete thereby. + Of her true love found again + Never maid was half so fain. + Straight she leaped upon her feet: + When his love he saw at last, + Arms about her did he cast, + Kissed her often, kissed her sweet + Kissed her lips and brows and eyes. + Thus all night do they devise, + Even till the morning white. + Then Aucassin wedded her, + Made her Lady of Biaucaire. + Many years abode they there, + Many years in shade or sun, + In great gladness and delight + Ne'er hath Aucassin regret + Nor his lady Nicolete. + Now my story all is done, + Said and sung! + + + + +NOTES + + +"THE BLENDING"--of alternate prose and verse--"is not unknown in various +countries." Thus in Dr. Steere's _Swahili Tales_ (London, 1870), p. vii. +we read: "It is a constant characteristic of popular native tales to have +a sort of burden, which all join in singing. Frequently the skeleton of +the story seems to be contained in these snatches of singing, which the +story-teller connects by an extemporized account of the intervening +history . . . Almost all these stories had sung parts, and of some of +these, even those who sung them could scarcely explain the meaning . . . +I have heard stories partly told, in which the verse parts were in the +Yao and Nyamwezi languages." The examples given (_Sultan Majnun_) are +only verses supposed to be chanted by the characters in the tale. It is +improbable that the Yaos and Nyamwezis borrowed the custom of inserting +verse into prose tales from Arab literature, where the intercalated verse +is usually of a moral and reflective character. + +Mr. Jamieson, in _Illustrations of Northern Antiquities_ (p. 379), +preserved a _cante-fable_ called _Rosmer Halfman_, or _The Merman +Rosmer_. Mr. Motherwell remarks (_Minstrelsy_, Glasgow, 1827, p. xv.): +"Thus I have heard the ancient ballad of _Young Beichan and Susy Pye_ +dilated by a story-teller into a tale of remarkable dimensions--a +paragraph of prose and then a _screed_ of rhyme alternately given." The +example published by Mr. Motherwell gives us the very form _of Aucassin +and Nicolete_, surviving in Scotch folk lore:- + +"Well ye must know that in the Moor's Castle, there was a mafsymore, +which is a dark deep dungeon for keeping prisoners. It was twenty feet +below the ground, and into this hole they closed poor Beichan. There he +stood, night and day, up to his waist in puddle-water; but night or day +it was all one to him, for no ae styme of light ever got in. So he lay +there a lang and weary while, and thinking on his heavy weird, he made a +murnfu' sang to pass the time--and this was the sang that he made, and +grat when he sang it, for he never thought of escaping from the +mafsymore, or of seeing his ain countrie again: + + "My hounds they all run masterless, + My hawks they flee from tree to tree; + My youngest brother will heir my lands, + And fair England again I'll never see. + + "O were I free as I hae been, + And my ship swimming once more on sea, + I'd turn my face to fair England, + And sail no more to a strange countrie." + +"Now the cruel Moor had a beautiful daughter called Susy Pye, who was +accustomed to take a walk every morning in her garden, and as she was +walking ae day she heard the sough o' Beichan's sang, coming as it were +from below the ground." + +All this is clearly analogous in form no less than in matter to our +_cante-fable_. Mr. Motherwell speaks of _fabliaux_, intended partly for +recitation, and partly for being sung; but does not refer by name to +_Aucassin and Nicolete_. If we may judge by analogy, then, the form of +the _cante-fable_ is probably an early artistic adaptation of a popular +narrative method. + +STOUR; an ungainly word enough, familiar in Scotch with the sense of wind- +driven dust, it may be dust of battle. The French is _Estor_. + +BIAUCAIRE, opposite Tarascon, also celebrated for its local hero, the +deathless Tartarin. There is a great deal of learning about Biaucaire; +probably the author of the _cante-fable_ never saw the place, but he need +not have thought it was on the sea-shore, as (p. 39) he seems to do. +There he makes the people of Beaucaire set out to wreck a ship. Ships do +not go up the Rhone, and get wrecked there, after escaping the perils of +the deep. + +On p. 42, the poet clearly thinks that Nicolete, after landing from her +barque, had to travel a considerable distance before reaching Biaucaire. +The fact is that the poet is perfectly reckless of geography, like him +who wrote of the set-shore of Bohemia. + +PAINTED WONDROUSLY. No one knows what is really meant by a _miramie_. + +PLENTIFUL LACK OF COMFORT: rather freely for _Mout i aries peu conquis_. + +MALENGIN: a favourite word of Sir Thomas Malory: "mischievous intent." + +FEATS OF YOUTH: ENFANCES, the regular term for the romance of a knight's +early prowess. + +TWO APPLES; nois gauges in the original. But _walnuts_ sound inadequate. + +Here the MS. has a _lacuna_. + +There is much useless learning about the realm of _Torelore_. It is +somewhere between Kor and Laputa. The custom of the _Couvade_ was dimly +known to the poet. The feigned lying-in of the father may have been +either a recognition of paternity (as in the sham birth whereby Hera +adopted Heracles) or may have been caused by the belief that the health +of the father at the time of the child's birth affected that of the +child. Either origin of the _Couvade_ is consistent with early beliefs +and customs. + +EYEBRIGHT. This is a purely fanciful rendering of _Esclaire_. + + + + +Footnotes: + + +{1} Gaston Paris, in M. Bida's edition, p. xii. Paris, 1878. The +blending is not unknown in various countries. See note at end of +Translation. + +{2} I know not if I unconsciously transferred this criticism from M. +Gaston Paris. + +{3} "Love in Idleness." London, 1883, p. 169. + +{4} Theocritus, x. 37. + +{5} I have not thought it necessary to discuss the conjectures,--they +are no more,--about the Greek or Arabic origin of the cante-fable, about +the derivation of Aucassin's name, the supposed copying of _Floire et +Blancheflor_, the longitude and latitude of the land of Torelore, and so +forth. In truth "we are in Love's land to-day," where the ships sail +without wind or compass, like the barques of the Phaeacians. Brunner and +Suchier add nothing positive to our knowledge, and M. Gaston Paris +pretends to cast but little light on questions which it is too curious to +consider at all. In revising the translation I have used with profit the +versions of M. Bida, of Mr. Bourdillon, the glossary of Suchier, and Mr. +Bourdillon's glossary. As for the style I have attempted, if not Old +English, at least English which is elderly, with a memory of Malory. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE*** + + +******* This file should be named 1578.txt or 1578.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/7/1578 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared from the 1910 David Nutt edition +by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +Aucassin and Nicolete + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + + +There is nothing in artistic poetry quite akin to "Aucassin and +Nicolete." + +By a rare piece of good fortune the one manuscript of the Song-Story +has escaped those waves of time, which have wrecked the bark of +Menander, and left of Sappho but a few floating fragments. The very +form of the tale is peculiar; we have nothing else from the twelfth +or thirteenth century in the alternate prose and verse of the cante- +fable. {1} We have fabliaux in verse, and prose Arthurian romances. +We have Chansons de Geste, heroic poems like "Roland," unrhymed +assonant laisses, but we have not the alternations of prose with +laisses in seven-syllabled lines. It cannot be certainly known +whether the form of "Aucassin and Nicolete" was a familiar form-- +used by many jogleors, or wandering minstrels and story-tellers such +as Nicolete, in the tale, feigned herself to be,--or whether this is +a solitary experiment by "the old captive" its author, a +contemporary, as M. Gaston Paris thinks him, of Louis VII (1130). +He was original enough to have invented, or adopted from popular +tradition, a form for himself; his originality declares itself +everywhere in his one surviving masterpiece. True, he uses certain +traditional formulae, that have survived in his time, as they +survived in Homer's, from the manner of purely popular poetry, of +Volkslieder. Thus he repeats snatches of conversation always in the +same, or very nearly the same words. He has a stereotyped form, +like Homer, for saying that one person addressed another, "ains +traist au visconte de la vile si l'apela" [Greek text which cannot +be reproduced] . . . Like Homer, and like popular song, he deals in +recurrent epithets, and changeless courtesies. To Aucassin the +hideous plough-man is "Biax frere," "fair brother," just as the +treacherous Aegisthus is [Greek text] in Homer; these are +complimentary terms, with no moral sense in particular. The jogleor +is not more curious than Homer, or than the poets of the old +ballads, about giving novel descriptions of his characters. As +Homer's ladies are "fair-tressed," so Nicolete and Aucassin have, +each of them, close yellow curls, eyes of vair (whatever that may +mean), and red lips. War cannot be mentioned except as war "where +knights do smite and are smitten," and so forth. The author is +absolutely conventional in such matters, according to the convention +of his age and profession. + +Nor is his matter more original. He tells a story of thwarted and +finally fortunate love, and his hero is "a Christened knight"--like +Tamlane,--his heroine a Paynim lady. To be sure, Nicolete was +baptized before the tale begins, and it is she who is a captive +among Christians, not her lover, as usual, who is a captive among +Saracens. The author has reversed the common arrangement, and he +appears to have cared little more than his reckless hero, about +creeds and differences of faith. He is not much interested in the +recognition of Nicolete by her great Paynim kindred, nor indeed in +any of the "business" of the narrative, the fighting, the storms and +tempests, and the burlesque of the kingdom of Torelore. + +What the nameless author does care for, is his telling of the love- +story, the passion of Aucassin and Nicolete. His originality lies +in his charming medley of sentiment and humour, of a smiling +compassion and sympathy with a touch of mocking mirth. The love of +Aucassin and Nicolete - + + +"Des grans paines qu'il soufri," + + +that is the one thing serious to him in the whole matter, and that +is not so very serious. {2} The story-teller is no Mimnermus, Love +and Youth are the best things he knew,--"deport du viel caitif,"-- +and now he has "come to forty years," and now they are with him no +longer. But he does not lament like Mimnermus, like Alcman, like +Llwyarch Hen. "What is Life, what is delight without golden +Aphrodite? May I die!" says Mimnermus, "when I am no more +conversant with these, with secret love, and gracious gifts, and the +bed of desire." And Alcman, when his limbs waver beneath him, is +only saddened by the faces and voices of girls, and would change his +lot for the sea-birds." {3} + + +"Maidens with voices like honey for sweetness that breathe desire, +Would that I were a sea-bird with limbs that never could tire, +Over the foam-flowers flying with halcyons ever on wing, +Keeping a careless heart, a sea-blue bird of the spring." + + +But our old captive, having said farewell to love, has yet a kindly +smiling interest in its fever and folly. Nothing better has he met, +even now that he knows "a lad is an ass." He tells a love story, a +story of love overmastering, without conscience or care of aught but +the beloved. And the viel caitif tells it with sympathy, and with a +smile. "Oh folly of fondness," he seems to cry, "oh merry days of +desolation" + + +"When I was young as you are young, +When lutes were touched and songs were sung, +And love lamps in the windows hung." + + +It is the very tone of Thackeray, when Thackeray is tender, and the +world heard it first from this elderly, nameless minstrel, strolling +with his viol and his singing boys, perhaps, like a blameless +d'Assoucy, from castle to castle in "the happy poplar land." One +seems to see him and hear him in the twilight, in the court of some +chateau of Picardy, while the ladies on silken cushions sit around +him listening, and their lovers, fettered with silver chains, lie at +their feet. They listen, and look, and do not think of the minstrel +with his grey head and his green heart, but we think of him. It is +an old man's work, and a weary man's work. You can easily tell the +places where he has lingered, and been pleased as he wrote. They +are marked, like the bower Nicolete built, with flowers and broken +branches wet with dew. Such a passage is the description of +Nicolete at her window, in the strangely painted chamber, + + +"ki faite est par grant devisse +panturee a miramie." + + +Thence + + +"she saw the roses blow, +Heard the birds sing loud and low." + + +Again, the minstrel speaks out what many must have thought, in those +incredulous ages of Faith, about Heaven and Hell, Hell where the +gallant company makes up for everything. When he comes to a battle- +piece he makes Aucassin "mightily and knightly hurl through the +press," like one of Malory's men. His hero must be a man of his +hands, no mere sighing youth incapable of arms. But the minstrels +heart is in other things, for example, in the verses where Aucassin +transfers to Beauty the wonder-working powers of Holiness, and makes +the sight of his lady heal the palmer, as the shadow of the Apostle, +falling on the sick people, healed them by the Gate Beautiful. The +Flight of Nicolete is a familiar and beautiful picture, the daisy +flowers look black in the ivory moonlight against her feet, fair as +Bombyca's "feet of carven ivory" in the Sicilian idyll, long ago. +{4} It is characteristic of the poet that the two lovers begin to +wrangle about which loves best, in the very mouth of danger, while +Aucassin is yet in prison, and the patrol go down the moonlit +street, with swords in their hands, sworn to slay Nicolete. That is +the place and time chosen for this ancient controversy. Aucassin's +threat that if he loses Nicolete he will not wait for sword or +knife, but will dash his head against a wall, is in the very temper +of the prisoned warrior-poet, who actually chose this way of death. +Then the night scene, with its fantasy, and shadow, and moonlight on +flowers and street, yields to a picture of the day, with the birds +singing, and the shepherds laughing, in the green links between wood +and water. There the shepherds take Nicolete for a fairy, so bright +a beauty shines about her. Their mockery, their independence, may +make us consider again our ideas of early Feudalism. Probably they +were in the service of townsmen, whose good town treated the Count +as no more than an equal of its corporate dignity. The bower of +branches built by Nicolete is certainly one of the places where the +minstrel himself has rested and been pleased with his work. One can +feel it still, the cool of that clear summer night, the sweet smell +of broken boughs, and trodden grass, and deep dew, and the shining +of the star that Aucassin deemed was the translated spirit of his +lady. Romance has touched the book here with her magic, as she has +touched the lines where we read how Consuelo came by moonlight to +the Canon's garden and the white flowers. The pleasure here is the +keener for contrast with the luckless hind whom Aucassin encountered +in the forest: the man who had lost his master's ox, the ungainly +man who wept, because his mother's bed had been taken from under her +to pay his debt. This man was in that estate which Achilles, in +Hades, preferred above the kingship of the dead outworn. He was +hind and hireling to a villein, + + +[Greek text] + + +It is an unexpected touch of pity for the people, and for other than +love-sorrows, in a poem intended for the great and courtly people of +chivalry. + +At last the lovers meet, in the lodge of flowers beneath the stars. +Here the story should end, though one could ill spare the pretty +lecture the girl reads her lover as they ride at adventure, and the +picture of Nicolete, with her brown stain, and jogleor's attire, and +her viol, playing before Aucassin in his own castle of Biaucaire. +The burlesque interlude of the country of Torelore is like a page +out of Rabelais, stitched into the cante-fable by mistake. At such +lands as Torelore Pantagruel and Panurge touched many a time in +their vague voyaging. Nobody, perhaps, can care very much about +Nicolete's adventures in Carthage, and her recognition by her Paynim +kindred. If the old captive had been a prisoner among the Saracens, +he was too indolent or incurious to make use of his knowledge. He +hurries on to his journey's end; + + +"Journeys end in lovers meeting." + + +So he finishes the tale. What lives in it, what makes it live, is +the touch of poetry, of tender heart, of humorous resignation. The +old captive says the story will gladden sad men:- + + +"Nus hom n'est si esbahis, +tant dolans ni entrepris, +de grant mal amaladis, +se il l'oit, ne soit garis, +et de joie resbaudis, +tant par est douce." + + +This service it did for M. Bida, the painter, as he tells us when he +translated Aucassin in 1870. In dark and darkening days, patriai +tempore iniquo, we too have turned to Aucassin et Nicolete. {5} + + + + +BALLADE OF AUCASSIN + + + +Where smooth the Southern waters run +Through rustling leagues of poplars gray, +Beneath a veiled soft Southern sun, +We wandered out of Yesterday; +Went Maying in that ancient May +Whose fallen flowers are fragrant yet, +And lingered by the fountain spray +With Aucassin and Nicolete. + +The grassgrown paths are trod of none +Where through the woods they went astray; +The spider's traceries are spun +Across the darkling forest way; +There come no Knights that ride to slay, +No Pilgrims through the grasses wet, +No shepherd lads that sang their say +With Aucassin and Nicolete. + +'Twas here by Nicolete begun +Her lodge of boughs and blossoms gay; +'Scaped from the cell of marble dun +'Twas here the lover found the Fay; +O lovers fond, O foolish play! +How hard we find it to forget, +Who fain would dwell with them as they, +With Aucassin and Nicolete. + +ENVOY. + +Prince, 'tis a melancholy lay! +For Youth, for Life we both regret: +How fair they seem; how far away, +With Aucassin and Nicolete. + +A. L. + + + +BALLADE OF NICOLETE + + + +All bathed in pearl and amber light +She rose to fling the lattice wide, +And leaned into the fragrant night, +Where brown birds sang of summertide; +('Twas Love's own voice that called and cried) +"Ah, Sweet!" she said, "I'll seek thee yet, +Though thorniest pathways should betide +The fair white feet of Nicolete." + +They slept, who would have stayed her flight; +(Full fain were they the maid had died!) +She dropped adown her prison's height +On strands of linen featly tied. +And so she passed the garden-side +With loose-leaved roses sweetly set, +And dainty daisies, dark beside +The fair white feet of Nicolete! + +Her lover lay in evil plight +(So many lovers yet abide!) +I would my tongue could praise aright +Her name, that should be glorified. +Those lovers now, whom foes divide +A little weep,--and soon forget. +How far from these faint lovers glide +The fair white feet of Nicolete. + +ENVOY. + +My Princess, doff thy frozen pride, +Nor scorn to pay Love's golden debt, +Through his dim woodland take for guide +The fair white feet of Nicolete. + +GRAHAM R. TOMSON + + + +THE SONG-STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE + + + +'Tis of Aucassin and Nicolete. + + +Who would list to the good lay +Gladness of the captive grey? +'Tis how two young lovers met, +Aucassin and Nicolete, +Of the pains the lover bore +And the sorrows he outwore, +For the goodness and the grace, +Of his love, so fair of face. + +Sweet the song, the story sweet, +There is no man hearkens it, +No man living 'neath the sun, +So outwearied, so foredone, +Sick and woful, worn and sad, +But is healed, but is glad +'Tis so sweet. + + +So say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: + + +How the Count Bougars de Valence made war on Count Garin de +Biaucaire, war so great, and so marvellous, and so mortal that never +a day dawned but alway he was there, by the gates and walls, and +barriers of the town with a hundred knights, and ten thousand men at +arms, horsemen and footmen: so burned he the Count's land, and +spoiled his country, and slew his men. Now the Count Garin de +Biaucaire was old and frail, and his good days were gone over. No +heir had he, neither son nor daughter, save one young man only; such +an one as I shall tell you. Aucassin was the name of the damoiseau: +fair was he, goodly, and great, and featly fashioned of his body, +and limbs. His hair was yellow, in little curls, his eyes blue and +laughing, his face beautiful and shapely, his nose high and well +set, and so richly seen was he in all things good, that in him was +none evil at all. But so suddenly overtaken was he of Love, who is +a great master, that he would not, of his will, be dubbed knight, +nor take arms, nor follow tourneys, nor do whatsoever him beseemed. +Therefore his father and mother said to him; + +"Son, go take thine arms, mount thy horse, and hold thy land, and +help thy men, for if they see thee among them, more stoutly will +they keep in battle their lives, and lands, and thine, and mine." + +"Father," said Aucassin, "I marvel that you will be speaking. Never +may God give me aught of my desire if I be made knight, or mount my +horse, or face stour and battle wherein knights smite and are +smitten again, unless thou give me Nicolete, my true love, that I +love so well." + +"Son," said the father, "this may not be. Let Nicolete go, a slave +girl she is, out of a strange land, and the captain of this town +bought her of the Saracens, and carried her hither, and hath reared +her and let christen the maid, and took her for his daughter in God, +and one day will find a young man for her, to win her bread +honourably. Herein hast thou naught to make or mend, but if a wife +thou wilt have, I will give thee the daughter of a King, or a Count. +There is no man so rich in France, but if thou desire his daughter, +thou shalt have her." + +"Faith! my father," said Aucassin, "tell me where is the place so +high in all the world, that Nicolete, my sweet lady and love, would +not grace it well? If she were Empress of Constantinople or of +Germany, or Queen of France or England, it were little enough for +her; so gentle is she and courteous, and debonaire, and compact of +all good qualities." + + +Here singeth one: + + +Aucassin was of Biaucaire +Of a goodly castle there, +But from Nicolete the fair +None might win his heart away +Though his father, many a day, +And his mother said him nay, +"Ha! fond child, what wouldest thou? +Nicolete is glad enow! +Was from Carthage cast away, +Paynims sold her on a day! +Wouldst thou win a lady fair +Choose a maid of high degree +Such an one is meet for thee." +"Nay of these I have no care, +Nicolete is debonaire, +Her body sweet and the face of her +Take my heart as in a snare, +Loyal love is but her share +That is so sweet." + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + + +When the Count Garin de Biaucaire knew that he would avail not to +withdraw Aucassin his son from the love of Nicolete, he went to the +Captain of the city, who was his man, and spake to him, saying: + +"Sir Count; away with Nicolete thy daughter in God; cursed be the +land whence she was brought into this country, for by reason of her +do I lose Aucassin, that will neither be dubbed knight, nor do aught +of the things that fall to him to be done. And wit ye well," he +said, "that if I might have her at my will, I would burn her in a +fire, and yourself might well be sore adread." + +"Sir," said the Captain, "this is grievous to me that he comes and +goes and hath speech with her. I had bought the maiden at mine own +charges, and nourished her, and baptized, and made her my daughter +in God. Yea, I would have given her to a young man that should win +her bread honourably. With this had Aucassin thy son naught to make +or mend. But, sith it is thy will and thy pleasure, I will send her +into that land and that country where never will he see her with his +eyes." + +"Have a heed to thyself," said the Count Garin, "thence might great +evil come on thee." + +So parted they each from other. Now the Captain was a right rich +man: so had he a rich palace with a garden in face of it; in an +upper chamber thereof he let place Nicolete, with one old woman to +keep her company, and in that chamber put bread and meat and wine +and such things as were needful. Then he let seal the door, that +none might come in or go forth, save that there was one window, over +against the garden, and strait enough, where through came to them a +little air. + + +Here singeth one: + + +Nicolete as ye heard tell +Prisoned is within a cell +That is painted wondrously +With colours of a far countrie, +And the window of marble wrought, +There the maiden stood in thought, +With straight brows and yellow hair +Never saw ye fairer fair! +On the wood she gazed below, +And she saw the roses blow, +Heard the birds sing loud and low, +Therefore spoke she wofully: +"Ah me, wherefore do I lie +Here in prison wrongfully: +Aucassin, my love, my knight, +Am I not thy heart's delight, +Thou that lovest me aright! +'Tis for thee that I must dwell +In the vaulted chamber cell, +Hard beset and all alone! +By our Lady Mary's Son +Here no longer will I wonn, +If I may flee! + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Nicolete was in prison, as ye have heard soothly, in the chamber. +And the noise and bruit of it went through all the country and all +the land, how that Nicolete was lost. Some said she had fled the +country, and some that the Count Garin de Biaucaire had let slay +her. Whosoever had joy thereof, Aucassin had none, so he went to +the Captain of the town and spoke to him, saying: + +"Sir Captain, what hast thou made of Nicolete, my sweet lady and +love, the thing that best I love in all the world? Hast thou +carried her off or ravished her away from me? Know well that if I +die of it, the price shall be demanded of thee, and that will be +well done, for it shall be even as if thou hadst slain me with thy +two hands, for thou hast taken from me the thing that in this world +I loved the best." + +"Fair Sir," said the Captain, "let these things be. Nicolete is a +captive that I did bring from a strange country. Yea, I bought her +at my own charges of the Saracens, and I bred her up and baptized +her, and made her my daughter in God. And I have cherished her, and +one of these days I would have given her a young man, to win her +bread honourably. With this hast thou naught to make, but do thou +take the daughter of a King or a Count. Nay more, what wouldst thou +deem thee to have gained, hadst thou made her thy leman, and taken +her to thy bed? Plentiful lack of comfort hadst thou got thereby, +for in Hell would thy soul have lain while the world endures, and +into Paradise wouldst thou have entered never." + +"In Paradise what have I to win? Therein I seek not to enter, but +only to have Nicolete, my sweet lady that I love so well. For into +Paradise go none but such folk as I shall tell thee now: Thither go +these same old priests, and halt old men and maimed, who all day and +night cower continually before the altars, and in the crypts; and +such folk as wear old amices and old clouted frocks, and naked folk +and shoeless, and covered with sores, perishing of hunger and +thirst, and of cold, and of little ease. These be they that go into +Paradise, with them have I naught to make. But into Hell would I +fain go; for into Hell fare the goodly clerks, and goodly knights +that fall in tourneys and great wars, and stout men at arms, and all +men noble. With these would I liefly go. And thither pass the +sweet ladies and courteous that have two lovers, or three, and their +lords also thereto. Thither goes the gold, and the silver, and +cloth of vair, and cloth of gris, and harpers, and makers, and the +prince of this world. With these I would gladly go, let me but have +with me, Nicolete, my sweetest lady." + +"Certes," quoth the Captain, "in vain wilt thou speak thereof, for +never shalt thou see her; and if thou hadst word with her, and thy +father knew it, he would let burn in a fire both her and me, and +thyself might well be sore adread." + +"That is even what irketh me," quoth Aucassin. So he went from the +Captain sorrowing. + + +Here singeth one: + + +Aucassin did so depart +Much in dole and heavy at heart +For his love so bright and dear, +None might bring him any cheer, +None might give good words to hear, +To the palace doth he fare +Climbeth up the palace-stair, +Passeth to a chamber there, +Thus great sorrow doth he bear, +For his lady and love so fair. + +"Nicolete how fair art thou, +Sweet thy foot-fall, sweet thine eyes, +Sweet the mirth of thy replies, +Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face, +Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow, +And the touch of thine embrace, +All for thee I sorrow now, +Captive in an evil place, +Whence I ne'er may go my ways +Sister, sweet friend!" + + +So say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: + + +While Aucassin was in the chamber sorrowing for Nicolete his love, +even then the Count Bougars de Valence, that had his war to wage, +forgat it no whit, but had called up his horsemen and his footmen, +so made he for the castle to storm it. And the cry of battle arose, +and the din, and knights and men at arms busked them, and ran to +walls and gates to hold the keep. And the towns-folk mounted to the +battlements, and cast down bolts and pikes. Then while the assault +was great, and even at its height, the Count Garin de Biaucaire came +into the chamber where Aucassin was making lament, sorrowing for +Nicolete, his sweet lady that he loved so well. + +"Ha! son," quoth he, "how caitiff art thou, and cowardly, that canst +see men assail thy goodliest castle and strongest. Know thou that +if thou lose it, thou losest all. Son, go to, take arms, and mount +thy horse, and defend thy land, and help thy men, and fare into the +stour. Thou needst not smite nor be smitten. If they do but see +thee among them, better will they guard their substance, and their +lives, and thy land and mine. And thou art so great, and hardy of +thy hands, that well mightst thou do this thing, and to do it is thy +devoir." + +"Father," said Aucassin, "what is this thou sayest now? God grant +me never aught of my desire, if I be dubbed knight, or mount steed, +or go into the stour where knights do smite and are smitten, if thou +givest me not Nicolete, my sweet lady, whom I love so well." + +" Son," quoth his father, "this may never be: rather would I be +quite disinherited and lose all that is mine, than that thou +shouldst have her to thy wife, or to love par amours." + +So he turned him about. But when Aucassin saw him going he called +to him again, saying, + +"Father, go to now, I will make with thee fair covenant." + +"What covenant, fair son?" + +"I will take up arms, and go into the stour, on this covenant, that, +if God bring me back sound and safe, thou wilt let me see Nicolete +my sweet lady, even so long that I may have of her two words or +three, and one kiss." + +"That will I grant," said his father. + +At this was Aucassin glad. + + +Here one singeth: + + +Of the kiss heard Aucassin +That returning he shall win. +None so glad would he have been +Of a myriad marks of gold +Of a hundred thousand told. +Called for raiment brave of steel, +Then they clad him, head to heel, +Twyfold hauberk doth he don, +Firmly braced the helmet on. +Girt the sword with hilt of gold, +Horse doth mount, and lance doth wield, +Looks to stirrups and to shield, +Wondrous brave he rode to field. +Dreaming of his lady dear +Setteth spurs to the destrere, +Rideth forward without fear, +Through the gate and forth away +To the fray. + + +So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + + +Aucassin was armed and mounted as ye have heard tell. God! how +goodly sat the shield on his shoulder, the helm on his head, and the +baldric on his left haunch! And the damoiseau was tall, fair, +featly fashioned, and hardy of his hands, and the horse whereon he +rode swift and keen, and straight had he spurred him forth of the +gate. Now believe ye not that his mind was on kine, nor cattle of +the booty, nor thought he how he might strike a knight, nor be +stricken again: nor no such thing. Nay, no memory had Aucassin of +aught of these; rather he so dreamed of Nicolete, his sweet lady, +that he dropped his reins, forgetting all there was to do, and his +horse that had felt the spur, bore him into the press and hurled +among the foe, and they laid hands on him all about, and took him +captive, and seized away his spear and shield, and straightway they +led him off a prisoner, and were even now discoursing of what death +he should die. + +And when Aucassin heard them, + +"Ha! God," said he, "sweet Saviour. Be these my deadly enemies that +have taken me, and will soon cut off my head? And once my head is +off, no more shall I speak with Nicolete, my sweet lady, that I love +so well. Natheless have I here a good sword, and sit a good horse +unwearied. If now I keep not my head for her sake, God help her +never, if she love me more!" + +The damoiseau was tall and strong, and the horse whereon he sat was +right eager. And he laid hand to sword, and fell a-smiting to right +and left, and smote through helm and nasal, and arm and clenched +hand, making a murder about him, like a wild boar when hounds fall +on him in the forest, even till he struck down ten knights, and +seven be hurt, and straightway he hurled out of the press, and rode +back again at full speed, sword in hand. The Count Bougars de +Valence heard say they were about hanging Aucassin, his enemy, so he +came into that place, and Aucassin was ware of him, and gat his +sword into his hand, and lashed at his helm with such a stroke that +he drave it down on his head, and he being stunned, fell grovelling. +And Aucassin laid hands on him, and caught him by the nasal of his +helmet, and gave him to his father. + +"Father," quoth Aucassin, "lo here is your mortal foe, who hath so +warred on you with all malengin. Full twenty years did this war +endure, and might not be ended by man." + +"Fair son," said his father, "thy feats of youth shouldst thou do, +and not seek after folly." + +"Father," saith Aucassin, "sermon me no sermons, but fulfil my +covenant." + +"Ha! what covenant, fair son?" + +"What, father, hast thou forgotten it? By mine own head, whosoever +forgets, will I not forget it, so much it hath me at heart. Didst +thou not covenant with me when I took up arms, and went into the +stour, that if God brought me back safe and sound, thou wouldst let +me see Nicolete, my sweet lady, even so long that I may have of her +two words or three, and one kiss? So didst thou covenant, and my +mind is that thou keep thy word." + +"I!" quoth the father, "God forsake me when I keep this covenant! +Nay, if she were here, I would let burn her in the fire, and thyself +shouldst be sore adread." + +"Is this thy last word?" quoth Aucassin. + +"So help me God," quoth his father, "yea!" + +"Certes," quoth Aucassin, "this is a sorry thing meseems, when a man +of thine age lies!" + +"Count of Valence," quoth Aucassin, "I took thee?" + +"In sooth, Sir, didst thou," saith the Count. + +"Give me thy hand," saith Aucassin. + +"Sir, with good will." + +So he set his hand in the other's. + +"Now givest thou me thy word," saith Aucassin, "that never whiles +thou art living man wilt thou avail to do my father dishonour, or +harm him in body, or in goods, but do it thou wilt?" + +"Sir, in God's name," saith he, "mock me not, but put me to my +ransom; ye cannot ask of me gold nor silver, horses nor palfreys, +vair nor gris, hawks nor hounds, but I will give you them." + +"What?" quoth Aucassin. "Ha, knowest thou not it was I that took +thee?" + +"Yea, sir," quoth the Count Bougars. + +"God help me never, but I will make thy head fly from thy shoulders, +if thou makest not troth," said Aucassin. + +"In God's name," said he, "I make what promise thou wilt." + +So they did the oath, and Aucassin let mount him on a horse, and +took another and so led him back till he was all in safety. + + +Here one singeth: + + +When the Count Garin doth know +That his child would ne'er forego +Love of her that loved him so, +Nicolete, the bright of brow, +In a dungeon deep below +Childe Aucassin did he throw. +Even there the Childe must dwell +In a dun-walled marble cell. +There he waileth in his woe +Crying thus as ye shall know. + +"Nicolete, thou lily white, +My sweet lady, bright of brow, +Sweeter than the grape art thou, +Sweeter than sack posset good +In a cup of maple wood! +Was it not but yesterday +That a palmer came this way, +Out of Limousin came he, +And at ease he might not be, +For a passion him possessed +That upon his bed he lay, +Lay, and tossed, and knew not rest +In his pain discomforted. +But thou camest by the bed, +Where he tossed amid his pain, +Holding high thy sweeping train, +And thy kirtle of ermine, +And thy smock of linen fine, +Then these fair white limbs of thine, +Did he look on, and it fell +That the palmer straight was well, +Straight was hale--and comforted, +And he rose up from his bed, +And went back to his own place, +Sound and strong, and full of face! +My sweet lady, lily white, +Sweet thy footfall, sweet thine eyes, +And the mirth of thy replies. +Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face, +Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow, +And the touch of thine embrace. +Who but doth in thee delight? +I for love of thee am bound +In this dungeon underground, +All for loving thee must lie +Here where loud on thee I cry, +Here for loving thee must die +For thee, my love." + + +Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: + +Aucassin was cast into prison as ye have heard tell, and Nicolete, +of her part, was in the chamber. Now it was summer time, the month +of May, when days are warm, and long, and clear, and the night still +and serene. Nicolete lay one night on her bed, and saw the moon +shine clear through a window, yea, and heard the nightingale sing in +the garden, so she minded her of Aucassin her lover whom she loved +so well. Then fell she to thoughts of Count Garin de Biaucaire, +that hated her to the death; therefore deemed she that there she +would no longer abide, for that, if she were told of, and the Count +knew whereas she lay, an ill death would he make her die. Now she +knew that the old woman slept who held her company. Then she arose, +and clad her in a mantle of silk she had by her, very goodly, and +took napkins, and sheets of the bed, and knotted one to the other, +and made therewith a cord as long as she might, so knitted it to a +pillar in the window, and let herself slip down into the garden, +then caught up her raiment in both hands, behind and before, and +kilted up her kirtle, because of the dew that she saw lying deep on +the grass, and so went her way down through the garden. + +Her locks were yellow and curled, her eyes blue and smiling, her +face featly fashioned, the nose high and fairly set, the lips more +red than cherry or rose in time of summer, her teeth white and +small; her breasts so firm that they bore up the folds of her bodice +as they had been two apples; so slim she was in the waist that your +two hands might have clipped her, and the daisy flowers that brake +beneath her as she went tip-toe, and that bent above her instep, +seemed black against her feet, so white was the maiden. She came to +the postern gate, and unbarred it, and went out through the streets +of Biaucaire, keeping always on the shadowy side, for the moon was +shining right clear, and so wandered she till she came to the tower +where her lover lay. The tower was flanked with buttresses, and she +cowered under one of them, wrapped in her mantle. Then thrust she +her head through a crevice of the tower that was old and worn, and +so heard she Aucassin wailing within, and making dole and lament for +the sweet lady he loved so well. And when she had listened to him +she began to say: + + +Here one singeth: + + +Nicolete the bright of brow +On a pillar leanest thou, +All Aucassin's wail dost hear +For his love that is so dear, +Then thou spakest, shrill and clear, +"Gentle knight withouten fear +Little good befalleth thee, +Little help of sigh or tear, +Ne'er shalt thou have joy of me. +Never shalt thou win me; still +Am I held in evil will +Of thy father and thy kin, +Therefore must I cross the sea, +And another land must win." +Then she cut her curls of gold, +Cast them in the dungeon hold, +Aucassin doth clasp them there, +Kissed the curls that were so fair, +Them doth in his bosom bear, +Then he wept, even as of old, +All for his love! + + +Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: + +When Aucassin heard Nicolete say that she would pass into a far +country, he was all in wrath. + +"Fair sweet friend," quoth he, "thou shalt not go, for then wouldst +thou be my death. And the first man that saw thee and had the might +withal, would take thee straightway into his bed to be his leman. +And once thou camest into a man's bed, and that bed not mine, wit ye +well that I would not tarry till I had found a knife to pierce my +heart and slay myself. Nay, verily, wait so long I would not: but +would hurl myself on it so soon as I could find a wall, or a black +stone, thereon would I dash my head so mightily, that the eyes would +start, and my brain burst. Rather would I die even such a death, +than know thou hadst lain in a man's bed, and that bed not mine." + +"Aucassin," she said, "I trow thou lovest me not as much as thou +sayest, but I love thee more than thou lovest me." + +"Ah, fair sweet friend," said Aucassin, "it may not be that thou +shouldst love me even as I love thee. Woman may not love man as man +loves woman, for a woman's love lies in the glance of her eye, and +the bud of her breast, and her foot's tip-toe, but the love of man +is in his heart planted, whence it can never issue forth and pass +away." + +Now while Aucassin and Nicolete held this parley together, the +town's guards came down a street, with swords drawn beneath their +cloaks, for the Count Garin had charged them that if they could take +her they should slay her. But the sentinel that was on the tower +saw them coming, and heard them speaking of Nicolete as they went, +and threatening to slay her. + +"God!" quoth he, "this were great pity to slay so fair a maid! +Right great charity it were if I could say aught to her, and they +perceive it not, and she should be on her guard against them, for if +they slay her, then were Aucassin, my damoiseau, dead, and that were +great pity." + + +Here one singeth: + + +Valiant was the sentinel, +Courteous, kind, and practised well, +So a song did sing and tell +Of the peril that befell. +"Maiden fair that lingerest here, +Gentle maid of merry cheer, +Hair of gold, and eyes as clear +As the water in a mere, +Thou, meseems, hast spoken word +To thy lover and thy lord, +That would die for thee, his dear; +Now beware the ill accord, +Of the cloaked men of the sword, +These have sworn and keep their word, +They will put thee to the sword +Save thou take heed!" + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +"Ha!" quoth Nicolete, "be the soul of thy father and the soul of thy +mother in the rest of Paradise, so fairly and so courteously hast +thou spoken me! Please God, I will be right ware of them, God keep +me out of their hands." + +So she shrank under her mantle into the shadow of the pillar till +they had passed by, and then took she farewell of Aucassin, and so +fared till she came unto the castle wall. Now that wall was wasted +and broken, and some deal mended, so she clomb thereon till she came +between wall and fosse, and so looked down, and saw that the fosse +was deep and steep, whereat she was sore adread. + +"Ah God," saith she, "sweet Saviour! If I let myself fall hence, I +shall break my neck, and if here I abide, to-morrow they will take +me and burn me in a fire. Yet liefer would I perish here than that +to-morrow the folk should stare on me for a gazing-stock." + +Then she crossed herself, and so let herself slip into the fosse, +and when she had come to the bottom, her fair feet, and fair hands +that had not custom thereof, were bruised and frayed, and the blood +springing from a dozen places, yet felt she no pain nor hurt, by +reason of the great dread wherein she went. But if she were in +cumber to win there, in worse was she to win out. But she deemed +that there to abide was of none avail, and she found a pike +sharpened, that they of the city had thrown out to keep the hold. +Therewith made she one stepping place after another, till, with much +travail, she climbed the wall. Now the forest lay within two +crossbow shots, and the forest was of thirty leagues this way and +that. Therein also were wild beasts, and beasts serpentine, and she +feared that if she entered there they would slay her. But anon she +deemed that if men found her there they would hale her back into the +town to burn her. + + +Here one singeth: + + +Nicolete, the fair of face, +Climbed upon the coping stone, +There made she lament and moan +Calling on our Lord alone +For his mercy and his grace. + +"Father, king of Majesty, +Listen, for I nothing know +Where to flee or whither go. +If within the wood I fare, +Lo, the wolves will slay me there, +Boars and lions terrible, +Many in the wild wood dwell, +But if I abide the day, +Surely worse will come of it, +Surely will the fire be lit +That shall burn my body away, +Jesus, lord of Majesty, +Better seemeth it to me, +That within the wood I fare, +Though the wolves devour me there +Than within the town to go, +Ne'er be it so!" + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Nicolete made great moan, as ye have heard; then commended she +herself to God, and anon fared till she came unto the forest. But +to go deep in it she dared not, by reason of the wild beasts, and +beasts serpentine. Anon crept she into a little thicket, where +sleep came upon her, and she slept till prime next day, when the +shepherds issued forth from the town and drove their bestial between +wood and water. Anon came they all into one place by a fair +fountain which was on the fringe of the forest, thereby spread they +a mantle, and thereon set bread. So while they were eating, +Nicolete wakened, with the sound of the singing birds, and the +shepherds, and she went unto them, saying, "Fair boys, our Lord keep +you!" + +"God bless thee," quoth he that had more words to his tongue than +the rest. + +"Fair boys," quoth she, "know ye Aucassin, the son of Count Garin de +Biaucaire?" + +"Yea, well we know him." + +"So may God help you, fair boys," quoth she, "tell him there is a +beast in this forest, and bid him come chase it, and if he can take +it, he would not give one limb thereof for a hundred marks of gold, +nay, nor for five hundred, nor for any ransom." + +Then looked they on her, and saw her so fair that they were all +astonied. + +"Will I tell him thereof?" quoth he that had more words to his +tongue than the rest; "foul fall him who speaks of the thing or +tells him the tidings. These are but visions ye tell of, for there +is no beast so great in this forest, stag, nor lion, nor boar, that +one of his limbs is worth more than two deniers, or three at the +most, and ye speak of such great ransom. Foul fall him that +believes your word, and him that telleth Aucassin. Ye be a Fairy, +and we have none liking for your company, nay, hold on your road." + +"Nay, fair boys," quoth she, "nay, ye will do my bidding. For this +beast is so mighty of medicine that thereby will Aucassin be healed +of his torment. And lo! I have five sols in my purse, take them, +and tell him: for within three days must he come hunting it hither, +and if within three days he find it not, never will he be healed of +his torment." + +"My faith," quoth he, "the money will we take, and if he come hither +we will tell him, but seek him we will not." + +"In God's name," quoth she; and so took farewell of the shepherds, +and went her way. + + +Here singeth one: + + +Nicolete the bright of brow +From the shepherds doth she pass +All below the blossomed bough +Where an ancient way there was, +Overgrown and choked with grass, +Till she found the cross-roads where +Seven paths do all way fare, +Then she deemeth she will try, +Should her lover pass thereby, +If he love her loyally. +So she gathered white lilies, +Oak-leaf, that in green wood is, +Leaves of many a branch I wis, +Therewith built a lodge of green, +Goodlier was never seen, +Swore by God who may not lie, +"If my love the lodge should spy, +He will rest awhile thereby +If he love me loyally." +Thus his faith she deemed to try, +"Or I love him not, not I, +Nor he loves me!" + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Nicolete built her lodge of boughs, as ye have heard, right fair and +feteously, and wove it well, within and without, of flowers and +leaves. So lay she hard by the lodge in a deep coppice to know what +Aucassin will do. And the cry and the bruit went abroad through all +the country and all the land, that Nicolete was lost. Some told +that she had fled, and some that the Count Garin had let slay her. +Whosoever had joy thereof, no joy had Aucassin. And the Count +Garin, his father, had taken him out of prison, and had sent for the +knights of that land, and the ladies, and let make a right great +feast, for the comforting of Aucassin his son. Now at the high time +of the feast, was Aucassin leaning from a gallery, all woful and +discomforted. Whatsoever men might devise of mirth, Aucassin had no +joy thereof, nor no desire, for he saw not her that he loved. Then +a knight looked on him, and came to him, and said: + +"Aucassin, of that sickness of thine have I been sick, and good +counsel will I give thee, if thou wilt hearken to me--" + +"Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy, good counsel would I fain hear." + +"Mount thy horse," quoth he, "and go take thy pastime in yonder +forest, there wilt thou see the good flowers and grass, and hear the +sweet birds sing. Perchance thou shalt hear some word, whereby thou +shalt be the better." + +"Sir," quoth Aucassin, "gramercy, that will I do." + +He passed out of the hall, and went down the stairs, and came to the +stable where his horse was. He let saddle and bridle him, and +mounted, and rode forth from the castle, and wandered till he came +to the forest, so rode till he came to the fountain and found the +shepherds at point of noon. And they had a mantle stretched on the +grass, and were eating bread, and making great joy. + + +Here one singeth: + + +There were gathered shepherds all, +Martin, Esmeric, and Hal, +Aubrey, Robin, great and small. +Saith the one, "Good fellows all, +God keep Aucassin the fair, +And the maid with yellow hair, +Bright of brow and eyes of vair. +She that gave us gold to ware. +Cakes therewith to buy ye know, +Goodly knives and sheaths also. +Flutes to play, and pipes to blow, +May God him heal!" + + +Here speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When Aucassin heard the shepherds, anon he bethought him of +Nicolete, his sweet lady he loved so well, and he deemed that she +had passed thereby; then set he spurs to his horse, and so came to +the shepherds. + +"Fair boys, God be with you." + +"God bless you," quoth he that had more words to his tongue than the +rest. + +"Fair boys," quoth Aucassin, "say the song again that anon ye sang." + +"Say it we will not," quoth he that had more words to his tongue +than the rest, "foul fall him who will sing it again for you, fair +sir!" + +"Fair boys," quoth Aucassin, "know ye me not?" + +"Yea, we know well that you are Aucassin, out damoiseau, natheless +we be not your men, but the Count's." + +"Fair boys, yet sing it again, I pray you." + +"Hearken! by the Holy Heart," quoth he, "wherefore should I sing for +you, if it likes me not? Lo, there is no such rich man in this +country, saving the body of Garin the Count, that dare drive forth +my oxen, or my cows, or my sheep, if he finds them in his fields, or +his corn, lest he lose his eyes for it, and wherefore should I sing +for you, if it likes me not?" + +"God be your aid, fair boys, sing it ye will, and take ye these ten +sols I have here in a purse." + +"Sir, the money will we take, but never a note will I sing, for I +have given my oath, but I will tell thee a plain tale, if thou +wilt." + +"By God," saith Aucassin, "I love a plain tale better than naught." + +"Sir, we were in this place, a little time agone, between prime and +tierce, and were eating our bread by this fountain, even as now we +do, and a maid came past, the fairest thing in the world, whereby we +deemed that she should be a fay, and all the wood shone round about +her. Anon she gave us of that she had, whereby we made covenant +with her, that if ye came hither we would bid you hunt in this +forest, wherein is such a beast that, an ye might take him, ye would +not give one limb of him for five hundred marks of silver, nor for +no ransom; for this beast is so mighty of medicine, that, an ye +could take him, ye should be healed of your torment, and within +three days must ye take him, and if ye take him not then, never will +ye look on him. So chase ye the beast, an ye will, or an ye will +let be, for my promise have I kept with her." + +"Fair boys," quoth Aucassin, "ye have said enough. God grant me to +find this quarry." + + +Here one singeth. + + +Aucassin when he had heard, +Sore within his heart was stirred, +Left the shepherds on that word, +Far into the forest spurred +Rode into the wood; and fleet +Fled his horse through paths of it, +Three words spake he of his sweet, +"Nicolete the fair, the dear, +'Tis for thee I follow here +Track of boar, nor slot of deer, +But thy sweet body and eyes so clear, +All thy mirth and merry cheer, +That my very heart have slain, +So please God to me maintain +I shall see my love again, +Sweet sister, friend!" + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Aucassin fared through the forest from path to path after Nicolete, +and his horse bare him furiously. Think ye not that the thorns him +spared, nor the briars, nay, not so, but tare his raiment, that +scarce a knot might be tied with the soundest part thereof, and the +blood sprang from his arms, and flanks, and legs, in forty places, +or thirty, so that behind the Childe men might follow on the track +of his blood in the grass. But so much he went in thoughts of +Nicolete, his lady sweet, that he felt no pain nor torment, and all +the day hurled through the forest in this fashion nor heard no word +of her. And when he saw Vespers draw nigh, he began to weep for +that he found her not. All down an old road, and grassgrown he +fared, when anon, looking along the way before him, he saw such an +one as I shall tell you. Tall was he, and great of growth, laidly +and marvellous to look upon: his head huge, and black as charcoal, +and more than the breadth of a hand between his two eyes, and great +cheeks, and a big nose and broad, big nostrils and ugly, and thick +lips redder than a collop, and great teeth yellow and ugly, and he +was shod with hosen and shoon of bull's hide, bound with cords of +bark over the knee, and all about him a great cloak twy-fold, and he +leaned on a grievous cudgel, and Aucassin came unto him, and was +afraid when he beheld him. + +"Fair brother, God aid thee." + +"God bless you," quoth he. + +"As God he helpeth thee, what makest thou here?" + +"What is that to thee?" + +"Nay, naught, naught," saith Aucassin, "I ask but out of courtesy." + +"But for whom weepest thou," quoth he, "and makest such heavy +lament? Certes, were I as rich a man as thou, the whole world +should not make me weep." + +"Ha! know ye me?" saith Aucassin. + +"Yea, I know well that ye be Aucassin, the son of the Count, and if +ye tell me for why ye weep, then will I tell you what I make here." + +"Certes," quoth Aucassin, "I will tell you right gladly. Hither +came I this morning to hunt in this forest; and with me a white +hound, the fairest in the world; him have I lost, and for him I +weep." + +"By the Heart our Lord bare in his breast," quoth he, "are ye +weeping for a stinking hound? Foul fall him that holds thee high +henceforth! for there is no such rich man in the land, but if thy +father asked it of him, he would give thee ten, or fifteen, or +twenty, and be the gladder for it. But I have cause to weep and +make dole." + +"Wherefore so, brother?" + +"Sir, I will tell thee. I was hireling to a rich vilain, and drove +his plough; four oxen had he. But three days since came on me great +misadventure, whereby I lost the best of mine oxen, Roger, the best +of my team. Him go I seeking, and have neither eaten nor drunken +these three days, nor may I go to the town, lest they cast me into +prison, seeing that I have not wherewithal to pay. Out of all the +wealth of the world have I no more than ye see on my body. A poor +mother bare me, that had no more but one wretched bed; this have +they taken from under her, and she lies in the very straw. This +ails me more than mine own case, for wealth comes and goes; if now I +have lost, another tide will I gain, and will pay for mine ox whenas +I may; never for that will I weep. But you weep for a stinking +hound. Foul fall whoso thinks well of thee!" + +"Certes thou art a good comforter, brother, blessed be thou! And of +what price was thine ox?" + +"Sir, they ask me twenty sols for him, whereof I cannot abate one +doit." + +"Nay, then," quoth Aucassin, "take these twenty sols I have in my +purse, and pay for thine ox." + +"Sir," saith he, "gramercy. And God give thee to find that thou +seekest." + +So they parted each from other, and Aucassin rode on: the night was +fair and still, and so long he went that he came to the lodge of +boughs, that Nicolete had builded and woven within and without, over +and under, with flowers, and it was the fairest lodge that might be +seen. When Aucassin was ware of it, he stopped suddenly, and the +light of the moon fell therein. + +"God!" quoth Aucassin, "here was Nicolete, my sweet lady, and this +lodge builded she with her fair hands. For the sweetness of it, and +for love of her, will I alight, and rest here this night long." + +He drew forth his foot from the stirrup to alight, and the steed was +great and tall. He dreamed so much on Nicolete his right sweet +lady, that he slipped on a stone, and drave his shoulder out of his +place. Then knew he that he was hurt sore, natheless he bore him +with what force he might, and fastened with the other hand the +mare's son to a thorn. Then turned he on his side, and crept +backwise into the lodge of boughs. And he looked through a gap in +the lodge and saw the stars in heaven, and one that was brighter +than the rest; so began he to say: + + +Here one singeth: + + +"Star, that I from far behold, +Star, the Moon calls to her fold, +Nicolete with thee doth dwell, +My sweet love with locks of gold, +God would have her dwell afar, +Dwell with him for evening star, +Would to God, whate'er befell, +Would that with her I might dwell. +I would clip her close and strait, +Nay, were I of much estate, +Some king's son desirable, +Worthy she to be my mate, +Me to kiss and clip me well, +Sister, sweet friend!" + + +So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When Nicolete heard Aucassin, right so came she unto him, for she +was not far away. She passed within the lodge, and threw her arms +about his neck, and clipped and kissed him. + +"Fair sweet friend, welcome be thou." + +"And thou, fair sweet love, be thou welcome." + +So either kissed and clipped the other, and fair joy was them +between. + +"Ha! sweet love," quoth Aucassin, "but now was I sore hurt, and my +shoulder wried, but I take no force of it, nor have no hurt +therefrom since I have thee." + +Right so felt she his shoulder and found it was wried from its +place. And she so handled it with her white hands, and so wrought +in her surgery, that by God's will who loveth lovers, it went back +into its place. Then took she flowers, and fresh grass, and leaves +green, and bound these herbs on the hurt with a strip of her smock, +and he was all healed. + +"Aucassin," saith she, "fair sweet love, take counsel what thou wilt +do. If thy father let search this forest to-morrow, and men find me +here, they will slay me, come to thee what will." + +"Certes, fair sweet love, therefore should I sorrow heavily, but, an +if I may, never shall they take thee." + +Anon gat he on his horse, and his lady before him, kissing and +clipping her, and so rode they at adventure. + + +Here one singeth: + + +Aucassin the frank, the fair, +Aucassin of the yellow hair, +Gentle knight, and true lover, +From the forest doth he fare, +Holds his love before him there, +Kissing cheek, and chin, and eyes, +But she spake in sober wise, +"Aucassin, true love and fair, +To what land do we repair?" +Sweet my love, I take no care, +Thou art with me everywhere! +So they pass the woods and downs, +Pass the villages and towns, +Hills and dales and open land, +Came at dawn to the sea sand, +Lighted down upon the strand, +Beside the sea. + + +Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale: + +Aucassin lighted down and his love, as ye have heard sing. He held +his horse by the bridle, and his lady by the hands; so went they +along the sea shore, and on the sea they saw a ship, and he called +unto the sailors, and they came to him. Then held he such speech +with them, that he and his lady were brought aboard that ship, and +when they were on the high sea, behold a mighty wind and tyrannous +arose, marvellous and great, and drave them from land to land, till +they came unto a strange country, and won the haven of the castle of +Torelore. Then asked they what this land might be, and men told +them that it was the country of the King of Torelore. Then he asked +what manner of man was he, and was there war afoot, and men said, + +"Yea, and mighty!" + +Therewith took he farewell of the merchants, and they commended him +to God. Anon Aucassin mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and +his lady before him, and rode at adventure till he was come to the +castle. Then asked he where the King was, and they said that he was +in childbed. + +"Then where is his wife?" + +And they told him she was with the host, and had led with her all +the force of that country. + +Now when Aucassin heard that saying, he made great marvel, and came +into the castle, and lighted down, he and his lady, and his lady +held his horse. Right so went he up into the castle, with his sword +girt, and fared hither and thither till he came to the chamber where +the King was lying. + + +Here one singeth: + + +Aucassin the courteous knight +To the chamber went forthright, +To the bed with linen dight +Even where the King was laid. +There he stood by him and said: +"Fool, what mak'st thou here abed?" +Quoth the King: "I am brought to bed +Of a fair son, and anon +When my month is over and gone, +And my healing fairly done, +To the Minster will I fare +And will do my churching there, +As my father did repair. +Then will sally forth to war, +Then will drive my foes afar +From my countrie!" + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When Aucassin heard the King speak on this wise, he took all the +sheets that covered him, and threw them all abroad about the +chamber. Then saw he behind him a cudgel, and caught it into his +hand, and turned, and took the King, and beat him till he was well- +nigh dead. + +"Ha! fair sir," quoth the King, "what would you with me? Art thou +beside thyself, that beatest me in mine own house?" + +"By God's heart," quoth Aucassin, "thou ill son of an ill wench, I +will slay thee if thou swear not that never shall any man in all thy +land lie in of child henceforth for ever." + +So he did that oath, and when he had done it, + +"Sir," said Aucassin, "bring me now where thy wife is with the +host." + +"Sir, with good will," quoth the King. + +He mounted his horse, and Aucassin gat on his own, and Nicolete +abode in the Queen's chamber. Anon rode Aucassin and the King even +till they came to that place where the Queen was, and lo! men were +warring with baked apples, and with eggs, and with fresh cheeses, +and Aucassin began to look on them, and made great marvel. + + +Here one singeth: + + +Aucassin his horse doth stay, +From the saddle watched the fray, +All the stour and fierce array; +Right fresh cheeses carried they, +Apples baked, and mushrooms grey, +Whoso splasheth most the ford +He is master called and lord. +Aucassin doth gaze awhile, +Then began to laugh and smile +And made game. + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When Aucassin beheld these marvels, he came to the King, and said, +"Sir, be these thine enemies?" + +"Yea, Sir," quoth the King. + +"And will ye that I should avenge you of them?" + +"Yea," quoth he, "with all my heart." + +Then Aucassin put hand to sword, and hurled among them, and began to +smite to the right hand and the left, and slew many of them. And +when the King saw that he slew them, he caught at his bridle and +said, + +"Ha! fair sir, slay them not in such wise." + +"How," quoth Aucassin, "will ye not that I should avenge you of +them?" + +"Sir," quoth the King, "overmuch already hast thou avenged me. It +is nowise our custom to slay each other." + +Anon turned they and fled. Then the King and Aucassin betook them +again to the castle of Torelore, and the folk of that land +counselled the King to put Aucassin forth, and keep Nicolete for his +son's wife, for that she seemed a lady high of lineage. And +Nicolete heard them, and had no joy of it, so began to say: + + +Here singeth one: + + +Thus she spake the bright of brow: +"Lord of Torelore and king, +Thy folk deem me a light thing, +When my love doth me embrace, +Fair he finds me, in good case, +Then am I in such derray, +Neither harp, nor lyre, nor lay, +Dance nor game, nor rebeck play +Were so sweet." + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Aucassin dwelt in the castle of Torelore, in great ease and great +delight, for that he had with him Nicolete his sweet love, whom he +loved so well. Now while he was in such pleasure and such delight, +came a troop of Saracens by sea, and laid siege to the castle and +took it by main strength. Anon took they the substance that was +therein and carried off the men and maidens captives. They seized +Nicolete and Aucassin, and bound Aucassin hand and foot, and cast +him into one ship, and Nicolete into another. Then rose there a +mighty wind over sea, and scattered the ships. Now that ship +wherein was Aucassin, went wandering on the sea, till it came to the +castle of Biaucaire, and the folk of the country ran together to +wreck her, and there found they Aucassin, and they knew him again. +So when they of Biaucaire saw their damoiseau, they made great joy +of him, for Aucassin had dwelt full three years in the castle of +Torelore, and his father and mother were dead. So the people took +him to the castle of Biaucaire, and there were they all his men. +And he held the land in peace. + + +Here singeth one: + + +Lo ye, Aucassin hath gone +To Biaucaire that is his own, +Dwelleth there in joy and ease +And the kingdom is at peace. +Swears he by the Majesty +Of our Lord that is most high, +Rather would he they should die +All his kin and parentry, +So that Nicolete were nigh. +"Ah sweet love, and fair of brow, +I know not where to seek thee now, +God made never that countrie, +Not by land, and not by sea, +Where I would not search for thee, +If that might be!" + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +Now leave we Aucassin, and speak we of Nicolete. The ship wherein +she was cast pertained to the King of Carthage, and he was her +father, and she had twelve brothers, all princes or kings. When +they beheld Nicolete, how fair she was, they did her great worship, +and made much joy of her, and many times asked her who she was, for +surely seemed she a lady of noble line and high parentry. But she +might not tell them of her lineage, for she was but a child when men +stole her away. So sailed they till they won the City of Carthage, +and when Nicolete saw the walls of the castle, and the country-side, +she knew that there had she been nourished and thence stolen away, +being but a child. Yet was she not so young a child but that well +she knew she had been daughter of the King of Carthage; and of her +nurture in that city. + + +Here singeth one: + + +Nicolete the good and true +To the land hath come anew, +Sees the palaces and walls, +And the houses and the halls! +Then she spake and said, "Alas! +That of birth so great I was, +Cousin of the Amiral +And the very child of him +Carthage counts King of Paynim, +Wild folk hold me here withal; +Nay Aucassin, love of thee +Gentle knight, and true, and free, +Burns and wastes the heart of me. +Ah God grant it of his grace, +That thou hold me, and embrace, +That thou kiss me on the face +Love and lord!" + + +Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When the King of Carthage heard Nicolete speak in this wise, he cast +his arms about her neck. + +"Fair sweet love," saith he, "tell me who thou art, and be not +adread of me." + +"Sir," said she, "I am daughter to the King of Carthage, and was +taken, being then a little child, it is now fifteen years gone." + +When all they of the court heard her speak thus, they knew well that +she spake sooth: so made they great joy of her, and led her to the +castle in great honour, as the King's daughter. And they would have +given her to her lord a King of Paynim, but she had no mind to +marry. There dwelt she three days or four. And she considered by +what means she might seek for Aucassin. Then she got her a viol, +and learned to play on it, till they would have married her on a day +to a great King of Paynim, and she stole forth by night, and came to +the sea-port, and dwelt with a poor woman thereby. Then took she a +certain herb, and therewith smeared her head and her face, till she +was all brown and stained. And she let make coat, and mantle, and +smock, and hose, and attired herself as if she had been a harper. +So took she the viol and went to a mariner, and so wrought on him +that he took her aboard his vessel. Then hoisted they sail, and +fared on the high seas even till they came to the land of Provence. +And Nicolete went forth and took the viol, and went playing through +all that country, even till she came to the castle of Biaucaire, +where Aucassin lay. + + +Here singeth one: + + +At Biaucaire below the tower +Sat Aucassin, on an hour, +Heard the bird, and watched the flower, +With his barons him beside, +Then came on him in that tide, +The sweet influence of love +And the memory thereof; +Thought of Nicolete the fair, +And the dainty face of her +He had loved so many years, +Then was he in dule and tears! +Even then came Nicolete +On the stair a foot she set, +And she drew the viol bow +Through the strings and chanted so; +"Listen, lords and knights, to me, +Lords of high or low degree, +To my story list will ye +All of Aucassin and her +That was Nicolete the fair? +And their love was long to tell +Deep woods through he sought her well, +Paynims took them on a day +In Torelore and bound they lay. +Of Aucassin nought know we, +But fair Nicolete the free +Now in Carthage doth she dwell, +There her father loves her well, +Who is king of that countrie. +Her a husband hath he found, +Paynim lord that serves Mahound! +Ne'er with him the maid will go, +For she loves a damoiseau, +Aucassin, that ye may know, +Swears to God that never mo +With a lover will she go +Save with him she loveth so +In long desire." + + +So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale: + +When Aucassin heard Nicolete speak in this wise, he was right +joyful, and drew her on one side, and spoke, saying: + +"Sweet fair friend, know ye nothing of this Nicolete, of whom ye +have thus sung?" + +"Yea, Sir, I know her for the noblest creature, and the most gentle, +and the best that ever was born on ground. She is daughter to the +King of Carthage that took her there where Aucassin was taken, and +brought her into the city of Carthage, till he knew that verily she +was his own daughter, whereon he made right great mirth. Anon +wished he to give her for her lord one of the greatest kings of all +Spain, but she would rather let herself be hanged or burned, than +take any lord, how great soever." + +"Ha! fair sweet friend," quoth the Count Aucassin, "if thou wilt go +into that land again, and bid her come and speak to me, I will give +thee of my substance, more than thou wouldst dare to ask or take. +And know ye, that for the sake of her, I have no will to take a +wife, howsoever high her lineage. So wait I for her, and never will +I have a wife, but her only. And if I knew where to find her, no +need would I have to seek her." + +"Sir," quoth she, "if ye promise me that, I will go in quest of her +for your sake, and for hers, that I love much." + +So he sware to her, and anon let give her twenty livres, and she +departed from him, and he wept for the sweetness of Nicolete. And +when she saw him weeping, she said: + +"Sir, trouble not thyself so much withal. For in a little while +shall I have brought her into this city, and ye shall see her." + +When Aucassin heard that, he was right glad thereof. And she +departed from him, and went into the city to the house of the +Captain's wife, for the Captain her father in God was dead. So she +dwelt there, and told all her tale; and the Captain's wife knew her, +and knew well that she was Nicolete that she herself had nourished. +Then she let wash and bathe her, and there rested she eight full +days. Then took she an herb that was named Eyebright and anointed +herself therewith, and was as fair as ever she had been all the days +of her life. Then she clothed herself in rich robes of silk whereof +the lady had great store, and then sat herself in the chamber on a +silken coverlet, and called the lady and bade her go and bring +Aucassin her love, and she did even so. And when she came to the +Palace she found Aucassin weeping, and making lament for Nicolete +his love, for that she delayed so long. And the lady spake unto him +and said: + +"Aucassin, sorrow no more, but come thou on with me, and I will shew +thee the thing in the world that thou lovest best; even Nicolete thy +dear love, who from far lands hath come to seek of thee." And +Aucassin was right glad. + + +Here singeth one: + +When Aucassin heareth now +That his lady bright of brow +Dwelleth in his own countrie, +Never man was glad as he. +To her castle doth he hie +With the lady speedily, +Passeth to the chamber high, +Findeth Nicolete thereby. +Of her true love found again +Never maid was half so fain. +Straight she leaped upon her feet: +When his love he saw at last, +Arms about her did he cast, +Kissed her often, kissed her sweet +Kissed her lips and brows and eyes. +Thus all night do they devise, +Even till the morning white. +Then Aucassin wedded her, +Made her Lady of Biaucaire. +Many years abode they there, +Many years in shade or sun, +In great gladness and delight +Ne'er hath Aucassin regret +Nor his lady Nicolete. +Now my story all is done, +Said and sung! + + + +NOTES + + + +"THE BLENDING"--of alternate prose and verse--"is not unknown in +various countries." Thus in Dr. Steere's Swahili Tales (London, +1870), p. vii. we read: "It is a constant characteristic of popular +native tales to have a sort of burden, which all join in singing. +Frequently the skeleton of the story seems to be contained in these +snatches of singing, which the story-teller connects by an +extemporized account of the intervening history . . . Almost all +these stories had sung parts, and of some of these, even those who +sung them could scarcely explain the meaning . . . I have heard +stories partly told, in which the verse parts were in the Yao and +Nyamwezi languages." The examples given (Sultan Majnun) are only +verses supposed to be chanted by the characters in the tale. It is +improbable that the Yaos and Nyamwezis borrowed the custom of +inserting verse into prose tales from Arab literature, where the +intercalated verse is usually of a moral and reflective character. + +Mr. Jamieson, in Illustrations of Northern Antiquities (p. 379), +preserved a cante-fable called Rosmer Halfman, or The Merman Rosmer. +Mr. Motherwell remarks (Minstrelsy, Glasgow, 1827, p. xv.): "Thus I +have heard the ancient ballad of Young Beichan and Susy Pye dilated +by a story-teller into a tale of remarkable dimensions--a paragraph +of prose and then a screed of rhyme alternately given." The example +published by Mr. Motherwell gives us the very form of Aucassin and +Nicolete, surviving in Scotch folk lore:- + +"Well ye must know that in the Moor's Castle, there was a mafsymore, +which is a dark deep dungeon for keeping prisoners. It was twenty +feet below the ground, and into this hole they closed poor Beichan. +There he stood, night and day, up to his waist in puddle-water; but +night or day it was all one to him, for no ae styme of light ever +got in. So he lay there a lang and weary while, and thinking on his +heavy weird, he made a murnfu' sang to pass the time--and this was +the sang that he made, and grat when he sang it, for he never +thought of escaping from the mafsymore, or of seeing his ain +countrie again: + + +"My hounds they all run masterless, +My hawks they flee from tree to tree; +My youngest brother will heir my lands, +And fair England again I'll never see. + +"O were I free as I hae been, +And my ship swimming once more on sea, +I'd turn my face to fair England, +And sail no more to a strange countrie." + + +Now the cruel Moor had a beautiful daughter called Susy Pye, who was +accustomed to take a walk every morning in her garden, and as she +was walking ae day she heard the sough o' Beichan's sang, coming as +it were from below the ground." + +All this is clearly analogous in form no less than in matter to our +cante-fable. Mr. Motherwell speaks of fabliaux, intended partly for +recitation, and partly for being sung; but does not refer by name to +Aucassin and Nicolete. If we may judge by analogy, then, the form +of the cante-fable is probably an early artistic adaptation of a +popular narrative method. + +STOUR; an ungainly word enough, familiar in Scotch with the sense of +wind-driven dust, it may be dust of battle. The French is Estor. + +BIAUCAIRE, opposite Tarascon, also celebrated for its local hero, +the deathless Tartarin. There is a great deal of learning about +Biaucaire; probably the author of the cante-fable never saw the +place, but he need not have thought it was on the sea-shore, as (p. +39) he seems to do. There he makes the people of Beaucaire set out +to wreck a ship. Ships do not go up the Rhone, and get wrecked +there, after escaping the perils of the deep. + +On p. 42, the poet clearly thinks that Nicolete, after landing from +her barque, had to travel a considerable distance before reaching +Biaucaire. The fact is that the poet is perfectly reckless of +geography, like him who wrote of the set-shore of Bohemia. + +PAINTED WONDROUSLY. No one knows what is really meant by e miramie. + +PLENTIFUL LACK OF COMFORT: rather freely for Mout i aries peu +conquis. + +MALENGIN: a favourite word of Sir Thomas Malory: "mischievous +intent." + +FEATS OF YOUTH: ENFANCES, the regular term for the romance of a +knight's early prowess. + +TWO APPLES; nois gauges in the original. But walnuts sound +inadequate. + +Here the MS. has a lacuna. + +There is much useless learning about the realm of Torelore. It is +somewhere between Kor and Laputa. The custom of the Couvade was +dimly known to the poet. The feigned lying-in of the father may +have been either a recognition of paternity (as in the sham birth +whereby Hera adopted Heracles) or may have been caused by the belief +that the health of the father at the time of the child's birth +affected that of the child. Either origin of the Couvade is +consistent with early beliefs and customs. + +EYEBRIGHT. This is a purely fanciful rendering of Esclaire. + + + +Footnotes: + +{1} Gaston Paris, in M. Bida's edition, p. xii. Paris, 1878. The +blending is not unknown in various countries. See note at end of +Translation. + +{2} I know not if I unconsciously transferred this criticism from +M. Gaston Paris. + +{3} "Love in Idleness." London, 1883, p. 169. + +{4} Theocritus, x. 37. + +{5} I have not thought it necessary to discuss the conjectures,-- +they are no more,--about the Greek or Arabic origin of the cante- +fable, about the derivation of Aucassin's name, the supposed copying +of Floire et Blancheflor, the longitude and latitude of the land of +Torelore, and so forth. In truth "we are in Love's land to-day," +where the ships sail without wind or compass, like the barques of +the Phaeacians. Brunner and Suchier add nothing positive to our +knowledge, and M. Gaston Paris pretends to cast but little light on +questions which it is too curious to consider at all. In revising +the translation I have used with profit the versions of M. Bida, of +Mr. Bourdillon, the glossary of Suchier, and Mr. Bourdillon's +glossary. As for the style I have attempted, if not Old English, at +least English which is elderly, with a memory of Malory. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Aucassin and Nicolete, by Andrew Lang + diff --git a/old/aucnc10.zip b/old/aucnc10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..062c2d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/aucnc10.zip |