Aucassin and Nicolete

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.

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!