Aucassin and Nicolete

A >> Andrew Lang >> Aucassin and Nicolete


"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.