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Updated: June 3, 2025
We couldn't go into the château, but perhaps it was better to see it only from the outside, and remember it always in a crystal picture, framed with the turquoise of the sky. Besides, not going in gave us more time for Beaucaire, just across the river Beaucaire of the Fair; Beaucaire of sweet Nicolete and her faithful lover Aucassin.
Would you still bid me go?" "Yes," I said. "In that case it would be even more imperative." "Aucassin!" "It is true, it is true, dear Nicolete." "Then, Aucassin," she replied, almost sternly, in her great girlish love, "this is true also, I love you. I have never loved, shall never love, any man but you!" "Nicolete!" "Aucassin!"
"'I know you to be Aucassin, the son of the Count; and if you will tell me why you weep, I will tell you why I am here. "'I will tell thee willingly, answered Aucassin. 'This morning I came to hunt in the forest; I had a white leveret, the fairest in the world; I have lost him that is why I am weeping. "'What! cried the man; it is for a stinking hound that you waste the tears of your body?
There slew he ten knights, and smote down seven, and mightily and knightly he hurled through the press, and charged home again, sword in hand." For that hour Aucassin struck like one of Mallory's men in the best of all romances. But though he took Count Bougars prisoner, his father would not keep his word, nor let him have one word or two with Nicolette, and one kiss.
The worlds of the Borgias, of Don Juan, and of the Russian war stand on the same level of reality. Aucassin and Nicolette are as near to me as Abelard and Heloise. For in relation to these persons my impulse is NIL. I submit to them, I cannot change or help them; and because I have no impulse to interfere, they are not vividly real to me.
We had agreed to leave our destination to chance. We read the sign-post. "Which shall we choose?" I said, "Aucassin, true love and fair, To what land do we repair?" "Don't you think this one," she replied, "this one? To the Moon!"
"Floriant and Florete" is another Arthurian tale, while "Aucassin and Nicolette," of unknown authorship, is a charming romance of love in Southern France and captivity among the Saracens. The life of the Troubadour forms a pleasing picture in the book of mediæval history.
Such a scene may be found depicted in miniatures, and suggests how such a story as “Aucassin and Nicolette,” and many another, partly in prose, partly in verse, was rendered. One such miniature shows a lady reclining on a couch, with a lordling seated beside her, the poet, with his small parchment leaflets, declaiming his story, the minstrel waiting to take up the theme in song.
A carriage with arms on its panels had stopped at the inn, and as a smart footman opened the door, a fine grey-headed military-looking man stepped out and strode hurriedly up the inn steps. "Aucassin," gasped Nicolete, "it is my father!" It was too true. The old man's keen eye had caught sight of Nicolete at the window also, and in another moment we were all three face to face.
Indeed by the side of "Parzifal" everything seems artistic; Hartmann von Aue reads like Chaucer, "Aucassin et Nicolette" is as living as "Cymbeline," "Chevy Chase" seems as good as the battles of Homer.
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