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
hitherwe 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
awhiletherebyIf 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
grievouscudgel, 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