Chapter 1

Transcribed from the 1908 Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co. edition by David Price, email [email protected]

AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE

TRANSLATED FROM THE OLD FRENCH

BY FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON

LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO. LTD.

DRYDEN HOUSE, GERRARD STREET, W. 1908

_All rights reserved_

INTRODUCTION

The story of Love, that simple theme with variations _ad libitum_, _ad infinitum_, is never old, never stale, never out-of-date. And as we sometimes seek rest from the brilliant audacities and complex passions of Wagner or Tschaikowsky in the tender simplicity of some ancient English air, so we occasionally turn with relief from the wit and insight and subtlety of our modern novelists to the old uncomplicated tales of faerie or romance, and find them after all more moving, more tender, even more real, than all the laboured realism of these photographic days. And here before us is of all pretty love-stories perhaps the prettiest. Idyllic as Daphnis and Chloe, romantic as Romeo and Juliet, tender as Undine, remote as Cupid and Psyche, yet with perpetual touches of actual life, and words that raise pictures; and lightened all through with a dainty playfulness, as if Ariel himself had hovered near all the time of its writing, and Puck now and again shot a whisper of suggestion.

Yet it is only of late years that the charm of this story has been truly appreciated. Composed probably in Northern France, about the close of the twelfth century,--the time of our own Angevin kings and the most brilliant period of Old-French literature,--it has survived only in a single manuscript of later date, where it is found hidden among a number of tales in verse less pleasing in subject and far less delightful in form. There it had lain unknown till discovered by M. de Sainte-Palaye, and printed by him in modernised French in 1752, one hundred and fifty years ago. There is no space here to follow its fortunes since. Even after this revival it was not till more than one hundred years later that it began to attain to any wide recognition. And in England this recognition has been mainly due to Mr Pater's delightful essay in his early work "Studies in the History of the Renaissance." Since the publication of this book in 1873, the story of Aucassin and Nicolette has had an ever-growing train of admirers both in England and America, and various translations have appeared on both sides of the Atlantic. It has also been translated into several other European languages, besides versions in modern French.

The story, so far as the simple old-world plot is concerned, is very probably not the original invention of whoever gave it this particular form, any more than were the plots of Shakespeare's plays of his own devising. It seems likely that in origin it is Arabian or Moorish, and its birthplace not Provence but Spain. Possibly it sprung, as so much of the best poetry and story has sprung, from the touching of two races, and the part friction part fusion of two religions, in this case of the Moor and the Christian. There was in 1019 a Moorish king of Cordova named Alcazin. Turn this name into French and we have Aucassin. And to reverse the roles of Christian and heathen is a very usual device for a story-teller transplanting a story from another country to his own. Though the scene is nominally laid in Provence there are a good many signs of a Spanish origin in the places mentioned. By Carthage is meant, not the city of Dido, but Carthagena; and thus the husband devised for Nicolette is "one of the greatest kings in all Spain." Valence again might originally have been not the Valence on the Rhone, but Valence le grand, or Valentia. And it is curious to observe that Beaucaire is closely connected with Tarascon--a bridge across the Rhone unites them--and that this latter name nearly resembles Tarragona, a place which in other French romances is actually called Terrascoigne. The shipwreck which in the story takes place, impossibly, at Beaucaire, may have originally happened, quite naturally, at Tarragona. Even the nonsense- name, Torelore, might easily have had its rise in Torello. Again, though it has been shown that all modern reports of the _Couvade_ as existing in Biscay have been founded only on the ancient assertion of Strabo, it is still remarkable that it is in this part of Europe alone that the custom has ever been found.

If the composer of Aucassin derived his story from such a source, it is easy to see also whence he got the idea of the special form he has given it; for a narrative in prose mingled with interludes of verse, though strange to European literature, is common in Arabian.

And yet, whatever his sources or his models, one feels that his debt to them is trifling compared to the worth of his own work. All that he describes he has seen with his own eyes; and all that he tells, be it borrowed or invented, is quickened and heightened and made immortal by his own touch upon it.

All who can should read this story in its own language--the simple easy- flowing Old-French, with its infantile syntax, and naive but effective efforts at distinction and what we now call style. There are various editions of the old French text; but the two easiest to get and also to read are that of Professor Suchier, and my own. Those in search of learning will always turn to Germany, and Suchier is a very learned man. But I can honestly advise all English readers to get my edition (Macmillan, 1897) in which the text is given as pure as I could draw it from the fountain head, the original MS. at Paris; where the music to the verse sections will be found printed in its proper notation; and which contains also a literal translation, full notes, and a glossary.

The present translation varies a good deal from that I printed with the Old-French text. I have to some extent relaxed the restrictions I imposed on myself there, and have given freer turns, even verging occasionally on paraphrase, to bring out the full meaning, which it is often possible to miss in the original, especially in the very condensed style of the verses. These changes will, I hope, make this version easy and pleasant to read even by those who have no leisure or no inclination to attempt the study of the Old-French itself.

AUCASSIN & NICOLETTE

'TIS OF AUCASSIN AND OF NICOLETTE

Who would list a pleasant lay, Pastime of the old and grey? Of two lovers, children yet, Aucassin and Nicolette; Of the sorrows he went through, Of the great things he did do, All for his bright favoured may. Sweet the song is, fair the say, Full of art and full of grace. There is none in such ill case, Sad with sorrow, waste with care, Sick with sadness, if he hear, But shall in the hearing be Whole again and glad with glee, So sweet the story.

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

How Bulgarius Count of Valence made war upon Warren Count of Beaucaire. And this war was so great, so marvellous, and so mortal, that not a day dawned but there he was before the city, at the gates, at the walls, at the fences, with knights a hundred and men-at-arms ten thousand on foot and on horse; and he burned his land, laid waste his country, and slew his liegemen. Warren, Count of Beaucaire, was an old man and feeble, who had overlived his term. He had none to succeed him, neither son nor daughter, save one only boy; and what he was like, I will tell you. Aucassin was the young lord's name, and a pretty lad he was. He had golden hair in little curls, and laughing blue eyes, a face fair of colour and fine of curve, and a proud shapely nose. Aye, so endued was he with good conditions that there was none bad in him, but good only. But so overcome was he of Love, who masters all, that he refused knighthood, abjured arms, shunned the tourney, and left undone all his devoir.

His father and his mother would say to him: "Son! come, take thine arms and to horse! Fight for thy land and succour thy liegemen! If they see thee in the midst of them, they will fight the better for their lives and their havings and for thy land and mine!"

"Father," said Aucassin, "to what purpose is this oration? Never God give me ought that I ask of Him, if I take knighthood or mount horse, if I face fight or battlefield to smite knight or be myself smitten, if you give me not Nicolette, my sweet friend whom I love so well!"

"My son," said his father, "it cannot be. Have done with Nicolette! She is a slave-girl, carried captive from a foreign land. The Viscount of this place bought her of the heathen, and brought her here. He held her at the font, and christened her, and stood godfather to her. Some day he will give her a young fellow to win bread for her in wedlock. What is this to you? If you want a wife, I will give you a king's daughter or a count's. There is never so rich a man in France but you shall have his daughter, if you want her."

"Alack, father!" said Aucassin. "Where now is honour on earth so high, which Nicolette my sweet friend would not grace if it were hers? Were she Empress of Constantinople or of Germany, were she Queen of France or of England, there were but little in it, so noble is she and gracious and debonair and endued with all good conditions."

_Here they sing_.

Aucassin was of Beaucaire; His was the fine castle there; But on slender Nicolette Past man's moving is he set, Whom his father doth refuse; Menace did his mother use:

"Out upon thee, foolish boy! Nicolette is but a toy, Castaway from Carthagen, Bought a slave of heathen men. If for marrying thou be, Take a wife of high degree!"

"Mother, I will none but her. Hath she not the gentle air, Grace of limb, and beauty bright? I am snared in her delight. If I love her 'tis but meet, So passing sweet!"

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

When Warren Count of Beaucaire perceived that Aucassin his son was not to be moved from his love of Nicolette, he betook him to the Viscount of the place, who was his liegeman; and addressed him thus:

"Sir Viscount, come, rid me of Nicolette your god-daughter! A curse on the land whence ever she was fetched to this country! Now Aucassin is lost to me, and all because of her. He refuses knighthood and leaves undone all his devoir. Rest assured that if I can get hold of her I will burn her in a fire; and for yourself too you may fear the worst."

"Sir," said the Viscount, "'tis grief to me that he go to her, or come to her, or speak to her. I had bought her with my poor pieces. I had held her at the font, and christened her, and stood god-father to her; and I would have given her a young fellow to win bread for her in wedlock. What is this to Aucassin your son? But seeing your will is so and your good pleasure, I will send her to such a land and to such a country that he shall never set eyes on her more."

"See you do so!" said Count Warren. "Else it might go ill with you."

Thus they parted. Now the Viscount was a very rich man, and had a fine palace with a garden before it. He had Nicolette put in a room there, on an upper storey, with an old woman for company; and he had bread put there, and meat and wine and all they needed. Then he had the door locked, so that there was no way to get in or out. Only there was a window of no great size which looked on the garden and gave them a little fresh air.

_Here they sing_.

Nicolette is prisoner, In a vaulted bed-chamber, Strange of pattern and design, Richly painted, rarely fine. At the window-sill of stone Leaned the maiden sad and lone. Yellow was her shining hair, And her eyebrow pencilled rare, Face fine-curved and colour fair: Never saw you lovelier. Gazed she o'er the garden-ground, Saw the opening roses round, Heard the birds sing merrily; Then she made her orphan cry:

"Woe's me! what a wretch am I! Caged and captive, why, ah why? Aucassin, young lord, prithee, Your sweetheart, am I not she? Ay, methinks you hate not me. For your sake I'm prisoner, In this vaulted bed-chamber, Where my life's a weary one. But by God, sweet Mary's son, Long herein I will not stay, Can I find way!"

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

Nicolette was in prison, as you have harkened and heard, in the chamber. The cry and the noise ran through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say she is fled abroad out of the land. Other some that Warren, Count of Beaucaire, has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. But he went straightway to the Viscount of the place, and thus addressed him:

"Sir Viscount, what have you done with Nicolette, my very sweet friend, the thing that I love best in all the world? Have you stolen and taken her from me? Rest assured that if I die of this thing, my blood will be required of you; and very justly, when you have gone and killed me with your two hands. For you have stolen from me the thing that I love best in all the world."

"Fair sir," said the Viscount, "now let be! Nicolette is a slave-girl whom I fetched from a foreign land and bought for money of the heathen. I held her at the font, and christened her and stood godfather to her, and have brought her up. One of these days I would have given her a young fellow to win bread for her in wedlock. What is this to you? Take you some king's daughter or some count's. Moreover, what were you profited, think you, had you made her your concubine, or taken her to live with you? Mighty little had you got by that, seeing that your soul would be in Hell for ever and ever, for to Paradise you would never win!"

"Paradise? What have I to do there? I seek not to win Paradise, so I have Nicolette my sweet friend whom I love so well. For none go to Paradise but I'll tell you who. Your old priests and your old cripples, and the halt and maimed, who are down on their knees day and night, before altars and in old crypts; these also that wear mangy old cloaks, or go in rags and tatters, shivering and shoeless and showing their sores, and who die of hunger and want and cold and misery. Such are they who go to Paradise; and what have I to do with them? Hell is the place for me. For to Hell go the fine churchmen, and the fine knights, killed in the tourney or in some grand war, the brave soldiers and the gallant gentlemen. With them will I go. There go also the fair gracious ladies who have lovers two or three beside their lord. There go the gold and the silver, the sables and ermines. There go the harpers and the minstrels and the kings of the earth. With them will I go, so I have Nicolette my most sweet friend with me."

"I' faith," said the Viscount, "'tis but vain to speak of it; you will see her no more. Aye, were you to get speech of her and it came to your father's ears, he would burn both her and me in a fire; and for yourself too you might fear the worst."

"This is sore news to me," said Aucassin. And he departed from the Viscount, sorrowful.

_Here they sing_.

Aucassin has turned once more In wanhope and sorrow sore For his love-friend bright of face. None can help his evil case, None a word of counsel say. To the palace went his way; Step by step he climbed the stair; Entered in a chamber there. Then he 'gan to weep alone, And most dismally to groan, And his lady to bemoan.

"Nicolette, ah, gracious air! Coming, going, ever fair! In thy talk and in thy toying, In thy jest and in thy joying, In thy kissing, in thy coying. I am sore distressed for thee. Such a woe has come on me That I trow not to win free, Sweet sister friend!"

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

At the same time that Aucassin was in the chamber, bemoaning Nicolette his friend, Bulgarius Count of Valence, who had his war to maintain, forgat it not; but he had summoned his men, foot and horse, and advanced to assault the castle. And the cry went up and the noise; and the knights and men-at-arms girt on their armour, and hastened to the gates and walls to defend the castle; while the townsfolk mounted the parapets and hurled bolts and sharpened stakes. At the time when the assault was fast and furious, Warren Count of Beaucaire came into the chamber where Aucassin was weeping and bemoaning Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well.

"Ah, my son!" said he. "Wretch that thou art and unhappy, to see assault made on this thy castle--none better nor more strong! Know, moreover, that if thou lose it thou losest thine inheritance! Come now, my son, take thine arms and to horse! Fight for thy land, and succour thy liegemen, and get thee to the field! Though thou strike never a man nor be thyself stricken, if they but see thee among them they will make a better fight for their lives and their havings, and for thy land and mine. So tall art thou and so strong, 'tis no great thing to do; and it is thy devoir."

"Father," said Aucassin, "to what purpose is this oration? Never God give me ought that I ask of him, if I take knighthood or mount horse or go to the fighting to smite knight or be myself smitten, if you give me not Nicolette, my sweet friend, whom I love so well!"

"Son," said his father, "that cannot be. Rather would I suffer loss of all my inheritance, aye, of all I have, than that thou shouldst have her to woman or to wife!"

And he turned to go. And when Aucassin saw him departing, he called him back.

"Father," said Aucassin, "come hither, and I will make a fair covenant with you!"

"Aye, and what covenant, fair son?"

"I will take arms and go to the fighting on such condition, that, if God bring me again safe and sound, you will give me leave to see Nicolette my sweet friend for such time as I may speak two words to her or three, and once only kiss her."

"I consent," said his father.

So he made agreement with him, and Aucassin was well-pleased.

_Here they sing_.

Aucassin heard of the kiss On returning to be his. Hundred thousand marks pure gold Him had made less blithe and bold. Arms he called for, rich and rare; They made ready for his wear. Hauberk donned he, double-lined; Helmet on his head did bind; Girt his sword with hilt pure gold; Mounted on his charger bold; Spear and buckler then he took; At his two feet cast a look, In the stirrups trod they trim; Wondrous proud he carried him. His sweet friend--he thought on her, To his charger clapped the spur; Forth he springs full mettlesome; Straightway to the gate they come That led to battle.

_Here they speak and tell the story_.

Aucassin was arrayed and mounted on his horse, as you have harkened and heard. Lord! how well it became him--the shield on his neck and the helm on his head and the sword-belt on his left hip! And the boy was tall and strong and comely and slim and well-grown; and the horse he bestrode was fleet of foot and high of mettle, and the boy had put him through the gate cleverly. Now don't you suppose that his thoughts would have been set on taking spoil of oxen or cows or goats? that he would have struck at some knight or been stricken in turn? Not a whit! it never once occurred to him. But his thought was so set upon Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he forgot the reins and all he had to do. And his horse, feeling the spur, dashed with him through the press, and charged right into the thick of the enemy, who laid hands on him on all sides, and made him prisoner. They took from him shield and lance, and led him captive then and there. They were already questioning one with another as to what manner of death they should put him to; and when Aucassin heard it,

"Ah, gracious Heaven!" he said, "and are these my mortal foes who hale me here and are presently about to cut off my head? And once I have my head cut off, nevermore shall I speak to Nicolette my sweet friend whom I love so well. Nay, I have yet a good sword, and under me a good steed untired. An I defend me not now for her sake, ne'er help her God if ever again she love me!"

The boy was tall and strong, and the horse beneath him was eager. He put his hand to his sword and began to strike to right and to left, slashing helmet and nose-guard, fist and wrist, and making havoc all around him as the boar does when the dogs set on him in the forest; so that he overthrew ten of their knights and wounded seven; and charged then and there out of the press, and rode back full gallop, sword in hand.

Bulgarius, Count of Valence, heard say that they were about to hang Aucassin his enemy, and came that way. Aucassin failed not to espy him; and gripping his sword, he smote him through the helmet so that he clave it to the skull. He was so stunned that he fell to earth; and Aucassin put out his hand and took him prisoner, and led him off by the nose-guard of his helmet, and delivered him to his father.

"Father," said Aucassin, "see here is your enemy who has made war on you so long and done you hurt so great. Twenty years has this war lasted, and never a man to put an end to it."

"Fair son," said his father, "well were it you should do deeds like this, and not gape at folly!"

"Father," said Aucassin, "read me no lectures, but keep me my covenant!"

"Bah! what covenant, fair son?"

"Alack, father, have you forgotten it? By the head of me, forget it who may, I do not mean to forget it. Rather have I laid it much to heart. Did you not make this covenant with me, that if I took arms and went out to the fighting, and if God brought me back safe and sound, you would let me see Nicolette my sweet friend for such time as I might speak two words to her or three, and once only kiss her? This covenant you made with me, and this covenant I will have you keep with me!"

"What, I?" said his father. "Ne'er help me Heaven if I keep this covenant with you! and were she here now I would burn her in a fire; and for yourself too you might fear the worst."

"Is this the whole conclusion?" said Aucassin.

"Aye," said his father, "so help me Heaven!"

"I' faith," said Aucassin, "then I am very sorry that a man of your age should be a liar.--Count of Valence, you are my prisoner."

"Sir, it is even so," said the Count.

"Give me your hand!" said Aucassin.

"Sir, right willingly."

He put his hand in his.

"This you pledge me," said Aucassin, "that never in all your days to be shall it be in your power to do shame to my father or to do hurt to him or his, and you not do it!"

"Sir," said he, "for God's sake, mock me not, but set me a ransom! You can ask me nothing, gold or silver, war-horses or palfreys, sables or ermines, hounds or hawks, that I will not give you."

"How now?" said Aucassin. "Wot you not that you are my prisoner?"

"Aye, sir," said the Count Bulgarius.

"Ne'er help me Heaven," said Aucassin, "save you give me this pledge, if I send not your head a-flying!"

"I' God's name," said he, "I give you what pledge you please!"

He gave the pledge; and Aucassin set him on a horse, and himself mounted another, and conducted him till he was in safety.

_Here they sing_.

When Count Warren saw indeed That he never will succeed Aucassin his son to get From bright-favoured Nicolette, In a pris'n he had him set, In a dungeon hid from day, Builded all of marble grey. Now when Aucassin came there Sad he was--so was he ne'er. Loud lamenting he fell on, Thus as you shall hear anon.

"Flow'r o' the lily, Nicolette! Bright-faced sweetheart, Nicolette! Sweet as cluster of the vine, Sweet as meed in maselyn. This I saw some yesterday, How a pilgrim on his way-- Limousin his land was--lay Fevered on a bed within. Grievous had his sickness been, Great the fever he was in. By his bedside Nicolette Passing, lifted skirts and let-- 'Neath the pretty ermine frock, 'Neath the snowy linen smock-- Just a dainty ankle show. Lo, the sick was healed, and lo, Found him whole as ne'er before. From his bed he rose once more, And to his own land did flit, Safe and sound, whole ever whit.