Aucassin & Nicolette, and Other Mediæval Romances and Legends
General
Aucassin & Nicolette, and Other Mediæval Romances and Legends
French literature -- To 1500 -- Translations into English; Romances; Tales -- France; Tales, Medieval
"Miserable churl, when you held me fast in your rude hand, easy was it
to know that I was no larger than a sparrow or a finch, and weighed
less than half an ounce. How, then, could a precious stone, three
ounces in weight, be hid in my body? Now will I prove to you that of my
three secrets you understood not a single one. You asked me what man
was fool enough to weep over that which he had never lost, and even now
I watch your tears fall for a jewel which was never yours, nor will be
ever. You had faith in all that I was pleased to tell you, trusting all
you heard; and in your folly you flung the bird you held in hand
between your very feet. Fair friend, con over my three secrets, and
learn wisdom even from the counsel of a bird."
When he had spoken thus he took his flight, and from that hour the
orchard knew him no more. With the ceasing of his song the leaves
withered from the pine, the garden became a little dry dust, and the
fountain forgot to flow. Thus the rich villein lost his pleasaunce,
which once was fair beyond content. And remember well, fair lords and
dames, that truly speaks the proverb, "He who covet another's good, oft
loses his own," as we may learn from the "Lay of the Little Bird."
THE DIVIDED HORSECLOTH
Each owes it to his fellows to tell as best he may, or, better still,
to write with fair enticing words, such deeds and adventures as are
good and profitable for us to know. For as men come and go about their
business in the world, many things are told them which it is seemly to
keep in remembrance. Therefore, it becomes those who say and relate,
diligently and with fair intent to keep such matters in thought and
study, even as did our fathers before us. Theirs is the school to which
we all should pass, and he who would prove an apt scholar, and live
beyond his day, must not be idle at his task. But the world dims our
fine gold: the minstrel is slothful, and singers forget to sing,
because of the pain and travail which go to the finding of their songs.
So without waiting for any to-morrow, I will bring before you a certain
adventure which chanced, even as it was told to me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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