Aucassin and Nicolete — Themes and Context
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The catalog record for Aucassin and Nicolete — Themes and Context provides practical reading context through 16,990 words, 1 hr 14 min estimated reading time, and 2 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 24.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Romances -- Translations into English,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
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Read the Text
Aucassin was of Biaucaire Of a goodly castle there, But from Nicolete the fair None might win his heart away Though his father, many a day, And his mother said him nay, "Ha! fond child, what wouldest thou? Nicolete is glad enow! Was from Carthage cast away, Paynims sold her on a day! Wouldst thou win a lady fair Choose a maid of high degree Such an one is meet for thee." "Nay of these I have no care, Nicolete is debonaire, Her body sweet and the face of her Take my heart as in a snare, Loyal love is but her share That is so sweet."
Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:
When the Count Garin de Biaucaire knew that he would avail not to withdraw Aucassin his son from the love of Nicolete, he went to the Captain of the city, who was his man, and spake to him, saying:
"Sir Count; away with Nicolete 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 dubbed 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 Captain, "this is grievous to me that he comes and goes and hath speech with her. I had bought the maiden 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 honourably. 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."
"Have a heed to thyself," said the Count Garin, "thence might great evil come on thee."
So parted they each from other. Now the Captain was a right rich man: so had he a rich palace with a garden in face of it; in an upper chamber thereof he let place Nicolete, 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 let seal the door, that none might come in or go forth, save that there was one window, over against the garden, and strait enough, where through came to them a little air.
Nicolete as ye heard tell Prisoned is within a cell That is painted wondrously With colours of a far countrie, And 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 the vaulted chamber cell, Hard beset and all alone! By our Lady Mary's Son Here no longer will I wonn, If I may flee!
Then speak they, say they, tell they the Tale:
Nicolete was in prison, as ye have heard soothly, in the chamber. And the noise and bruit of it went through all the country and all the land, how that Nicolete was lost. Some said she had fled the country, and some that the Count Garin de Biaucaire had let slay her. Whosoever had joy thereof, Aucassin had none, so he went to the Captain of the town and spoke to him, saying:
"Sir Captain, what hast thou made of Nicolete, my sweet lady and love, the thing that best I love in all the world? Hast thou carried her off or ravished her away from me? Know well that if I die of it, the price shall be demanded of thee, and that will be well done, for it shall be even as if thou hadst slain me with thy two hands, for thou hast taken from me the thing that in this world I loved the best."
Andrew Lang's translation of Aucassin and Nicolete preserves a rare medieval form: the cante-fable, which alternates prose narrative with sung verse laisses. The sole surviving manuscript, as Lang notes, escaped the waves of time, leaving us a work that is neither pure romance nor fabliau but something deliberately hybrid. The translator's introduction draws attention to the author's originality, yet the excerpts themselves show a tale steeped in convention—recurrent epithets, formulaic exchanges, and a hero whose single-minded pursuit of love drives the action.
What emerges from the text is a story less concerned with courtly ideals than with the physical and emotional extremes of desire. Aucassin, when he hears shepherds describe a mysterious maid, immediately abandons himself to a frantic ride through the forest, his flesh torn by thorns, his blood marking the grass. The narrator's matter-of-fact tone—'Think ye not that the thorns him spared'—underscores a world where love is a kind of wound, and the beloved is both real and elusive.
The Cante-Fable Form and Its Effects
Lang's introduction emphasizes that the alternation of prose and verse is the tale's defining structural feature. In the excerpts, this alternation creates a rhythm of action and reflection. The prose passages advance the plot—Aucassin rides, speaks with shepherds, searches—while the verse laisses crystallize emotion into song. When Aucassin hears the shepherds' song, he responds not by demanding information but by asking them to 'say the song again.' The verse becomes a kind of incantation, summoning Nicolete's presence.
The form also allows the narrator to shift registers. The prose is direct, even blunt: 'Aucassin fared through the forest from path to path after Nicolete, and his horse bare him furiously.' The verse, by contrast, is lyrical and repetitive, with refrains like 'Nicolete the fair, the dear.' This juxtaposition prevents the story from settling into either pure romance or pure realism, keeping the reader aware of the tale's artifice.
Love as Physical Ordeal
The excerpts repeatedly link love to bodily suffering. Aucassin's ride through the forest is described in visceral detail: thorns tare his raiment, blood sprang from his arms and legs 'in forty places, or thirty.' Yet he feels no pain, so absorbed is he in thoughts of Nicolete. This is not courtly love as refined sentiment; it is a force that annihilates physical sensation. The narrator's precision—'forty places, or thirty'—adds a note of clinical observation that undercuts any idealization.
Nicolete, though absent from these passages, is the cause of this ordeal. The shepherds describe her as 'the fairest thing in the world,' a fay whose presence makes the wood shine. But she also gives them gold and cakes, a practical figure who arranges for Aucassin to be directed toward a 'beast' that will heal his torment. Love here is not a metaphor but a literal sickness requiring a cure, and the beloved is both agent and remedy.
Voice and Social Hierarchy in the Shepherd Scene
The encounter with the shepherds is one of the most fully realized scenes in the excerpts. The shepherds speak in a distinct, colloquial voice: 'foul fall him who will sing it again for you, fair sir!' They refuse Aucassin's request not out of malice but because they have given an oath. Their leader is described as 'he that had more words to his tongue than the rest,' a phrase that marks him as a character, not a mere type.
Aucassin's address to them—'Fair boys'—is a formula Lang compares to Homer's 'αμυμων,' a courtesy that ignores social rank. Yet the shepherds assert their independence: 'we be not your men, but the Count's.' They will take his money but not break their word. This small negotiation reveals a world where even the lowest have agency, and where the hero's authority is not absolute. The scene ends with Aucassin accepting a 'plain tale' instead of a song, a choice that underscores his desperation and the tale's preference for direct speech over ornament.
Readers approaching Aucassin and Nicolete should attend to the interplay between its two modes: the prose that drives the narrative forward and the verse that suspends it in lyric moments. The tale's humor and pathos often arise from the gap between conventional forms and the raw emotions they contain. Lang's translation, with its archaic diction and occasional awkwardness, preserves the texture of the original without smoothing it into modern fluency. This is a work that rewards attention to its peculiarities—its repetitions, its abrupt shifts, its refusal to be merely charming.
I have always loved how Aucassin’s folly and Nicolete’s cunning dance together, a wilful rhyme against reason. It reminds me of another wooden-headed, stubborn soul who nonetheless finds his way home. Both tales chuckle softly at their heroes yet forgive them, like old friends. The Adventures of Pinocchio — Key Ideas to Explore carries that same gentle irony, a warmth I find myself returning to after all these years.
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