No More Learning

Kings, heroes, towering spirits among men,
Rush to their aim on wild and stormy wings,
And far beneath them view the world, whose form
For ever varies on from hour to hour.
What would they ask of love? That, volatile,
In changeful freshness it may charm their ears
With proud, triumphant songs, when high in air
Victorious banners wave; or sweetly lull
To rapturous repose, when round them roars
The awful thunder's everlasting voice!
Mute, mean, and spiritless to them must seem
The maid who is no more than woman. How
Should she o'er-sound the storm their wings have raised?


## p. 939 (#361) ############################################

PER DANIEL AMADEUS ATTERBOM
939
[Sitting down. ]
Great Lord! how lonely I become within
These now uncheerful towers! O'er all the earth
No shield have I,-no mutual feeling left!
'Tis true that those around me all are kind,
And well I know they love me,-more, indeed,
Than my poor merits claim. Yet, even though
They raised me to my Asdolf's royal throne,
As being the last of all his line,-ah me!
No solace could it bring;-for then far less
Might I reveal the sorrow of my soul!
A helpless maiden's tears like raindrops fall,
Which in a July night, ere harvest-time,
Bedew the flowers, and, trembling, stand within
Their half-closed eyes unnumbered and unknown.
[She rises. ]
-
Yet One there is, who counts the maiden's tears; -
But when will their sad number be fulfilled? —
[Walking to and fro. ]
How calm was I in former days! — I now
Am so no more! My heart beats heavily,
Oppressed within its prison-cave. Ah! fain
Would I that it might burst its bonds, so that
'Twere conscious, Asdolf, I sometimes had seemed
Not all unworthy in thine eyes.
[She takes the guitar. ]
A gentle friend - the Master from Vallandia-
Has taught me how I may converse with thee,
Thou cherished token of my Asdolf's love!
I have been told of far-off lakes, around
Whose shores the cypress and the willow wave,
And make a mournful shade above the stream,
Which, dark, and narrow on the surface, swells
Broad and unfathomably deep below:-
From these dark lakes at certain times, and most
On Sabbath morns and eves of festivals,
Uprising from the depths, is heard a sound
Most strange and wild, as of the tuneful bells
Of churches and of castles long since sunk;
And as the wanderer's steps approach the shore,
He hears more plainly the lamenting tone


## p. 940 (#362) ############################################

PER DANIEL AMADEUS ATTERBOM
940
Of the dark waters, whilst the surface still
Continues motionless and calm, and seems
To listen with a melancholy joy,
While thus the dim mysterious depths resound;
So let me strive to soften and subdue
My heart's dark swelling with a soothful song.
[She plays and sings. ]
The maiden bound her hunting-net
At morning fresh and fair —
Ah, no! that lay doth ever make me grieve.
Another, then! that of the hapless flower,
Surprised by frost and snow in early spring.
[Sings. ]
Hush thee, oh, hush thee,
Slumber from snow and stormy sky,
Lovely and lone one!
Now is the time for thee to die,
When vale and streamlet frozen lie.
Hush thee, oh, hush thee!
Hours hasten onward;-
For thee the last will soon be o'er.
Rest thee, oh, rest thee!
Flowers have withered thus before,-
And, my poor heart, what wouldst thou more?
Rest thee, oh, rest thee!
Shadows should darkly
Enveil thy past delights and woes.
Forget, oh, forget them!
'Tis thus that eve its shadows throws;
But now, in noiseless night's repose,
Forget, oh, forget them!
Slumber, oh, slumber!
No friend hast thou like kindly snow;
Sleep is well for thee,
For whom no second spring will blow;
Then why, poor heart, still beating so?
Slumber, oh, slumber!
Hush thee, oh, hush thee!
Resign thy life-breath in a sigh,
Listen no longer,
Life bids farewell to thee. - then die!
Sad one, good night! -in sweet sleep lie!
Hush thee, oh, hush thee!


## p. 941 (#363) ############################################

PER DANIEL AMADEUS ATTERBOM
941
[She bursts into tears. ]
Would now that I might bid adieu to life;
But, ah! no voice to me replies, "Sleep well! "
THE MERMAID
L
EAVING the sea, the pale moon lights the strand.
Tracing old runes, a youth inscribes the sand.
And by the rune-ring waits a woman fair,
Down to her feet extends her dripping hair.
Woven of lustrous pearls her robes appear,
Thin as the air and as the water clear.
Lifting her veil with milk-white hand she shows
Eyes in whose deeps a deadly fire glows.
Blue are her eyes: she looks upon him- bound,
As by a spell, he views their gulf profound.
Heaven and death are there: in his desire,
He feels the chill of ice, the heat of fire.
Graciously smiling, now she whispers low:-
"The runes are dark, would you their meaning know?
Follow! my dwelling is as dark and deep;
You, you alone, its treasure vast shall keep! "
"Where is your dwelling, charming maid, now say! "
"Built on a coral island far away,
Crystalline, golden, floats that castle free,
Meet for a lovely daughter of the sea! "
Still he delays and muses, on the strand;
Now the alluring maiden grasps his hand.
"Ah! Do you tremble, you who were so bold? "
"Yes, for the heaving breakers are so cold! "
"Let not the mounting waves your spirit change!
Take, as a charm, my ring with sea-runes strange.
Here is my crown of water-lilies white,
Here is my harp, with human bones bedight. "
"What say my Father and my Mother dear?
What says my God, who bends from heaven to hear? »
"Father and Mother in the churchyard lie.
As for thy God, he deigns not to reply. "


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942
PER DANIEL AMADEUS ATTERBOM
Blithely she dances on the pearl-strewn sand,
Smiting the bone-harp with her graceful hand.
Fair is her bosom, through her thin robe seen,
White as a swan beheld through rushes green.
"Follow me, youth! through ocean deeps we'll rove;
There is my castle in its coral grove;
There the red branches purple shadows throw,
There the green waves, like grass, sway to and fro.
"I have a thousand sisters; none so fair.
He whom I wed receives my sceptre rare.
Wisdom occult my mother will impart.
Granting his slightest wish, I'll cheer his heart. "
"Heaven and earth to win you I abjure!
Child of the ocean, is your promise sure? "
"Heaven and earth abjuring, great's your gain,
Throned with the ancient gods, a king to reign! "
Lo, as she speaks, a thousand starlights gleam,
Lighted for Heaven's Christmas day they seem.
Sighing, he swears the oath,- the die is cast;
Into the mermaid's arms he sinks at last.
High on the shore the rushing waves roll in.
"Why does the color vary on your skin?
What! From your waist a fish's tail depends! »
"Worn for the dances of my sea-maid friends. "
High overhead, the stars, like torches, burn:
"Haste! to my golden castle I return.
Save me, ye runes! "-"Yes, try them now; they fail.
Pupil of heathen men, my spells prevail! »
Proudly she turns; her sceptre strikes the wave,
Roaring, it parts; the ocean yawns, a grave.
Mermaid and youth go down; the gulf is deep.
Over their heads the surging waters sweep.
Often, on moonlight nights, when bluebells ring,
When for their sports the elves are gathering,
Out of the waves the youth appears, and plays
Tunes that are merry, mournful, like his days.


## p. 943 (#365) ############################################

943
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
(Twelfth Century)
BY FREDERICK MORRIS WARREN
HIS charming tale of mediæval France has reached modern
times in but one manuscript, which is now in the National
Library at Paris. It gives us no hint as to the time and
place of the author, but its linguistic forms would indicate for local-
ity the borderland of Champagne and Picardy, while the fact that the
verse of the story is in assonance would point to the later twelfth
century as the date of the original draft. It would thus be contem-
poraneous with the last poems of Chrétien de Troyes (1170-80). The
author was probably a minstrel by profession, but one of more than
ordinary taste and talent. For, evidently skilled in both song and
recitation, he so divided his narrative between poetry and prose that
he gave himself ample opportunity to display his powers, while at the
same time he retained more easily, by this variety, the attention of
his audience. He calls his invention - if his invention it be—a "song-
story. " The subject he drew probably from reminiscences of the
widely known story of Floire and Blanchefleur; reversing the parts,
so that here it is the hero who is the Christian, while the heroine is
a Saracen captive baptized in her early years. The general outline
of the plot also resembles indistinctly the plot of Floire and Blanche-
fleur, though its topography is somewhat indefinite, and a certain
amount of absurd adventure in strange lands is interwoven with it.
With these exceptions, however, few literary productions of the Mid-
dle Ages can rival Aucassin and Nicolette' in graceful sentiment
and sympathetic description.
The Paris manuscript gives the music for the poetical parts,-
music that is little more than a modulation. There is a different
notation for the first two lines, but for the other lines this notation
is repeated in couplets, except that the last line of each song or
laisse-being a half-line- has a cadence of its own. The lines are
all seven syllables in length, save the final half-lines, and the asso-
nance, which all but the half-lines observe, tends somewhat towards
rhyme.
The story begins with a song which serves as prologue; and
then its prose takes up the narrative, telling how Aucassin, son of
Garin, Count of Beaucaire, so loved Nicolette, a Saracen maiden,
who had been sold to the Viscount of Beaucaire, baptized and
adopted by him, that he had forsaken knighthood and chivalry and


## p. 944 (#366) ############################################

944
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
even refused to defend his father's territories against Count Bougart
of Valence. Accordingly his father ordered the Viscount to send
away Nicolette, and he walled her up in a tower of his palace.
Later, Aucassin is imprisoned by his father. But Nicolette escapes,
hears him lamenting in his cell, and comforts him until the warden
on the tower warns her of the approach of the town watch. She
flees to the forest outside the gates, and there, in order to test
Aucassin's fidelity, builds a rustic tower. When he is released from
prison, Aucassin hears from shepherd lads of Nicolette's hiding-place,
and seeks her bower. The lovers, united, resolve to leave the coun-
try. They take ship and are driven to the kingdom of Torelore,
whose queen they find in child-bed, while the king is with the army.
After a three years' stay in Torelore they are captured by Saracen
pirates and separated. Contrary winds blow Aucassin's boat to Beau-
caire, where he succeeds to Garin's estate, while Nicolette is carried
to Carthage. The sight of the city reminds her that she is the
daughter of its king, and a royal marriage is planned for her. But
she avoids this by assuming a minstrel's garb, and setting sail for
Beaucaire. There, before Aucassin, she sings of her own adventures,
and in due time makes herself known to him. Now in one last
strain our story-teller celebrates the lovers' meeting, concluding
with-
"Our song-story comes to an end,
I know no more to tell. »
And thus he takes leave of the gentle and courageous maiden.
The whole account of these trials and reunions does not occupy
over forty pages of the original French, which has been best edited
by H. Suchier at Paderborn (second edition, 1881). In 1878, A. Bida
published, with illustrations, a modern French version of the story
at Paris, accompanied by the original text and a preface by Gaston
Paris. This version was translated into English by A. Rodney Mac-
donough under the title of The Lovers of Provence: Aucassin and
Nicolette (New York, 1880). Additional illustrations by American
artists found place in this edition. F. W. Bourdillon has published
the original text and an English version, together with an exhaustive
introduction, bibliography, notes, and glossary (London, 1887), and,
later in the same year, Andrew Lang wrote out another translation,
accompanied by an introduction and notes: Aucassin and Nicolette'
(London). The extracts given below are from Lang's version, with
occasional slight alterations.
L. M Warren.


## p. 945 (#367) ############################################

AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
'TIS OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
WHOG
HO would list to the good lay,
Gladness of the captive gray?
'Tis how two young lovers met,
Aucassin and Nicolette;
Of the pains the lover bore,
And the perils 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 fordone,
Sick and woful, worn and sad,
But is healed, but is glad,
'Tis so sweet.
945
So say they, speak they, tell they The Tale,
How the Count Bougart of Valence made war on Count Garin of
Beaucaire, war so great, so marvelous, 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 of Beaucaire 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-gray 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 was he overtaken of Love, who is a great master, that
he would not, of his will, be a 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 thine 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. "
11-60


## p. 946 (#368) ############################################

946
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
"Father," answered Aucassin, "what are you saying now?
Never may God give me aught of my desire, if I be a knight,
or mount my horse, or face stour and battle wherein knights
smite and are smitten again, unless thou give me Nicolette, my
true love, that I love so well. "
"Son," said the father, "this may not be. Let Nicolette go.
A slave girl is she, out of a strange land, and the viscount of
this town bought her of the Saracens, and carried her hither, and
hath reared her and had her christened, and made her his god-
daughter, and one day will find a young man for her, to win her
bread honorably. Herein hast thou naught to make nor 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 shall have her. "
"Faith! my father," said Aucassin, "tell me where is the
place so high in all the world, that Nicolette, my sweet lady and
love, would not grace it well? If she were Empress of Constan-
tinople or of Germany, or Queen of France or England, it were
little enough for her; so gentle is she and courteous, and debon-
naire, and compact of all good qualities. "
IMPRISONMENT OF NICOLETTE
When Count Garin of Beaucaire knew that he would not avail
to withdraw Aucassin, his son, from the love of Nicolette, he
went to the viscount of the city, who was his man, and spake
to him saying:-"Sir Count: away with Nicolette, 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 a 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 Viscount, "this is grievous to me that he
comes and goes and hath speech with her. I had bought the
maid 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 honorably. 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. "


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AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
947
"Have a heed to thyself," said the Count Garin: "thence
might great evil come on thee. "
So parted they each from the other. Now the Viscount was
a right rich man: so had he a rich palace with a garden in face
of it; in an upper chamber thereof he had Nicolette placed, 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 had the door sealed, that none might come in or go
forth, save that there was one window, over against the garden,
and quite strait, through which came to them a little air.
Here singeth one : —
Nicolette as ye heard tell
Prisoned is within a cell
That is painted wondrously
With colors of a far countrie.
At 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 this vaulted chamber cell,
Hard beset and all alone!
By our Lady Mary's Son
Here no longer will I wonn,
If I may flee! "
AUCASSIN AND THE VISCOUNT
[The Viscount speaks first]
"PLENTIFUL lack of comfort hadst thou got thereby; for in Hell
would thy soul have lain while the world endures, and into Para-
dise wouldst thou have entered never. "
"In Paradise what have I to win? Therein I seek not to en-
ter, but only to have Nicolette, my sweet lady that I love so well.


## p. 948 (#370) ############################################

948
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
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
these old crypts; and such folks as wear old amices, and old
clouted frocks, and naked folks and shoeless, and those covered
with sores, who perish of hunger and thirst, and of cold, and of
wretchedness. 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 tour-
neys and great wars, and stout men-at-arms, and the free men.
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 fur of
vair, and fur of gris; and there too go the harpers, and min-
strels, and the kings of this world. With these I would gladly
go, let me but have with me Nicolette, my sweetest lady.
"
AUCASSIN CAPTURES COUNT BOUGART
THE damoiseau was tall and strong, and the horse whereon he
sat was right eager. And he laid hand to sword, and fell a-smit-
ing 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 he hurt; and straightway he hurled
out of the press, and rode back again at full speed, sword in
hand. Count Bougart of Valence heard it said that they were to
hang Aucassin, his enemy, so he came into that place and Aucas-
sin was ware of him. He gat his sword into his hand, and
struck at his helm with such a stroke that it drave it down on
his head, and he being stunned, fell groveling. And Aucassin
laid hands on him, and caught him by the nasal of his helmet,
and gave him up to his father.
"Father," quoth Aucassin, "lo, here is your mortal foe, who
hath so warred on you and done you such evil. Full twenty
months 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 ful-
fill my covenant. "
«< Ha! what covenant, fair son? "
«<
"What, father! hast thou forgotten it?
whosoever forgets, will I not forget it, so
By mine own head,
much it hath me at


## p. 949 (#371) ############################################

AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
949
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 Nicolette, 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 have burned her in
the fire, and thou thyself shouldst be sore adread. "
THE LOVERS' MEETING
AUCASSIN was cast into prison as ye have heard tell, and Nico-
lette, 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 nights still and serene. Nicolette lay one night
on her bed, and saw the moon shine clear through a window,
and heard the nightingale sing in the garden, and she minded
her of Aucassin her friend, whom she loved so well. Then fell
she to thoughts of Count Garin of Beaucaire, that he hated her
to death; and therefore deemed she that there she would no
longer abide, for that, if she were told of, and the Count knew
where she lay, an ill death he would make her die.
She saw
that the old woman was sleeping who held her company. Then
she arose, and clad her in a mantle of silk she had by her, very
goodly, and took sheets of the bed and towels and knotted one
to the other, and made therewith a cord as long as she might,
and knotted 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 on
her way down through the garden.
Her locks were yellow and curled, her eyes blue-gray 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; and her breasts so firm that they bore
up the folds of her bodice as they had been two walnuts; so
slim was she in the waist that your two hands might have
clipped her; and the daisy flowers that brake beneath her as
she went tiptoe, and that bent above her instep, seemed black
against her feet and ankles, so white was the maiden. She
came to the postern-gate, and unbarred it, and went out through


## p. 950 (#372) ############################################

950
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
the streets of Beaucaire, 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 pillars, 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 heard Aucas-
sin, who was weeping within, and making dole and lament for
the sweet friend he loved so well. And when she had listened
to him some time she began to say:-
Here one singeth:
·-
Nicolette, the bright of brow,
On a pillar leanèd now,
All Aucassin's wail did hear
For his love that was so dear,
Then the maid spake low 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,
Kiss'th the curls that were so fair,
Them doth in his bosom bear,
Then he wept, e'en as of old,
All for his love!
Thus say they, speak they, tell they The Tale.
When Aucassin heard Nicolette 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 so far as I


## p. 951 (#373) ############################################

AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
951
might see a wall, or a black stone, and I would dash my head
against it so mightily that the eyes would start and my brain
burst. Rather would I die even such a death than know that
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 shouldest love me even as I love thee. Woman may not
love man as man loves woman; for a woman's love lies in her
eye, and the bud of her breast, and her foot's tiptoe, but the
love of a man is in his heart planted, whence it can never issue
forth and pass away. "
Now when Aucassin and Nicolette were holding this parley
together, the town's watchmen were coming down a street, with
swords drawn beneath their cloaks, for 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 Nicolette 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 practiced 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! "


## p. 952 (#374) ############################################

952
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
NICOLETTE Builds her Lodge
NICOLETTE, 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 greenwood is,
Leaves of many a branch, iwis,
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 a while thereby
If he love me loyally. "
Thus his faith she deemed to try,
"Or I love him not, not I,
Nor he loves me! "
AUCASSIN, SEEKING NICOLETTE, COMES UPON A COWHERD
AUCASSIN fared through the forest from path to path after Nico-
lette, and his horse bare him furiously. Think ye not that the
thorns him spared, nor the briars, nay, not so, but tare his rai-
ment, that scarce a knot might be tied with the soundest part
thereof, and the blood spurted 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 Nicolette, his lady sweet, that he
felt no pain nor torment, and all the day hurled through the for-
est 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 grass-grown, 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, ugly and hid-
eous: his head huge, and blacker than charcoal, and more than
the breadth of a hand between his two eyes; and he had great


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AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
953
cheeks, and a big nose and flat, big nostrils and wide, and thick
lips redder than steak, and great teeth yellow and ugly, and he
was shod with hosen and shoon of ox-hide, bound with cords of
bark up over the knee, and all about him a great cloak two-fold;
and he leaned upon a grievous cudgel, and Aucassin came unto
him, and was afraid when he beheld him.
AUCASSIN FInds Nicolette's Lodge
SO THEY
parted from each 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 Nicolette had builded and woven within and with-
out, 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.
"Forsooth! " quoth Aucassin, "here was Nicolette, my sweet
lady, and this lodge builded she with her fair hands. For the
sweetness of it, and for love of her, will I now 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 Nicolette,
his right sweet friend, that he fell heavily upon a stone, and
drave his shoulder out of its place.
hurt sore; nathless he bore him with that force he might, and
fastened his horse with the other hand to a thorn. Then turned
Then knew he that he was
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,
Nicolette 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,


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954
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
1
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 Nicolette heard Aucassin, she came to him, for she was
not far away. She passed within the lodge, and threw her arms
about his neck, clipped him 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 heed 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 them on the hurt with a strip of
her smock, and he was all healed.
NICOLETTE SAILS TO CARTHAGE
WHEN all they of the court heard her speak thus, that she was
daughter to the king of Carthage, they knew well that she spake
truly; so made they great joy of her, and led her to the castle
with great honor, as a 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 device she might seek for Aucassin. Then she got her
a viol, and learned to play on it; till they would have married
her one day to a rich king of Paynim, and she stole forth by
night, and came to the seaport, 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 had a coat, and mantle, and smock, and breeches made, and
attired herself as if she had been a minstrel. 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


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AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
955
Nicolette went forth and took the viol, and went playing through
all the country, even till she came to the castle of Beaucaire,
where Aucassin was.
Here singeth one : —
At Beaucaire 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 Nicolette the fair,
And the dainty face of her
He had loved so many years.
Then was he in dule and tears!
Even then came Nicolette;
On the stair a foot she set,
And she drew the viol bow
O'er 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 Nicolette 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 naught know we,
But fair Nicolette 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. »


## p. 956 (#378) ############################################

—
956
HE fame of this celebrated naturalist rests on one magnificent
book, The Birds of America,' for which all his life may be
said to have been a preparation, and which certainly sur-
passes in interest every other ornithological publication. For fifteen
years before he thought of making use of his collections in this way,
he annually went alone with his gun and his drawing materials into
deep and unexplored forests and through wild regions of country,
making long journeys on foot and counting nothing a hardship that
added to his specimens. This passion had controlled him from early
childhood. His father, a Frenchman, was living in New Orleans at
the time of Audubon's birth in 1780, and with the view of helping
him in his studies, sent him to Paris when he was fifteen years
old, where he entered the drawing-class of David the painter. He
remained there two years; and it was after his return that he made
his memorable excursions, his home being then a farm at Mill Grove,
near Philadelphia.
In 1808 he removed with his family to the West, still continuing
his researches. Several years later he returned to Philadelphia with
a portfolio of nearly a thousand colored drawings of birds. What
befell them a parallel to so many like incidents, as through Warbur-
ton's cook, Newton's dog, Carlyle's friend, and Edward Livingston's
fire, that they seem one of the appointed tests of moral fibre — is
best told in Audubon's own language:-
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
(1780-1851)
—
"An accident," he says, "which happened to two hundred of my original
drawings, nearly put a stop to my researches in ornithology. I shall relate
it, merely to show how far enthusiasm for by no other name can I call my
perseverance may enable the preserver of nature to surmount the most dis-
heartening difficulties. I left the village of Henderson, in Kentucky, situated
on the banks of the Ohio, where I resided for several years, to proceed to
Philadelphia on business. I looked to my drawings before my departure,
placed them carefully in a wooden box, and gave them in charge of a rela-
tive, with injunctions to see that no injury should happen to them. My
absence was of several months; and when I returned, after having enjoyed
the pleasures of home for a few days, I inquired after my box, and what I
was pleased to call my treasure. The box was produced and opened; but,
reader, feel for me, a pair of Norway rats had taken possession of the
whole, and reared a young family among the gnawed bits of paper, which,
but a month previous, represented nearly a thousand inhabitants of air! The
burning heat which instantly rushed through my brain was too great to be
―――
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## p. 957 (#383) ############################################

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
957
endured without affecting my whole nervous system. I slept not for several
nights, and the days passed like days of oblivion; -until, the animal powers
being recalled into action through the strength of my constitution, I took up
my gun, my note-book, and my pencils, and went forth to the woods as
gayly as if nothing had happened. I felt pleased that I might now make
better drawings than before; and ere a period not exceeding three years had
elapsed, my portfolio was again filled. "
In 1826 he sailed for Europe to exhibit his newly collected treas-
ures to foreign ornithologists. He succeeded in obtaining pecuniary
aid in publishing the work, and plates were made in England. The
book was published in New York in four volumes (elephant folio) in
1830-39. The birds are life-size. The American Ornithological
Biography,' which is the text for the plates, was published in Edin-
burgh, 1831-39, in five octavo volumes. Accompanied by his two
sons he started on new excursions, which resulted in The Quad-
rupeds of America,' with a 'Biography of American Quadrupeds,'
both published at Philadelphia, beginning in 1840. During that year
he built a house for himself in the upper part of New York, in what
is now called Audubon Park, and died there January 27th, 1851.
Audubon's descriptive text is not unworthy of his plates: his
works are far from being mere tenders to picture-books. He is full
of enthusiasm, his descriptions of birds and animals are vivid and
realizing, and his adventures are told with much spirit and consider-
able literary skill, though some carelessness of syntax.
A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE
From The American Ornithological Biography>
ON
MY return from the Upper Mississippi, I found myself
obliged to cross one of the wide prairies which, in that
portion of the United States, vary the appearance of the
country. The weather was fine, all around me was as fresh and
blooming as if it had just issued from the bosom of nature. My
knapsack, my gun, and my dog, were all I had for baggage and
company. But although well moccasined, I moved slowly along,
attracted by the brilliancy of the flowers, and the gambols of
the fawns around their dams, to all appearance as thoughtless
of danger as I felt myself.
My march was of long duration; I saw the sun sinking
beneath the horizon long before I could perceive any appearance
of woodland, and nothing in the shape of man had I met with
that day.
The track which I followed was only an old Indian


## p. 958 (#384) ############################################

958
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
trace; and, as darkness overshadowed the prairie, I felt some
desire to reach at least a copse, in which I might lie down to
rest. The night-hawks were skimming over and around me,
attracted by the buzzing wings of the beetles which formed
their food, and the distant howling of wolves gave me some
hope that I should soon arrive at the skirts of some woodland.
I did so, and almost at the same instant a fire-light attracting
my eye, I moved toward it, full of confidence that it proceeded
from the camp of some wandering Indians. I was mistaken. I
discovered by its glare that it was from the hearth of a small
log cabin, and that a tall figure passed and repassed between it
and me, as if busily engaged in household arrangements.
I reached the spot, and presenting myself at the door, asked
the tall figure, which proved to be a woman, if I might take
shelter under her roof for the night. Her voice was gruff, and
her attire negligently thrown about her. She answered in the
affirmative. I walked in, took a wooden stool, and quietly seated
myself by the fire. The next object that attracted my notice
was a finely formed young Indian, resting his head between his
hands, with his elbows on his knees. A long bow rested against
the log wall near him, while a quantity of arrows and two or
three raccoon skins lay at his feet. He moved not; he appar-
ently breathed not. Accustomed to the habits of the Indians,
and knowing that they pay little attention to the approach of
civilized strangers (a circumstance which in some countries is
considered as evincing the apathy of their character), I addressed
him in French, a language not unfrequently partially known to
the people in that neighborhood. He raised his head, pointed to
one of his eyes with his finger, and gave me a significant glance
with the other. His face was covered with blood. The fact
was, that an hour before this, as he was in the act of discharg-
ing an arrow at a raccoon in the top of a tree, the arrow had
split upon the cord, and sprung back with such violence into his
right eye as to destroy it forever.
Feeling hungry, I inquired what sort of fare I might expect.
Such a thing as a bed was not to be seen, but many large
untanned bear and buffalo hides lay piled in a corner. I drew
a fine timepiece from my breast, and told the woman that it
was late, and that I was fatigued. She had espied my watch,
the richness of which seemed to operate upon her feelings with
electric quickness. She told me that there was plenty of venison


## p. 959 (#385) ############################################

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
959
and jerked buffalo meat, and that on removing the ashes I
should find a cake. But my watch had struck her fancy, and
her curiosity had to be gratified by an immediate sight of it. I
took off the gold chain that secured it, from around my neck,
and presented it to her. She was all ecstasy, spoke of its
beauty, asked me its value, and put the chain round her brawny
neck, saying how happy the possession of such a watch should
make her. Thoughtless, and as I fancied myself, in so retired.
a spot, secure, I paid little attention to her talk or her move-
ments. I helped my dog to a good supper of venison, and was
not long in satisfying the demands of my own appetite.
The Indian rose from his seat, as if in extreme suffering.
He passed me and repassed me several times, and once pinched
me on the side so violently that the pain nearly brought forth
an exclamation of anger. I looked at him. His eye met mine;
but his look was so forbidding that it struck a chill into the more
nervous part of my system. He again seated himself, drew his
butcher-knife from its greasy scabbard, examined its edge, as I
would do that of a razor suspected dull, replaced it, and again
taking his tomahawk from his back, filled the pipe of it with
tobacco, and sent me expressive glances whenever our hostess
chanced to have her back towards us.
Never until that moment had my senses been awakened to the
danger which I now suspected to be about me.
I returned glance
for glance to my companion, and rested well assured that what-
ever enemies I might have, he was not of their number.
I asked the woman for my watch, wound it up, and under
pretense of wishing to see how the weather might probably be
on the morrow, took up my gun, and walked out of the cabin.
I slipped a ball into each barrel, scraped the edges of my flints,
renewed the primings, and returning to the hut, gave a favorable
account of my observations. I took a few bear-skins, made a
pallet of them, and calling my faithful dog to my side, lay down,
with my gun close to my body, and in a few minutes was to all
appearance fast asleep.
A short time had elapsed, when some voices were heard; and
from the corner of my eyes I saw two athletic youths making
their entrance, bearing a dead stag on a pole.
pole. They disposed of
their burden, and asking for whisky, helped themselves freely to
it. Observing me and the wounded Indian, they asked who I
was, and why the devil that rascal (meaning the Indian, who,


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960
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
they knew, understood not a word of English) was in the house.
The mother-for so she proved to be-bade them speak less
loudly, made mention of my watch, and took them to a corner,
where a conversation took place, the purport of which it required
little shrewdness in me to guess. I tapped my dog gently. He
moved his tail, and with indescribable pleasure I saw his fine
eyes alternately fixed on me and raised toward the trio in the
corner. I felt that he perceived danger in my situation.