Mont-Saint-Michel and Chartres Part 18

"Nient!" fait Auca.s.sins; "je nel vos demant se por bien non."

"Mais pour quoi ploures vos?" fait cil, "et faites si fait doel?

Certes se j'estoie ausi rices hom que vos estes, tos li mons ne me feroit mie plorer."

"Ba! me conissies vos!" fait Auca.s.sins.

"Oie! je sai bien que vos estes Auca.s.sins li fix le conte, et se vos me dites por quoi vos plores je vos dirai que je fac ici."

As he looked before him along the way he saw a man such as I will tell you. Tall he was, and menacing, and ugly, and hideous. He had a great mane blacker than charcoal and had more than a full palm- width between his two eyes, and had big cheeks, and a huge flat nose and great broad nostrils, and thick lips redder than raw beef, and large ugly yellow teeth, and was shod with hose and leggings of raw hide laced with bark cord to above the knee, and was m.u.f.fled in a cloak without lining, and was leaning on a great club. Auca.s.sins came upon him suddenly and had great fear when he saw him.

"Fair brother, good day!" said he.

"G.o.d bless you!" said the other.

"As G.o.d help you, what do you here?"

"What is that to you?" said the other.

"Nothing!" said Auca.s.sins; "I ask only from good-will."

"But why are you crying!" said the other, "and mounring so loud?

Sure, if I were as great a man as you are, nothing on earth would make me cry."

"Bah! you know me?" said Auca.s.sins.

"Yes, I know very well that you are Auca.s.sins, the count's son; and if you will tell me what you are crying for, I will tell you what I am doing here."

Auca.s.sins seemed to think this an equal bargain. All damoiseaux were not as courteous as Auca.s.sins, nor all "varlets" as rude as his peasants; we shall see how the young gentlemen of Picardy treated the peasantry for no offence at all; but Auca.s.sins carried a softer, Southern temper in a happier climate, and, with his invariable gentle courtesy, took no offence at the familiarity with which the ploughman treated him. Yet he dared not tell the truth, so he invented, on the spur of the moment, an excuse;--he has lost, he said, a beautiful white hound. The peasant hooted--

"Os!" fait cil; "por le cuer que cil sires eut en sen ventre! que vos plorastes por un cien puant! Mal dehait ait qui ja mais vos prisera quant il n'a si rice home en ceste tere se vos peres len mandoit x u xv u xx qu'il ne les envoyast trop volontiers et s'en esteroit trop lies. Mais je dois plorer et dol faire?"

"Et tu de quoi frere?"

"Sire je lo vos dirai. J'estoie liues a un rice vilain si cacoie se carue. iiii bues i avoit. Or a iii jors qu il m'avint une grande malaventure que je perdi le mellor de mes bues Roget le mellor de me carue. Si le vois querant. Si ne mengai ne ne bue iii jors a pa.s.ses.

Si n'os aler a le vile c'on me metroit en prison que je ne l'ai de quoi saure. De tot l'avoir du monde n'ai je plus vaillant que vos vees sor le cors de mi. Une la.s.se mere avoie, si n'avoit plus vaillant que une keutisele, si h a on sacie de desous le dos si gist a pur l'estrain, si m'en poise a.s.ses plus que denu. Car avoirs va et viaent; se j'ai or perdu je gaaignerai une autre fois si sorrai mon buef quant je porrai, ne ja por cien n'en plorerai. Et vos plorastes por un cien de longaigne! Mal dehait ait qui mais vos prisera!"

"Certes tu es de bon confort, biax frere! que benois sois tu! Et que valoit tes bues!"

"Sire xx sous m'en demande on, je n'en puis mie abatre une seule maille."

"Or, tien" fait Auca.s.sins, "xx que j'ai ci en me borse, si sol ten buef!"

"Listen!" said he, "By the heart G.o.d had in his body, that you should cry for a stinking dog! Bad luck to him who ever prizes you!

When there is no man in this land so great, if your father sent to him for ten or fifteen or twenty but would fetch them very gladly, and be only too pleased. But I ought to cry and mourn."

"And--why you, brother?"

"Sir, I will tell you. I was hired out to a rich farmer to drive his plough. There were four oxen. Now three days ago I had a great misfortune, for I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team. I am looking to find him. I've not eaten or drunk these three days past. I dare n't go to the town, for they would put me in prison as I've nothing to pay with. In all the world I've not the worth of anything but what you see on my body I've a poor old mother who owned nothing but a feather mattress, and they've dragged it from under her back so she lies on the bare straw, and she troubles me more than myself. For riches come and go if I lose to day, I gain to-morrow; I will pay for my ox when I can, and will not cry for that. And you cry for a filthy dog! Bad luck to him who ever thinks well of you!"

"Truly, you counsel well, good brother! G.o.d bless you! And what was your ox worth?"

"Sir, they ask me twenty sous for it. I cannot beat them down a single centime."

"Here are twenty," said Auca.s.sins, "that I have in my purse! Pay for your ox!"

"Sire!" fait il, "grans mercies! et dix vos laist trover ce que vox queres!"

"Sir!" said he; "many thanks! and Go! grant you find what you seek!"

The little episode was thrown in without rhyme or reason to the rapid emotion of the love-story, as though the jongleur were showing his own cleverness and humour, at the expense of his hero, as jongleurs had a way of doing; but he took no such liberties with his heroine. While Auca.s.sins tore through the thickets on horseback, crying aloud, Nicolette had built herself a little hut in the depths of the forest:--

Ele prist des flors de lis Et de l'erbe du garris Et de le foille autresi; Une belle loge en fist, Ainques tant gente ne vi.

Jure diu qui ne menti Se par la vient Auca.s.sins Et il por l'amor de li Ne si repose un pet.i.t Ja ne sera ses amis N'ele s'a-mie.

So she twined the lilies' flower, Roofed with leafy branches o'er, Made of it a lovely bower, With the freshest gra.s.s for floor Such as never mortal saw.

By G.o.d's Verity, she swore, Should Auca.s.sins pa.s.s her door, And not stop for love of her, To repose a moment there, He should be her love no more, Nor she his dear!

So night came on, and Nicolette went to sleep, a little distance away from her hut. Auca.s.sins at last came by, and dismounted, spraining his shoulder in doing it. Then he crept into the little hut, and lying on his back, looked up through the leaves to the moon, and sang:--

Estoilete, je te voi, Que la lune trait a soi.

Nicolete est aveuc toi, M'amiete o le blond poil.

Je quid que dix le veut avoir Por la lumiere de soir Que par li plus clere soit.

Vien, amie, je te proie!

Ou monter vauroie droit, Que que fust du recaoir.

Que fuisse la.s.sus o toi Ja te baiseroi estroit.

Se j'estoie fix a roi S'afferies vos bien a moi Suer douce amie!

I can see you, little star, That the moon draws through the air.

Nicolette is where you are, My own love with the blonde hair.

I think G.o.d must want her near To shine down upon us here That the evening be more clear.

Come down, dearest, to my prayer, Or I climb up where you are!

Though I fell, I would not care.

If I once were with you there I would kiss you closely, dear!

If a monarch's son I were You should all my kingdom share, Sweet friend, sister!

How Nicolette heard him sing, and came to him and rubbed his shoulder and dressed his wounds as though he were a child; and how in the morning they rode away together, like Tennyson's "Sleeping Beauty,"--

O'er the hills and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, beyond the day,

singing as they rode, the story goes on to tell or to sing in verse--

Auca.s.sins, li biax, li blons, Li gentix, It amorous, Est issous del gaut parfont, Entre ses bras ses amors Devant lui sor son arcon.

Les ex li baise et le front, Et le bouce et le menton.

Elle l'a mis a raison.