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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 |