If "Old Antif" of Hainault was, as the best authorities now
incline to think, the author of "Aucassin and Nicolette,"
Belgium may claim to have produced the finest poet of the ages
of chivalry. He was probably a contemporary of the English
minstrel king, Richard the Lion-hearted. But nothing is known
of him save what can be gathered from the exquisite story of
love which he composed in his old age. Perhaps he, too, was,
in his younger days, a Crusader as well as a minstrel, and
fought in the Holy Land against the Saracens. His "song-story"
is certainly Arabian both in form and substance. Even his
hero, Aucassin, the young Christian lord of Beaucaire, bears
an Arabian name--Alcazin. There is nothing in Mohammedan
literature equal to "Aucassin and Nicolette." It can be
compared only with Shakespeare's "As You Like It." The old,
sorrowful, tender-hearted minstrel knight, who wandered from
castle to castle in Hainault and Picardy seven hundred years
ago, is one of the master-singers of the world.
_I.--Lovers Young and Fair_
Listen to a tale of love,
Which an old grey captive wove.
Great delight and solace he
Found in his captivity,
As he told what toils beset
Aucassin and Nicolette;
And the dolour undergone,
And the deeds of prowess done
By a lad of noble race,
For a lady fair of face.
Though a man be old and blind,
Sick in body and in mind,
If he hearken he shall be
Filled with joy and jollity,
So delectable and sweet
Is the tale I now repeat.
Now, a war broke out between Count Bougars of Valence and Count Garin of
Beaucaire; and Count Bougars besieged Beaucaire with a hundred knights
and ten thousand men. Then Count Garin, who was old and feeble, said to
his fair young son, Aucassin:
"Now, son, go and defend our land and people."
"I tell you," said Aucassin, "I will never draw sword unless I have my
sweet love Nicolette to wife."
"And I tell you," said his father, "that I would liefer lose life and
land than see you wedded to her. What! A Saracen girl, bought by one of
my captains! A slave! A heathen! A witch! God! I will burn her in a
fire, and you with her."
"Stay!" said Aucassin. "I will make an agreement. I will fight Count
Bougars, if you will let me speak to Nicolette after the battle."
"I agree," said his father. And he said this because Count Bougars was
well night master of Beaucaire.
Aucassin went out to battle in great joy. But his father went in great
anger to the captain that had bought Nicolette from the Saracens, and
said:
"If I lay hands on that heathen girl, I will burn her in a fire, and you
also, unless you have a care."
And the captain who had adopted Nicolette as his daughter was afraid
both for himself and for his godchild. And he hid her in the tower that
stood in the garden of his house.
In the tower that Nicolette
Prisoned is, may no man get.
Pleasant is her room to see,
Carved and painted wondrously.
But no pleasure can she find
In the paintings, to her mind.
Look! For she is standing there
By the window, with her hair
Yellow like autumnal wheat
When the sunshine falls on it.
Blue-grey eyes she has, and brows
Whiter than the winter snows;
And her face is like a flower,
As she gazes from the tower:
As she gazes far below
Where the garden roses blow,
And the thrush and blackbird sing
In the pleasant time of spring.
"Woe is me!" she cries, "that I
In a prison cell must lie;
Parted by a cruel spite
From my young and lovely knight.
By the eyes of God, I swear
Prisonment I will not bear!
Here for long I shall not stay:
Love will quickly find a way."
In the meantime, Aucassin mounted a great war-horse, and rode out to
battle. Still dreaming of Nicolette, he let the reins fall, and his
horse carried him among his foes. They took him prisoner, and sent word
to Count Bougars to come and see them hang the heir of Beaucaire.
"Ha!" said Aucassin, waking out of his dream. "Ha, my God! My Saviour!
If they hang me, I shall never see my sweet love Nicolette again!"
Striking out in a great passion, he made a havoc about him, like a boar
that turns at bay on the hounds in a forest. Ten knights he struck down,
and seven he wounded. Then, spying Count Bougars, that had come to see
him hanged, he lashed at his helm, and stunned him, and took him
prisoner to Beaucaire.
"Father," he said, "here is Count Bougars. The war is ended. Now let me
see Nicolette."
"I will not," said his father. "That is my last word in this matter. So
help me, God."
"Count Bougars," said Aucassin, "you are my prisoner. I will have a
pledge from you; give me your hand." Count Bougars gave his hand.
"Pledge me," said Aucassin, "that if I set you free, you will do my
father all the hurt and damage and shame you can; for he is a liar."
"In God's name," said Count Bougars, "put me to ransom and take all my
wealth; but do not mock me!"
"Are you my prisoner?" said Aucassin.
"Yes," said Count Bougars.
"Then, so help me, God," said Aucassin, "I will now send your head from
your shoulders unless I have that pledge!"
Thereupon Count Bougars pledged him, and Aucassin set him free. Then
Aucassin went to the captain that was godfather to Nicolette. "What have
you done with my sweet lady?" he asked.
"You will never again see Nicolette, my fair lord," said the captain.
"What would you gain if you took the Saracen maid to bed? Your soul
would go to hell. You would never win to heaven!"
"And what of that?" said Aucassin. "Who is it that win to heaven? Old
priests, and cripples that grovel and pray at altars, and tattered
beggars that die of cold and hunger. These only go to heaven, and I do
not want their company. So I will go to hell. For there go all good
scholars and the brave knights that died in wars, and sweet ladies that
had many lovers, and harpers, and minstrels, and great kings. Give me
but my Nicolette, and gladly I will keep them company."
_II.--Love's Song in a Dungeon_
Aucassin returned very sorrowfully to the castle, and there his father
put him into a dungeon.
Aucassin is cast and bound
In a dungeon underground;
Never does the sunlight fall
Shining on his prison wall;
Only one faint ray of it
Glimmers down a narrow slit.
But does Aucassin forget
His sweet lady, Nicolette?
Listen! He is singing there,
And his song is all of her:
"Though for love of thee I die
In this dungeon where I lie,
Wonder of the world, I will
Worship thee and praise thee still!
By the beauty of thy face,
By the joy of thy embrace,
By the rapture of thy kiss,
And thy body's sweetnesses,
Miracle of loveliness,
Comfort me in my distress!
Surely, 'twas but yesterday,
That the pilgrim came this way--
Weak and poor and travel-worn--
Who in Limousin was born.
With the falling sickness, he
Stricken was full grievously.
He had prayed to many a saint
For the cure of his complaint;
But no healing did he get
Till he saw my Nicolette.
Even as he lay down to die,
Nicolette came walking by.
On her shining limbs he gazed,
As her kirtle she upraised.
And he rose from off the ground,
Healed and joyful, whole and sound.
Miracle of loveliness,
Comfort me in my distress!"
As Aucassin was singing in his dungeon, Nicolette was devising how to
get out of her tower. It was now summer time, in the month of May, when
the day is warm, long and clear, and the night still and serene.
Nicolette lay on her bed, and the moonlight streamed through the window,
and the nightingale sang in the garden below; and she thought of
Aucassin, her lover, whom she loved, and of Count Garin, who hated her.
"I will stay here no longer," said Nicolette, "or the count will find me
and kill me."
The old woman that was set to watch over her was asleep. Nicolette put
on her fine silken kirtle, and took the bedclothes and knotted them
together, and made a rope. This she fastened to the bar of her window,
and so got down from the tower. Then she lifted up her kirtle with both
hands, because the dew was lying deep on the grass, and went away down
the garden.
Her locks were yellow and curled; her eyes blue-grey and laughing; her
lips were redder than the cherry or rose in summertime; her teeth white
and small; so slim was her waist that you could have clipped her in your
two hands; and so firm were her breasts that they rose against her
bodice as if they were two apples. The daisies that bent above her
instep, and broke beneath her light tread, looked black against her
feet; so white the maiden was.
She came to the postern gate, and unbarred it, and went out through the
streets of Beaucaire, keeping always in the shadows, for the moon was
shining. And so she got to the dungeon where her lover, Aucassin, lay.
She thrust her head through the chink, and there she heard Aucassin
grieving for her whom he loved so much.
"Ah, Aucassin!" she said. "Never will you have joy of me. Your father
hates me to death, and I must cross the sea, and go to some strange
land."
"If you were to go away," said Aucassin, "you would kill me. The first
man that saw you would take you to his bed. And, then, do you think I
would wait till I found a knife? No! I would dash my head to pieces
against a wall or a rock."
"Ah!" she said. "I love you more than you love me."
"Nay, my sweet lady," said he. "Woman cannot love man as much as man
loves woman. Woman only loves with her eyes; man loves with his heart."
Aucassin and Nicolette were thus debating, when the soldiers of the
count came marching down the street. Their swords were drawn, and they
were seeking for Nicolette to slay her.
"God, it were a great pity to kill so fair a maid!" said the warden of
the dungeon. "My young lord Aucassin would die of it, and that would be
a great loss to Beaucaire. Would that I could warn Nicolette!"
And with that, he struck up a merry tune, but the words he sang to it
were not merry.
Lady with the yellow hair,
Lovely, sweet and debonair,
Now take heed.
Death comes on thee unaware.
Turn thee now; oh, turn and flee;
Death is coming suddenly.
And the swords
Flash that seek to murder thee.
"May God reward you for your fair words!" said Nicolette.
Wrapping herself in her mantle, she hid in the shadows until the
soldiers went by. Then she said farewell to Aucassin, and climbed up the
castle-wall where it had been broken in the siege. But steep and deep
was the moat, and Nicolette's fair hands and feet were bleeding when she
got out. But she did not feel any pain, because of the great fear that
was on her lest she should fall into the hands of the count's men.
Within two bow-shots from Beaucaire was a great forest; and here
Nicolette slept in a thicket, until the herd-boys came in the morning,
and pastured their cattle close to her resting-place. They sat down by a
fountain, and spread out a cloak, and put their bread on it. Their
shouting aroused Nicolette, and she came to them.
"God bless you, sweet boys!" said she.
"God bless you, lady!" said one that had a readier tongue than the
others.
"Do you know Aucassin, the brave young son of Count Garin?" she said.
"Yes, lady," they said. "We know him very well."
"Then tell him, in the name of God," said she, "that there is a beast in
this forest that he must come and hunt. If he can take it, he will not
sell a limb of it for a hundred marks of gold. Nay, not for any money."
"I tell him that?" said the boy that had a readier tongue than the
others. "Curse me if I do! There's no beast in this forest--stag, boar,
wolf or lion--with a limb worth more than two or three pence. You speak
of some enchantment, and you are a fairy woman. We do not want your
company. Go away."
"Sweet boys," said Nicolette, "you must do as I tell you. For the beast
has a medicine that will cure Aucassin of all his pain. Ah! I have five
pieces of money in my purse. Take them, and tell him. He must come and
hunt within three days, and if he does not, he will never be cured."
"Faith," said the boy, after consulting with his fellows, "we shall tell
him if he comes, but we will not search after him!"
_III.--Aucassin Goes in Quest of Nicolette_
Nicolette took leave of the herd-boys, and went into the forest down a
green way that led to a place where seven paths met. Close at hand was a
deep thicket, and there Nicolette built a lodge of green boughs, and
covered it with oak-leaves and lily-flowers, and made it sweet and
pleasant, both inside and out. And she stayed in this lodge to see what
Aucassin would do.
In the meantime, the cry went through all the country that Nicolette was
lost. Some said that she had gone away; others that Count Garin had put
her to death. If any man had joy in the news, that man was not Aucassin.
His father let him out of prison, and summoned all the knights and
ladies of the land to a great feast that he made to comfort his young
son. But when the revelry was at its height, there was Aucassin leaning
despondently from a gallery, sorrowful and utterly downcast. And an old
knight saw him, and came to him.
"Aucassin," he said, "there was a time when I, too, was sick with the
sickness that you have. If you will trust me, I will give you some good
counsel."
"Gramercy," answered Aucassin. "Good counsel is indeed a precious
thing."
"Mount your horse and ride into the forest," said the old knight. "You
will see the flowers and the sweet herbs, and hear the birds singing.
And, perchance, you may also hear a word that will take away your
sickness."
"Gramercy," said Aucassin. "That is what I will do."
He stole out of the hall, and went to the stable, and bridled and
saddled his horse, and rode swiftly out into the forest. By the fountain
he found the herd-boys. They had spread a cloak out on the grass, and
were eating their bread and making merry.
Jolly herd-boys, every one:
Martin, Emery, and John,
Aubrey, Oliver, and Matt
By the fountain-side they sat.
"Here," said John, "comes Aucassin,
Son of our good Count Garin.
Faith, he is a handsome boy!
Let us wish him luck and joy."
"And the girl with yellow hair
Wandering in the forest there,"
Aubrey said. "She gave us more
Gold than we have seen before.
Say, what shall we go and buy?"
"Cakes!" said greedy Emery.
"Flutes and bagpipes!" Johnny said.
"No," cried Martin; "knives instead!
Knives and swords! Then we can go
Out to war and fight the foe."
"Sweet boys," said Aucassin, as he rode up to them, "sing again the song
that you were singing just now, I pray you."
"We will not," said Aubrey, who had a readier tongue than the others.
"Do you not know me, then?" said Aucassin.
"Yes," said Aubrey. "You are our young lord, Aucassin. But we are not
your men, but the count's."
"Sweet boys, sing it again, I pray you," said Aucassin.
"God's heart!" cried Aubrey. "Why should I sing for you, if I do not
want to? There is no man in this country--save Count Garin--that dare
drive my cattle from his fields and corn-lands, if I put them there. He
would lose his eyes for it, no matter how rich he were. So, now, why
should I sing for you, if I do not want to?"
"In the name of God," said Aucassin, "take these ten sous, and sing it!"
"Sir, I will take your money," said Aubrey, "but I will not sing you
anything. Still, if you like, I will tell you something."
"By God," said Aucassin, "something is better than nothing!"
"Sir," said Aubrey, then, "we were eating our bread by this fountain,
between prime and tierce, and a maid came by--the loveliest thing in all
the world. She lighted up the forest with her beauty; so we thought she
was a fairy woman. But she gave us some money; and we promised that if
you came by we would tell you to go hunting in the forest. In there is a
beast of marvellous value. If you took it you would not sell one of its
limbs for many marks of gold, for it has a medicine that will cure your
sickness. Now I have told you all."
"And you have told me enough, sweet boy," said Aucassin. "Farewell! God
give me good hunting!"
And, as he spurred his horse into the forest, Aucassin sang right
joyously:
Track of boar and slot of deer,
Neither do I follow here.
Nicolette I hotly chase
Down the winding, woodland ways--
Thy white body, thy blue eyes,
Thy sweet smiles and low replies
God in heaven give me grace,
Once to meet thee face to face;
Once to meet as we have met,
Nicolette--oh, Nicolette!
_IV.--Love in the Forest_
Furiously did his horse bear him on through the thorns and briars that
tore his clothes and scratched his body, so that you could have followed
the track of his blood on the grass. But neither hurt nor pain did he
feel, for he thought only of Nicolette. All day he sought for her in the
forest, and when evening drew on, he began to weep because he had not
found her. Night fell, but still he rode on; and he came at last to the
place where the seven roads met, and there he saw the lodge of green
boughs and lily-flowers which Nicolette had made.
"Ah, heaven," said Aucassin, "here Nicolette has been, and she has made
this lodge with her own fair hands! For the sweetness of it, and for
love of her, I will sleep here to-night."
As he sat in the lodge, Aucassin saw the evening star shining through a
gap in the boughs, and he sang:
Star of eve! Oh, star of love,
Gleaming in the sky above!
Nicolette, the bright of brow,
Dwells with thee in heaven now.
God has set her in the skies
To delight my longing eyes;
And her clear and yellow hair
Shines upon the darkness there.
Oh! my lady, would that I
Swiftly up to thee could fly.
Meet thee, greet thee, kiss thee, fold thee
To my aching heart, and hold thee.
Here, without thee, nothing worth
Can I find upon the earth.
When Nicolette heard Aucassin singing, she came into the bower, and
threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Aucassin then set his
sweet love upon his horse, and mounted behind her; and with all haste
they rode out from the forest and came to the seashore.
There Aucassin saw a ship sailing upon the sea, and he beckoned to it;
and the sailors took him and Nicolette on board, and they sailed to the
land of Torelore. And the King of Torelore welcomed them courteously;
and for two whole years they lived in great delight in his beautiful
castle by the sea. But one night the castle was suddenly stormed by the
Saracens; and Aucassin was bound hand and foot and thrown into a ship,
and Nicolette into another.
The ship that carried Aucassin was wrecked in a great storm, and it
drifted over the sea to Beaucaire. The people that ran to break up the
wreck found their young lord, and made great joy over his return. For
his father was dead, and he was now Count Aucassin. The people led him
to the castle, and did homage to him, and he held all his lands in
peace. But little delight had Aucassin in his wealth and power and
kingdom.
Though he lived in joy and ease,
And his kingdom was at peace,
Aucassin did so regret
His sweet lady, Nicolette,
That he would have liefer died
In the battle by her side.
"Ah, my Nicolette," he said,
"Are you living, are you dead?
All my kingdom I would give
For the news that still you live.
For the joy of finding you
Would I search the whole world through,
Did I think you living yet,
Nicolette--my Nicolette!"
_V.--Nicolette's Love Song_
In the meantime, the Saracens took Nicolette to their great city of
Carthage; and because she was lovely and seemed of noble birth, they led
her to their king. And when Nicolette saw the King of Carthage, she knew
him again; and he, also, knew her. For she was his daughter who had been
carried off in her young days by the Christians. Her father held a great
feast in honour of Nicolette, and would have married her to a mighty
king of Paynim. But Nicolette had no mind to marry anyone but Aucassin,
and she devised how she might get news of her lover. One night she
smeared her face with a brown ointment, and dressed herself in
minstrel's clothes, and took a viol, and stole out of her father's
palace to the seashore. There she found a ship that was bound for
Provence, and she sailed in it to Beaucaire. She took her viol, and went
playing through the town, and came to the castle. Aucassin was sitting
on the castle steps with his proud barons and brave knights around him,
gazing sorrowfully at the sweet flowers, and listening to the singing of
the birds.
"Shall I sing you a new song, sire?" said Nicolette.
"Yes, fair friend," said Aucassin; "if it be a merry one, for I am very
sad."
"If you like it," said Nicolette, "you will find it merry enough."
She drew the bow across her viol, and made sweet music, and then she
sung:
Once a lover met a maid
Wandering in a forest glade,
Where she had a pretty house
Framed with flowers and leafy boughs.
Maid and lover merrily
Sailed away across the sea,
To a castle by the strand
Of a strange and pleasant land.
There they lived in great delight
Till the Saracens by night
Stormed the keep, and took the maid,
With the captives of their raid.
Back to Carthage they returned,
And the maiden sadly mourned.
But they did not make of her
Paramour or prisoner.
For the King of Carthage said,
When he saw the fair young maid:
"Daughter!" and the maid replied:
"Father!" And they laughed and cried.
For she had been stolen when
She was young by Christian men.
And the captain of Beaucaire
Bought her as a slave-girl there.
Once her lover loved her well
Now, alas! he cannot tell
Who she is. Does he forget--
Aucassin--his Nicolette?
Aucassin leaped down the castle steps, and took his lady in his arms.
Then she went to the house of her godfather, the captain of the town,
and washed all the brownness from her face, and clad herself in robes of
rich silk. And, early on the morrow, Count Aucassin wedded her, and made
her Lady of Beaucaire; and they had great joy of one another. And here
my song-story ends. I know no more.
* * * * *