aucassin and nicolete-第1部分

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Aucassin　and　Nicolete



Translated　by　Andrew　Lang








INTRODUCTION







There　is　nothing　in　artistic　poetry　quite　akin　to　〃Aucassin　and

Nicolete。〃



By　a　rare　piece　of　good　fortune　the　one　manuscript　of　the　Song…Story

has　escaped　those　waves　of　time；　which　have　wrecked　the　bark　of

Menander；　and　left　of　Sappho　but　a　few　floating　fragments。　　The　very

form　of　the　tale　is　peculiar；　we　have　nothing　else　from　the　twelfth

or　thirteenth　century　in　the　alternate　prose　and　verse　of　the　cante…

fable。　｛1｝　We　have　fabliaux　in　verse；　and　prose　Arthurian　romances。

We　have　Chansons　de　Geste；　heroic　poems　like　〃Roland；〃　unrhymed

assonant　laisses；　but　we　have　not　the　alternations　of　prose　with

laisses　in　seven…syllabled　lines。　　It　cannot　be　certainly　known

whether　the　form　of　〃Aucassin　and　Nicolete〃　was　a　familiar　form

used　by　many　jogleors；　or　wandering　minstrels　and　story…tellers　such

as　Nicolete；　in　the　tale；　feigned　herself　to　be；or　whether　this　is

a　solitary　experiment　by　〃the　old　captive〃　its　author；　a

contemporary；　as　M。　Gaston　Paris　thinks　him；　of　Louis　VII　（1130）。

He　was　original　enough　to　have　invented；　or　adopted　from　popular

tradition；　a　form　for　himself；　his　originality　declares　itself

everywhere　in　his　one　surviving　masterpiece。　　True；　he　uses　certain

traditional　formulae；　that　have　survived　in　his　time；　as　they

survived　in　Homer's；　from　the　manner　of　purely　popular　poetry；　of

Volkslieder。　　Thus　he　repeats　snatches　of　conversation　always　in　the

same；　or　very　nearly　the　same　words。　　He　has　a　stereotyped　form；

like　Homer；　for　saying　that　one　person　addressed　another；　〃ains

traist　au　visconte　de　la　vile　si　l'apela〃　＇Greek　text　which　cannot

be　reproduced＇　。　。　。　Like　Homer；　and　like　popular　song；　he　deals　in

recurrent　epithets；　and　changeless　courtesies。　　To　Aucassin　the

hideous　plough…man　is　〃Biax　frere；〃　〃fair　brother；〃　just　as　the

treacherous　Aegisthus　is　＇Greek　text＇　in　Homer；　these　are

complimentary　terms；　with　no　moral　sense　in　particular。　　The　jogleor

is　not　more　curious　than　Homer；　or　than　the　poets　of　the　old

ballads；　about　giving　novel　descriptions　of　his　characters。　　As

Homer's　ladies　are　〃fair…tressed；〃　so　Nicolete　and　Aucassin　have；

each　of　them；　close　yellow　curls；　eyes　of　vair　（whatever　that　may

mean）；　and　red　lips。　　War　cannot　be　mentioned　except　as　war　〃where

knights　do　smite　and　are　smitten；〃　and　so　forth。　　The　author　is

absolutely　conventional　in　such　matters；　according　to　the　convention

of　his　age　and　profession。



Nor　is　his　matter　more　original。　　He　tells　a　story　of　thwarted　and

finally　fortunate　love；　and　his　hero　is　〃a　Christened　knight〃like

Tamlane；his　heroine　a　Paynim　lady。　　To　be　sure；　Nicolete　was

baptized　before　the　tale　begins；　and　it　is　she　who　is　a　captive

among　Christians；　not　her　lover；　as　usual；　who　is　a　captive　among

Saracens。　　The　author　has　reversed　the　common　arrangement；　and　he

appears　to　have　cared　little　more　than　his　reckless　hero；　about

creeds　and　differences　of　faith。　　He　is　not　much　interested　in　the

recognition　of　Nicolete　by　her　great　Paynim　kindred；　nor　indeed　in

any　of　the　〃business〃　of　the　narrative；　the　fighting；　the　storms　and

tempests；　and　the　burlesque　of　the　kingdom　of　Torelore。



What　the　nameless　author　does　care　for；　is　his　telling　of　the　love…

story；　the　passion　of　Aucassin　and　Nicolete。　　His　originality　lies

in　his　charming　medley　of　sentiment　and　humour；　of　a　smiling

compassion　and　sympathy　with　a　touch　of　mocking　mirth。　　The　love　of

Aucassin　and　Nicolete　…





〃Des　grans　paines　qu'il　soufri；〃





that　is　the　one　thing　serious　to　him　in　the　whole　matter；　and　that

is　not　so　very　serious。　｛2｝　The　story…teller　is　no　Mimnermus；　Love

and　Youth　are　the　best　things　he　knew；〃deport　du　viel　caitif；〃

and　now　he　has　〃come　to　forty　years；〃　and　now　they　are　with　him　no

longer。　　But　he　does　not　lament　like　Mimnermus；　like　Alcman；　like

Llwyarch　Hen。　　〃What　is　Life；　what　is　delight　without　golden

Aphrodite？　　May　I　die！〃　says　Mimnermus；　〃when　I　am　no　more

conversant　with　these；　with　secret　love；　and　gracious　gifts；　and　the

bed　of　desire。〃　　And　Alcman；　when　his　limbs　waver　beneath　him；　is

only　saddened　by　the　faces　and　voices　of　girls；　and　would　change　his

lot　for　the　sea…birds。〃　｛3｝





〃Maidens　with　voices　like　honey　for　sweetness　that　breathe　desire；

Would　that　I　were　a　sea…bird　with　limbs　that　never　could　tire；

Over　the　foam…flowers　flying　with　halcyons　ever　on　wing；

Keeping　a　careless　heart；　a　sea…blue　bird　of　the　spring。〃





But　our　old　captive；　having　said　farewell　to　love；　has　yet　a　kindly

smiling　interest　in　its　fever　and　folly。　　Nothing　better　has　he　met；

even　now　that　he　knows　〃a　lad　is　an　ass。〃　　He　tells　a　love　story；　a

story　of　love　overmastering；　without　conscience　or　care　of　aught　but

the　beloved。　　And　the　viel　caitif　tells　it　with　sympathy；　and　with　a

smile。　　〃Oh　folly　of　fondness；〃　he　seems　to　cry；　〃oh　merry　days　of

desolation〃





〃When　I　was　young　as　you　are　young；

When　lutes　were　touched　and　songs　were　sung；

And　love　lamps　in　the　windows　hung。〃





It　is　the　very　tone　of　Thackeray；　when　Thackeray　is　tender；　and　the

world　heard　it　first　from　this　elderly；　nameless　minstrel；　strolling

with　his　viol　and　his　singing　boys；　perhaps；　like　a　blameless

d'Assoucy；　from　castle　to　castle　in　〃the　happy　poplar　land。〃　　One

seems　to　see　him　and　hear　him　in　the　twilight；　in　the　court　of　some

chateau　of　Picardy；　while　the　ladies　on　silken　cushions　sit　around

him　listening；　and　their　lovers；　fettered　with　silver　chains；　lie　at

their　feet。　　They　listen；　and　look；　and　do　not　think　of　the　minstrel

with　his　grey　head　and　his　green　heart；　but　we　think　of　him。　　It　is

an　old　man's　work；　and　a　weary　man's　work。　　You　can　easily　tell　the

places　where　he　has　lingered；　and　been　pleased　as　he　wrote。　　They

are　marked；　like　the　bower　Nicolete　built；　with　flowers　and　broken

branches　wet　with　dew。　　Such　a　passage　is　the　description　of

Nicolete　at　her　window；　in　the　strangely　painted　chamber；





〃ki　faite　est　par　grant　devisse

panturee　a　miramie。〃





Thence





〃she　saw　the　roses　blow；

Heard　the　birds　sing　loud　and　low。〃





Again；　the　minstrel　speaks　out　what　many　must　have　thought；　in　those

incredulous　ages　of　Faith；　about　Heaven　and　Hell；　Hell　where　the

gallant　company　makes　up　for　everything。　　When　he　comes　to　a　battle…

piece　he　makes　Aucassin　〃mightily　and　knightly　hurl　through　the

press；〃　like　one　of　Malory's　men。　　His　hero　must　be　a　man　of　his

hands；　no　mere　sighing　youth　incapable　of　arms。　　But　the　minstrels

heart　is　in　other　things；　for　example；　in　the　verses　where　Aucassin

transfers　to　Beauty　the　wonder…working　powers　of　Holiness；　and　makes

the　sight　of　his　lady　heal　the　palmer；　as　the　shadow　of　the　Apostle；

falling　on　the　sick　people；　healed　them　by　the　Gate　Beautiful。　　The

Flight　of　Nicolete　is　a　familiar　and　beautiful　picture；　the　daisy

flowers　look　black　in　the　ivory　moonlight　against　her　feet；　fair　as

Bombyca's　〃feet　of　carven　ivory〃　in　the　Sicilian　idyll；　long　ago。

｛4｝　It　is　characteristic　of　the　poet　that　the　two　lovers　begin　to

wrangle　about　which　loves　best；　in　the　very　mouth　of　danger；　while

Aucassin　is　yet　in　prison；　and　the　patrol　go　down　the　moonlit

street；　with　swords　in　their　hands；　sworn　to　slay　Nicolete。　　That　is

the　place　and　time　chosen　for　this　ancient　controversy。　　Aucassin's

threat　that　if　he　loses　Nicolete　he　will　not　wait　for　sword　or

knife；　but　will　dash　his　head　against　a　wall；　is　in　the　very　temper

of　the　prisoned　warrior…poet；　who　actually　chose　this　way　of　death。

Then　the　night　scene；　with　its　fantasy；　and　shadow；　and　moonlight　on

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