BEAUCAIRE AND ITS LOVE-STORY
"The central love-poetry of Provence, the poetry of the Tenson
and the Aubade, of Bernard de Ventadour and Pierre Vidal, is
poetry for the few, for the elect and peculiar people of the
kingdom of sentiment. But below this intenser poetry there
was probably a wide range of literature ... reaching ... an
audience which the concentrated passion of those higher lyrics
left untouched ... the only representative of its species,
M. Fauriel thought he detected in the story of Aucassin and
Nicolette, written in the French of the latter half of the
thirteenth century ... and there were reasons which made him
divine for it a still more ancient ancestry, traces in it of
an Arabian origin...."
WALTER PATER.
Beaucaire, it may be remembered, has a hill-set castle opposite King
René's at Tarascon. The two stand frowning at one another across the
river, unforgetful of their old feuds.
The town was the property of the Counts of Toulouse, before the
Albigensian wars snuffed out that great family, and it had its share
of suffering in those desperate persecutions. The Pope gave all their
domains to his accomplice, Simon de Montfort, because Raimon VI. of
Toulouse--one of the noblest figures of the Middle Ages--had dared to
oppose the massacre of the helpless Albigenses.
[Illustration: VIEW FROM VISIGOTH TOWER, BEAUCAIRE.
_By E. M. Synge._]
At last the young Count raises a revolt against de Montfort while the
latter is at Beaucaire. It is a relief to hear of his being seriously
opposed after all the atrocities that he has committed in this exquisite
land, all the savage destruction of beautiful things and thoughts of
which he is guilty. He is, indeed, almost as terrible a scourge as his
coadjutor, the Puritan of the north; they are spiritual twins: the soldier
who persecutes with fire and sword, and the equally pitiless and bigoted
saint who persecutes with the fire and sword of the spirit, rejoicing,
he too, when the gladness and the passion of life lie bleeding beneath
his feet. Between them, in their different spheres, they have lain low
how much of beauty and of happiness!
* * * * *
The persecution of the Albigenses broke up the whole delicate edifice
of what one may call the troubadour civilisation and plunged the country
once more into chaos.
The luckless Count of Toulouse found himself obliged to lay siege to his
own castle of Beaucaire, where de Montfort was installed with a powerful
garrison.
It is a dream of peace and beauty now, as we approach it up a hill-side
through pine-trees and irises, a wonderful sight surely in the season
of blossoming.
An old Provençal poem gives an account of the siege: a sharp battering-ram
injured the wall, but the besieged ingeniously made loops of cord
attached to a beam, and noosed the head of the too-lively ram and held
it imprisoned and harmless. Then, after the fashion of the day, they let
down sulphur and boiling pitch upon the enemy by means of a chain, the
materials being wrapped in sackcloth. Finally de Montfort--perhaps for
the first time in his life--is defeated, after a fierce struggle, for
the Powers of Darkness had deserted their faithful servant, who shortly
afterwards ended his atrocious career at the siege of Toulouse, which
had revolted against him.
After passing through the grove of pines and irises, we emerge upon
a sunlit plateau high above the town, and the ruins of the castle are
before us.
These and a fine little Romanesque chapel in which St. Louis said Mass
before starting for the Crusades, give character to the scene--a beautiful
background to the famous old story of Aucassin and Nicolette.
"The adventures of the lovers," says Pater, "seem to be chosen for the
happy occasion they afford of keeping the eye of the fancy, perhaps
the outward eye, fixed on pleasant objects, a garden, a ruined tower,
the little hut of flowers which Nicolette constructs in the forest....
All through it one feels the influence of that faint air of overwrought
delicacy, almost of wantonness, which was so strong a characteristic
of the poetry of the Troubadours. The Troubadours themselves were often
men of great rank; they wrote for an exclusive audience, people of much
leisure and great refinement.... There is a languid Eastern deliciousness
in the very scenery of the story, the full-blown roses, the chamber
painted in some mysterious manner where Nicolette is imprisoned, the cool
brown marble, the almost nameless colours, the odour of plucked grass
and flowers. Nicolette herself well becomes this scenery, and is the
best illustration of the quality I mean--the beautiful, weird, foreign
girl, whom the shepherds take for a fay...."
We sit down at the foot of the walls to rest. Above us stands the curious
three-cornered tower built by the Visigoths during their rule in the South
of France in late days of the Empire. The object was to oppose only the
angle of the building to the enemy's assault, while the garrison could
attack from the sides as usual.
Was this the tower in which Aucassin was imprisoned by his father, the
Count of Beaucaire, to prevent his marrying the little Saracen maid
Nicolette? Was it here that she watched and waited on one moonlit night,
long ago, hearing Aucassin lamenting in his captivity? One likes to
think of the good sentinel ostentatiously humming a warning song, when
he heard the town-guards advancing to kill the devoted Nicolette, by
order of the Count.
[Illustration: VISIGOTH TOWER, CASTLE OF BEAUCAIRE.
_By E. M. Synge._]
I had copied out some of the songs and fragments of the story from Andrew
Lang's translation, in order to have the pleasure of reading them on
the spot.
Barbara was much amused at Aucassin's interview with the Captain of
the City of Beaucaire who had imprisoned Nicolette in his house, by the
Count's command.
Poor Aucassin is very disconsolate, and in his distress he makes some
very free remarks about Heaven and hell, pointing out that in Heaven
the company is intolerably dull, whereas all the jolly good fellows and
pleasant ladies are to be found--elsewhere.
"With these I would gladly go," he says, "let me but have with me my
sweetest lady."
But nobody will allow that; for the way of the world is to be immensely
active about other people's business. So the Count and all the rest of
Aucassin's nearest and dearest bestir themselves to separate him and
Nicolette.
"Aucassin did so depart
Much in dole and heavy of heart
For his love so bright and dear,
None might bring him any cheer....
Nicolette, how fair art thou,
Sweet thy foot-fall, sweet thine eyes,
Sweet the mirth of thy replies,
Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face,
Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow,
And the touch of thine embrace...."
Nicolette's escape from prison was much appreciated by Barbara.
"Nicolette lay one night on her bed, and saw the moon shine clear through
a window, yea, and heard the nightingale sing in the garden, so she
minded her of Aucassin her lover, whom she loved so well."
Then it goes on to tell how she knotted linen and sheets together and
let herself down from her window.
"Her locks were yellow and curled, her eyes blue and smiling, her face
neatly fashioned.... She came to the postern gate, and unbarred it, and
went out through the streets of Beaucaire, keeping always on the shadowy
side, for the moon was shining right clear, and so wandered she till
she came to the tower where her lover lay."
"Just here," said Barbara, looking up.
"The tower was flanked with buttresses--" the account continues.
"It isn't!" cried Barbara in disappointment.
"Architecture is so often inaccurate," I suggest, soothingly.
"And she cowered under one of them, wrapped in her mantle. Then thrust
she her head through a crevice of the tower that was old and worn, and
so heard she Aucassin wailing within...."
And then she tells him all that has happened, and not being able to
reach her hand to him, she casts her curls into the dungeon, and--
"Aucassin doth clasp them there,
Kissed the curls that were so fair...."
It is a love scene almost more charming than that of Romeo and Juliet,
for it seems more genuine. Aucassin does not say such elaborate things,
but there is a glow and fervour about his utterances that commends itself
to us as ringing beautifully true.
They argue about which of them loves the most, until at last the
town-guard comes along, "with swords drawn beneath their cloaks, for
the Count Garin had charged them that if they could take Nicolette they
should slay her."
But luckily the sentinel on the towers sees them coming, and decides,
as we have seen, to befriend Nicolette, "for if they slay her, then were
Aucassin, my damoiseau, dead, and that were great pity."
So the sentinel considerately sings a song in which he gives a broad
hint of what is menacing, and Nicolette shrinks under the shadow of a
pillar till the men have passed. Finally she jumps down into the fosse
and, hurt and bruised as she is, climbs the castle wall and goes out
into the forest, where she builds "a little hut of flowers as a token
to Aucassin that she had passed that way." Later, Aucassin finds her
there after many wanderings, and they are happy for a little while.
[Illustration: BEAUCAIRE FROM TARASCON.
_By Joseph Pennell._]
And so, through adventures and sorrows, the story goes till the lovers
are hopelessly parted--pirates, tempests, Saracens are banded against
them, and Nicolette seems lost for ever.
The final scene is once more in this old castle, after many years,
when Count Garin is dead and Aucassin rules in his stead. Then comes
a minstrel--a woman--to the castle, with a "vielle." Aucassin, we may
suppose, was taking a walk along the ramparts. And suddenly he hears a
voice singing to the vielle in the castle court below. He listens and
the song makes him weep; and he asks for more songs. And the singer sings
again, about strange adventures; and the story is that of Nicolette! And
finally, the minstrel runs away to Aucassin's mother in the castle and
throws off her disguise. The Countess is overjoyed, for she has been
in despair at her son's incurable grief; and she dresses Nicolette in
splendid raiment and leads her back to the bewildered Aucassin. And then
there is a meeting such as happens rarely in human story. Deep sorrow
has been gnawing in Aucassin's heart, and he had never married, in spite
of much urging by his friends. And suddenly he knows that the day of his
tribulation is over, and the deepest joy he can ever feel has come to
him after weary waiting. And once more, with a rapture learnt of long
sorrow and heartache, he folds Nicolette in his arms.
And soon afterwards their marriage feast is prepared with great pomp and
ceremony, and Beaucaire has a splendid time of it with tournaments and
jousts and dancing. And in the good old fashion, Aucassin and Nicolette
are not only married--which any fools can be--but they are happy ever
after!