Chapter 3
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."