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Aucassin and Nicolete-Part1_ANDREW LANG(1844-1912)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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flowers and street, yields to a picture of the day, with the birds



singing, and the shepherds laughing, in the green links between wood

and water. There the shepherds take Nicolete for a fairy, so bright



a beauty shines about her. Their mockery, their independence, may

make us consider again our ideas of early Feudalism. Probably they



were in the service of townsmen, whose good town treated the Count

as no more than an equal of its corporate dignity. The bower of



branches built by Nicolete is certainly one of the places where the

minstrel himself has rested and been pleased with his work. One can



feel it still, the cool of that clear summer night, the sweet smell

of broken boughs, and trodden grass, and deep dew, and the shining



of the star that Aucassin deemed was the translated spirit of his

lady. Romance has touched the book here with her magic, as she has



touched the lines where we read how Consuelo came by moonlight to

the Canon's garden and the white flowers. The pleasure here is the



keener for contrast with the luckless hind whom Aucassin encountered

in the forest: the man who had lost his master's ox, the ungainly



man who wept, because his mother's bed had been taken from under her

to pay his debt. This man was in that estate which Achilles, in



Hades, preferred above the kingship of the dead outworn. He was

hind and hireling to a villein,



[Greek text]

It is an unexpected touch of pity for the people, and for other than



love-sorrows, in a poem intended for the great and courtly people of

chivalry.



At last the lovers meet, in the lodge of flowers beneath the stars.

Here the story should end, though one could ill spare the pretty



lecture the girl reads her lover as they ride at adventure, and the

picture of Nicolete, with her brown stain, and jogleor's attire, and



her viol, playing before Aucassin in his own castle of Biaucaire.

The burlesque interlude of the country of Torelore is like a page



out of Rabelais, stitched into the cante-fable by mistake. At such

lands as Torelore Pantagruel and Panurge touched many a time in



their vague voyaging. Nobody, perhaps, can care very much about

Nicolete's adventures in Carthage, and her recognition by her Paynim



kindred. If the old captive had been a prisoner among the Saracens,

he was too indolent or incurious to make use of his knowledge. He



hurries on to his journey's end;

"Journeys end in lovers meeting."



So he finishes the tale. What lives in it, what makes it live, is

the touch of poetry, of tender heart, of humorousresignation. The



old captive says the story will gladden sad men:-

"Nus hom n'est si esbahis,



tant dolans ni entrepris,

de grant mal amaladis,



se il l'oit, ne soit garis,

et de joie resbaudis,



tant par est douce."

This service it did for M. Bida, the painter, as he tells us when he



translated Aucassin in 1870. In dark and darkening days, patriai

tempore iniquo, we too have turned to Aucassin et Nicolete. {5}



BALLADE OF AUCASSIN

Where smooth the Southern waters run



Through rustling leagues of poplars gray,

Beneath a veiled soft Southern sun,



We wandered out of Yesterday;

Went Maying in that ancient May



Whose fallen flowers are fragrant yet,

And lingered by the fountain spray



With Aucassin and Nicolete.

The grassgrown paths are trod of none



Where through the woods they went astray;

The spider's traceries are spun



Across the darkling forest way;

There come no Knights that ride to slay,



No Pilgrims through the grasses wet,

No shepherd lads that sang their say



With Aucassin and Nicolete.

'Twas here by Nicolete begun



Her lodge of boughs and blossoms gay;

'Scaped from the cell of marble dun



'Twas here the lover found the Fay;

O lovers fond, O foolish play!



How hard we find it to forget,

Who fain would dwell with them as they,



With Aucassin and Nicolete.

ENVOY.






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