THE SONG-STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE

'Tis of Aucassin and 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!

Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:

Nicolete was in prison, as ye have heard soothly, in the chamber. And

the noise and bruit of it went through all the country and all the land,

how that Nicolete was lost. Some said she had fled the country, and some

that the Count Garin de Biaucaire had let slay her. Whosoever had joy

thereof, Aucassin had none, so he went to the Captain of the town and

spoke to him, saying:

"Sir Captain, what hast thou made of Nicolete, my sweet lady and love,

the thing that best I love in all the world? Hast thou carried her off

or ravished her away from me? Know well that if I die of it, the price

shall be demanded of thee, and that will be well done, for it shall be

even as if thou hadst slain me with thy two hands, for thou hast taken

from me the thing that in this world I loved the best."

"Fair Sir," said the Captain, "let these things be. Nicolete is a

captive that I did bring from a strange country. Yea, I bought her at my

own charges of the Saracens, and I bred her up and baptized her, and made

her my daughter in God. And I have cherished her, and one of these days

I would have given her a young man, to win her bread honourably. With

this hast thou naught to make, but do thou take the daughter of a King or

a Count. Nay more, what wouldst thou deem thee to have gained, hadst

thou made her thy leman, and taken her to thy bed? Plentiful lack of

comfort hadst thou got thereby, for in Hell would thy soul have lain

while the world endures, and into Paradise wouldst thou have entered

never."

"In Paradise what have I to win? Therein I seek not to enter, but only

to have Nicolete, my sweet lady that I love so well. For into Paradise

go none but such folk as I shall tell thee now: Thither go these same old

priests, and halt old men and maimed, who all day and night cower

continually before the altars, and in the crypts; and such folk as wear

old amices and old clouted frocks, and naked folk and shoeless, and

covered with sores, perishing of hunger and thirst, and of cold, and of

little ease. These be they that go into Paradise, with them have I

naught to make. But into Hell would I fain go; for into Hell fare the

goodly clerks, and goodly knights that fall in tourneys and great wars,

and stout men at arms, and all men noble. With these would I liefly go.

And thither pass the sweet ladies and courteous that have two lovers, or

three, and their lords also thereto. Thither goes the gold, and the

silver, and cloth of vair, and cloth of gris, and harpers, and makers,

and the prince of this world. With these I would gladly go, let me but

have with me, Nicolete, my sweetest lady."

"Certes," quoth the Captain, "in vain wilt thou speak thereof, for never

shalt thou see her; and if thou hadst word with her, and thy father knew

it, he would let burn in a fire both her and me, and thyself might well

be sore adread."

"That is even what irketh me," quoth Aucassin. So he went from the

Captain sorrowing.

_Here singeth one_:

Aucassin did so depart

Much in dole and heavy at heart

For his love so bright and dear,

None might bring him any cheer,

None might give good words to hear,

To the palace doth he fare

Climbeth up the palace-stair,

Passeth to a chamber there,

Thus great sorrow doth he bear,

For his lady and love so fair.

"Nicolete 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,

All for thee I sorrow now,

Captive in an evil place,

Whence I ne'er may go my ways

Sister, sweet friend!"

So say they, speak they, tell they the Tale:

While Aucassin was in the chamber sorrowing for Nicolete his love, even

then the Count Bougars de Valence, that had his war to wage, forgat it no

whit, but had called up his horsemen and his footmen, so made he for the

castle to storm it. And the cry of battle arose, and the din, and

knights and men at arms busked them, and ran to walls and gates to hold

the keep. And the towns-folk mounted to the battlements, and cast down

bolts and pikes. Then while the assault was great, and even at its

height, the Count Garin de Biaucaire came into the chamber where Aucassin

was making lament, sorrowing for Nicolete, his sweet lady that he loved

so well.

"Ha! son," quoth he, "how caitiff art thou, and cowardly, that canst see

men assail thy goodliest castle and strongest. Know thou that if thou

lose it, thou losest all. Son, go to, take arms, and mount thy horse,

and defend thy land, and help thy men, and fare into the stour. Thou

needst not smite nor be smitten. If they do but see thee among them,

better will they guard their substance, and their lives, and thy land and

mine. And thou art so great, and hardy of thy hands, that well mightst

thou do this thing, and to do it is thy devoir."

"Father," said Aucassin, "what is this thou sayest now? God grant me

never aught of my desire, if I be dubbed knight, or mount steed, or go

into the stour where knights do smite and are smitten, if thou givest me

not Nicolete, my sweet lady, whom I love so well."

"Son," quoth his father, "this may never be: rather would I be quite

disinherited and lose all that is mine, than that thou shouldst have her

to thy wife, or to love _par amours_."

So he turned him about. But when Aucassin saw him going he called to him

again, saying,

"Father, go to now, I will make with thee fair covenant."

"What covenant, fair son?"

"I will take up arms, and go into the stour, on this covenant, that, if

God bring me back sound and safe, thou wilt let me see Nicolete my sweet

lady, even so long that I may have of her two words or three, and one

kiss."

"That will I grant," said his father.

At this was Aucassin glad.

Here one singeth:

Of the kiss heard Aucassin

That returning he shall win.

None so glad would he have been

Of a myriad marks of gold

Of a hundred thousand told.

Called for raiment brave of steel,

Then they clad him, head to heel,

Twyfold hauberk doth he don,

Firmly braced the helmet on.

Girt the sword with hilt of gold,

Horse doth mount, and lance doth wield,

Looks to stirrups and to shield,

Wondrous brave he rode to field.

Dreaming of his lady dear

Setteth spurs to the destrere,

Rideth forward without fear,

Through the gate and forth away

To the fray.

So speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:

Aucassin was armed and mounted as ye have heard tell. God! how goodly

sat the shield on his shoulder, the helm on his head, and the baldric on

his left haunch! And the damoiseau was tall, fair, featly fashioned, and

hardy of his hands, and the horse whereon he rode swift and keen, and

straight had he spurred him forth of the gate. Now believe ye not that

his mind was on kine, nor cattle of the booty, nor thought he how he

might strike a knight, nor be stricken again: nor no such thing. Nay, no

memory had Aucassin of aught of these; rather he so dreamed of Nicolete,

his sweet lady, that he dropped his reins, forgetting all there was to

do, and his horse that had felt the spur, bore him into the press and

hurled among the foe, and they laid hands on him all about, and took him

captive, and seized away his spear and shield, and straightway they led

him off a prisoner, and were even now discoursing of what death he should

die.

And when Aucassin heard them,

"Ha! God," said he, "sweet Saviour. Be these my deadly enemies that have

taken me, and will soon cut off my head? And once my head is off, no

more shall I speak with Nicolete, my sweet lady, that I love so well.

Natheless have I here a good sword, and sit a good horse unwearied. If

now I keep not my head for her sake, God help her never, if she love me

more!"

The damoiseau was tall and strong, and the horse whereon he sat was right

eager. And he laid hand to sword, and fell a-smiting to right and left,

and smote through helm and _nasal_, and arm and clenched hand, making a

murder about him, like a wild boar when hounds fall on him in the forest,

even till he struck down ten knights, and seven be hurt, and straightway

he hurled out of the press, and rode back again at full speed, sword in

hand. The Count Bougars de Valence heard say they were about hanging

Aucassin, his enemy, so he came into that place, and Aucassin was ware of

him, and gat his sword into his hand, and lashed at his helm with such a

stroke that he drave it down on his head, and he being stunned, fell

grovelling. And Aucassin laid hands on him, and caught him by the

_nasal_ of his helmet, and gave him to his father.

"Father," quoth Aucassin, "lo here is your mortal foe, who hath so warred

on you with all malengin. Full twenty years did this war endure, and

might not be ended by man."

"Fair son," said his father, "thy feats of youth shouldst thou do, and

not seek after folly."

"Father," saith Aucassin, "sermon me no sermons, but fulfil my covenant."

"Ha! what covenant, fair son?"

"What, father, hast thou forgotten it? By mine own head, whosoever

forgets, will I not forget it, so much it hath me at heart. Didst thou

not covenant with me when I took up arms, and went into the stour, that

if God brought me back safe and sound, thou wouldst let me see Nicolete,

my sweet lady, even so long that I may have of her two words or three,

and one kiss? So didst thou covenant, and my mind is that thou keep thy

word."

"I!" quoth the father, "God forsake me when I keep this covenant! Nay,

if she were here, I would let burn her in the fire, and thyself shouldst

be sore adread."

"Is this thy last word?" quoth Aucassin.

"So help me God," quoth his father, "yea!"

"Certes," quoth Aucassin, "this is a sorry thing meseems, when a man of

thine age lies!"

"Count of Valence," quoth Aucassin, "I took thee?"

"In sooth, Sir, didst thou," saith the Count.

"Give me thy hand," saith Aucassin.

"Sir, with good will."

So he set his hand in the other's.

"Now givest thou me thy word," saith Aucassin, "that never whiles thou

art living man wilt thou avail to do my father dishonour, or harm him in

body, or in goods, but do it thou wilt?"

"Sir, in God's name," saith he, "mock me not, but put me to my ransom; ye

cannot ask of me gold nor silver, horses nor palfreys, _vair_ nor _gris_,

hawks nor hounds, but I will give you them."

"What?" quoth Aucassin. "Ha, knowest thou not it was I that took thee?"

"Yea, sir," quoth the Count Bougars.

"God help me never, but I will make thy head fly from thy shoulders, if

thou makest not troth," said Aucassin.

"In God's name," said he, "I make what promise thou wilt."

So they did the oath, and Aucassin let mount him on a horse, and took

another and so led him back till he was all in safety.

Here one singeth:

When the Count Garin doth know

That his child would ne'er forego

Love of her that loved him so,

Nicolete, the bright of brow,

In a dungeon deep below

Childe Aucassin did he throw.

Even there the Childe must dwell

In a dun-walled marble cell.

There he waileth in his woe

Crying thus as ye shall know.

"Nicolete, thou lily white,

My sweet lady, bright of brow,

Sweeter than the grape art thou,

Sweeter than sack posset good

In a cup of maple wood!

Was it not but yesterday

That a palmer came this way,

Out of Limousin came he,

And at ease he might not be,

For a passion him possessed

That upon his bed he lay,

Lay, and tossed, and knew not rest

In his pain discomforted.

But thou camest by the bed,

Where he tossed amid his pain,

Holding high thy sweeping train,

And thy kirtle of ermine,

And thy smock of linen fine,

Then these fair white limbs of thine,

Did he look on, and it fell

That the palmer straight was well,

Straight was hale--and comforted,

And he rose up from his bed,

And went back to his own place,

Sound and strong, and full of face!

My sweet lady, lily white,

Sweet thy footfall, sweet thine eyes,

And the mirth of thy replies.

Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face,

Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow,

And the touch of thine embrace.

Who but doth in thee delight?

I for love of thee am bound

In this dungeon underground,

All for loving thee must lie

Here where loud on thee I cry,

Here for loving thee must die

For thee, my love."

Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale:

Aucassin was cast into prison as ye have heard tell, and Nicolete, of her

part, was in the chamber. Now it was summer time, the month of May, when

days are warm, and long, and clear, and the night still and serene.

Nicolete 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 fell she to

thoughts of Count Garin de Biaucaire, that hated her to the death;

therefore deemed she that there she would no longer abide, for that, if

she were told of, and the Count knew whereas she lay, an ill death would

he make her die. Now she knew that the old woman slept who held her

company. Then she arose, and clad her in a mantle of silk she had by

her, very goodly, and took napkins, and sheets of the bed, and knotted

one to the other, and made therewith a cord as long as she might, so

knitted it to a pillar in the window, and let herself slip down into the

garden, then caught up her raiment in both hands, behind and before, and

kilted up her kirtle, because of the dew that she saw lying deep on the

grass, and so went her way down through the garden.

Her locks were yellow and curled, her eyes blue and smiling, her face

featly fashioned, the nose high and fairly set, the lips more red than

cherry or rose in time of summer, her teeth white and small; her breasts

so firm that they bore up the folds of her bodice as they had been two

apples; so slim she was in the waist that your two hands might have

clipped her, and the daisy flowers that brake beneath her as she went tip-

toe, and that bent above her instep, seemed black against her feet, so

white was the maiden. She came to the postern gate, and unbarred it, and

went out through the streets of Biaucaire, 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. The tower was flanked with

buttresses, 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 making dole and

lament for the sweet lady he loved so well. And when she had listened to

him she began to say:

Here one singeth:

Nicolete the bright of brow

On a pillar leanest thou,

All Aucassin's wail dost hear

For his love that is so dear,

Then thou spakest, shrill and clear,

"Gentle knight withouten fear

Little good befalleth thee,

Little help of sigh or tear,

Ne'er shalt thou have joy of me.

Never shalt thou win me; still

Am I held in evil will

Of thy father and thy kin,

Therefore must I cross the sea,

And another land must win."

Then she cut her curls of gold,

Cast them in the dungeon hold,

Aucassin doth clasp them there,

Kissed the curls that were so fair,

Them doth in his bosom bear,

Then he wept, even as of old,

All for his love!

Then say they, speak they, tell they the Tale:

When Aucassin heard Nicolete say that she would pass into a far country,

he was all in wrath.

"Fair sweet friend," quoth he, "thou shalt not go, for then wouldst thou

be my death. And the first man that saw thee and had the might withal,

would take thee straightway into his bed to be his leman. And once thou

camest into a man's bed, and that bed not mine, wit ye well that I would

not tarry till I had found a knife to pierce my heart and slay myself.

Nay, verily, wait so long I would not: but would hurl myself on it so

soon as I could find a wall, or a black stone, thereon would I dash my

head so mightily, that the eyes would start, and my brain burst. Rather

would I die even such a death, than know thou hadst lain in a man's bed,

and that bed not mine."

"Aucassin," she said, "I trow thou lovest me not as much as thou sayest,

but I love thee more than thou lovest me."

"Ah, fair sweet friend," said Aucassin, "it may not be that thou shouldst

love me even as I love thee. Woman may not love man as man loves woman,

for a woman's love lies in the glance of her eye, and the bud of her

breast, and her foot's tip-toe, but the love of man is in his heart

planted, whence it can never issue forth and pass away."

Now while Aucassin and Nicolete held this parley together, the town's

guards came down a street, with swords drawn beneath their cloaks, for

the Count Garin had charged them that if they could take her they should

slay her. But the sentinel that was on the tower saw them coming, and

heard them speaking of Nicolete as they went, and threatening to slay

her.

"God!" quoth he, "this were great pity to slay so fair a maid! Right

great charity it were if I could say aught to her, and they perceive it

not, and she should be on her guard against them, for if they slay her,

then were Aucassin, my damoiseau, dead, and that were great pity."

_Here one singeth_:

Valiant was the sentinel,

Courteous, kind, and practised well,

So a song did sing and tell

Of the peril that befell.

"Maiden fair that lingerest here,

Gentle maid of merry cheer,

Hair of gold, and eyes as clear

As the water in a mere,

Thou, meseems, hast spoken word

To thy lover and thy lord,

That would die for thee, his dear;

Now beware the ill accord,

Of the cloaked men of the sword,

These have sworn and keep their word,

They will put thee to the sword

Save thou take heed!"

Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:

"Ha!" quoth Nicolete, "be the soul of thy father and the soul of thy

mother in the rest of Paradise, so fairly and so courteously hast thou

spoken me! Please God, I will be right ware of them, God keep me out of

their hands."

So she shrank under her mantle into the shadow of the pillar till they

had passed by, and then took she farewell of Aucassin, and so fared till

she came unto the castle wall. Now that wall was wasted and broken, and

some deal mended, so she clomb thereon till she came between wall and

fosse, and so looked down, and saw that the fosse was deep and steep,

whereat she was sore adread.

"Ah God," saith she, "sweet Saviour! If I let myself fall hence, I shall

break my neck, and if here I abide, to-morrow they will take me and burn

me in a fire. Yet liefer would I perish here than that to-morrow the

folk should stare on me for a gazing-stock."

Then she crossed herself, and so let herself slip into the fosse, and

when she had come to the bottom, her fair feet, and fair hands that had

not custom thereof, were bruised and frayed, and the blood springing from

a dozen places, yet felt she no pain nor hurt, by reason of the great

dread wherein she went. But if she were in cumber to win there, in worse

was she to win out. But she deemed that there to abide was of none

avail, and she found a pike sharpened, that they of the city had thrown

out to keep the hold. Therewith made she one stepping place after

another, till, with much travail, she climbed the wall. Now the forest

lay within two crossbow shots, and the forest was of thirty leagues this

way and that. Therein also were wild beasts, and beasts serpentine, and

she feared that if she entered there they would slay her. But anon she

deemed that if men found her there they would hale her back into the town

to burn her.

_Here one singeth_:

Nicolete, the fair of face,

Climbed upon the coping stone,

There made she lament and moan

Calling on our Lord alone

For his mercy and his grace.

"Father, king of Majesty,

Listen, for I nothing know

Where to flee or whither go.

If within the wood I fare,

Lo, the wolves will slay me there,

Boars and lions terrible,

Many in the wild wood dwell,

But if I abide the day,

Surely worse will come of it,

Surely will the fire be lit

That shall burn my body away,

Jesus, lord of Majesty,

Better seemeth it to me,

That within the wood I fare,

Though the wolves devour me there

Than within the town to go,

Ne'er be it so!"

Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:

Nicolete made great moan, as ye have heard; then commended she herself to

God, and anon fared till she came unto the forest. But to go deep in it

she dared not, by reason of the wild beasts, and beasts serpentine. Anon

crept she into a little thicket, where sleep came upon her, and she slept

till prime next day, when the shepherds issued forth from the town and

drove their bestial between wood and water. Anon came they all into one

place by a fair fountain which was on the fringe of the forest, thereby

spread they a mantle, and thereon set bread. So while they were eating,

Nicolete wakened, with the sound of the singing birds, and the shepherds,

and she went unto them, saying, "Fair boys, our Lord keep you!"

"God bless thee," quoth he that had more words to his tongue than the

rest.

"Fair boys," quoth she, "know ye Aucassin, the son of Count Garin de

Biaucaire?"

"Yea, well we know him."

"So may God help you, fair boys," quoth she, "tell him there is a beast

in this forest, and bid him come chase it, and if he can take it, he

would not give one limb thereof for a hundred marks of gold, nay, nor for

five hundred, nor for any ransom."

Then looked they on her, and saw her so fair that they were all astonied.

"Will I tell him thereof?" quoth he that had more words to his tongue

than the rest; "foul fall him who speaks of the thing or tells him the

tidings. These are but visions ye tell of, for there is no beast so

great in this forest, stag, nor lion, nor boar, that one of his limbs is

worth more than two deniers, or three at the most, and ye speak of such

great ransom. Foul fall him that believes your word, and him that

telleth Aucassin. Ye be a Fairy, and we have none liking for your

company, nay, hold on your road."

"Nay, fair boys," quoth she, "nay, ye will do my bidding. For this beast

is so mighty of medicine that thereby will Aucassin be healed of his

torment. And lo! I have five sols in my purse, take them, and tell him:

for within three days must he come hunting it hither, and if within three

days he find it not, never will he be healed of his torment."

"My faith," quoth he, "the money will we take, and if he come hither we

will tell him, but seek him we will not."

"In God's name," quoth she; and so took farewell of the shepherds, and

went her way.

_Here singeth one_:

Nicolete the bright of brow

From the shepherds doth she pass

All below the blossomed bough

Where an ancient way there was,

Overgrown and choked with grass,

Till she found the cross-roads where

Seven paths do all way fare,

Then she deemeth she will try,

Should her lover pass thereby,

If he love her loyally.

So she gathered white lilies,

Oak-leaf, that in green wood is,

Leaves of many a branch I wis,

Therewith built a lodge of green,

Goodlier was never seen,

Swore by God who may not lie,

"If my love the lodge should spy,

He will rest awhile thereby

If he love me loyally."

Thus his faith she deemed to try,

"Or I love him not, not I,

Nor he loves me!"

Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:

Nicolete built her lodge of boughs, as ye have heard, right fair and

feteously, and wove it well, within and without, of flowers and leaves.

So lay she hard by the lodge in a deep coppice to know what Aucassin will

do. And the cry and the bruit went abroad through all the country and

all the land, that Nicolete was lost. Some told that she had fled, and

some that the Count Garin had let slay her. Whosoever had joy thereof,

no joy had Aucassin. And the Count Garin, his father, had taken him out

of prison, and had sent for the knights of that land, and the ladies, and

let make a right great feast, for the comforting of Aucassin his son. Now

at the high time of the feast, was Aucassin leaning from a gallery, all

woful and discomforted. Whatsoever men might devise of mirth, Aucassin

had no joy thereof, nor no desire, for he saw not her that he loved. Then

a knight looked on him, and came to him, and said:

"Aucassin, of that sickness of thine have I been sick, and good counsel

will I give thee, if thou wilt hearken to me--"

"Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy, good counsel would I fain hear."

"Mount thy horse," quoth he, "and go take thy pastime in yonder forest,

there wilt thou see the good flowers and grass, and hear the sweet birds

sing. Perchance thou shalt hear some word, whereby thou shalt be the

better."

"Sir," quoth Aucassin, "gramercy, that will I do."

He passed out of the hall, and went down the stairs, and came to the

stable where his horse was. He let saddle and bridle him, and mounted,

and rode forth from the castle, and wandered till he came to the forest,

so rode till he came to the fountain and found the shepherds at point of

noon. And they had a mantle stretched on the grass, and were eating

bread, and making great joy.

_Here one singeth_:

There were gathered shepherds all,

Martin, Esmeric, and Hal,

Aubrey, Robin, great and small.

Saith the one, "Good fellows all,

God keep Aucassin the fair,

And the maid with yellow hair,

Bright of brow and eyes of vair.

She that gave us gold to ware.

Cakes therewith to buy ye know,

Goodly knives and sheaths also.

Flutes to play, and pipes to blow,

May God him heal!"

Here speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:

When Aucassin heard the shepherds, anon he bethought him of Nicolete, his

sweet lady he loved so well, and he deemed that she had passed thereby;

then set he spurs to his horse, and so came to the shepherds.

"Fair boys, God be with you."

"God bless you," quoth he that had more words to his tongue than the

rest.

"Fair boys," quoth Aucassin, "say the song again that anon ye sang."

"Say it we will not," quoth he that had more words to his tongue than the

rest, "foul fall him who will sing it again for you, fair sir!"

"Fair boys," quoth Aucassin, "know ye me not?"

"Yea, we know well that you are Aucassin, out damoiseau, natheless we be

not your men, but the Count's."

"Fair boys, yet sing it again, I pray you."

"Hearken! by the Holy Heart," quoth he, "wherefore should I sing for you,

if it likes me not? Lo, there is no such rich man in this country,

saving the body of Garin the Count, that dare drive forth my oxen, or my

cows, or my sheep, if he finds them in his fields, or his corn, lest he

lose his eyes for it, and wherefore should I sing for you, if it likes me

not?"

"God be your aid, fair boys, sing it ye will, and take ye these ten sols

I have here in a purse."

"Sir, the money will we take, but never a note will I sing, for I have

given my oath, but I will tell thee a plain tale, if thou wilt."

"By God," saith Aucassin, "I love a plain tale better than naught."

"Sir, we were in this place, a little time agone, between prime and

tierce, and were eating our bread by this fountain, even as now we do,

and a maid came past, the fairest thing in the world, whereby we deemed

that she should be a fay, and all the wood shone round about her. Anon

she gave us of that she had, whereby we made covenant with her, that if

ye came hither we would bid you hunt in this forest, wherein is such a

beast that, an ye might take him, ye would not give one limb of him for

five hundred marks of silver, nor for no ransom; for this beast is so

mighty of medicine, that, an ye could take him, ye should be healed of

your torment, and within three days must ye take him, and if ye take him

not then, never will ye look on him. So chase ye the beast, an ye will,

or an ye will let be, for my promise have I kept with her."

"Fair boys," quoth Aucassin, "ye have said enough. God grant me to find

this quarry."

_Here one singeth_:

Aucassin when he had heard,

Sore within his heart was stirred,

Left the shepherds on that word,

Far into the forest spurred

Rode into the wood; and fleet

Fled his horse through paths of it,

Three words spake he of his sweet,

"Nicolete the fair, the dear,

'Tis for thee I follow here

Track of boar, nor slot of deer,

But thy sweet body and eyes so clear,

All thy mirth and merry cheer,

That my very heart have slain,

So please God to me maintain

I shall see my love again,

Sweet sister, friend!"

Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:

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!