Heroines of the French Epic

by Newth, Michael A. H. ;

  And Blancheflor her mother, that paragon of love:

  “Ah, mother dear, if only you knew the treason done

  By your entrusted servants, what heavy tears would run!

  1440 The Lord to whom you gave me is rich and powerful –

  For it is God in Heaven, whose honesty is such

  He is the One and Only in Whom we all may trust.

  With all my heart I beg Him to guard you with His love

  And bless my noble father, the best of knighthood’s blood!”

  The Third Geste – Bertha vindicated

  LET’S TURN FROM Bertha now, who’s fled the woodland’s clutches

  Along a path that led to Simon’s house, the huntsman.

  There Simon and his wife, a worthy Christian couple,

  Lived sober, honest lives, and welcomed her among them.

  Before a dozen months, or even half that number,

  1450 Both Simon and his wife, their children and all others

  Who knew them, also knew the treasure they’d discovered

  In Bertha – so refined, so high of mind but humble

  She called the wife ‘madame’, and Simon ‘worthy uncle.’

  They cherished her for this, and showed they truly loved her

  By giving her respect, good company and comfort.

  Let’s turn to Pepin now, whose visage glowed with courage,

  And to that crone Margiste, who broke the faith entrusted

  To her and young Aliste – may both of them be punished!

  When Bertha had been seized from Pepin’s room and smuggled

  1460 By Tybert and his men – abandoned then to struggle

  Alone in Mansel woods, where every step was trouble –

  King Pepin had remained in Paris, doubting nothing.

  Be sure of this, my lords: he was a lusty husband,

  Who never doubted once his wife was the beloved

  Young daughter of a crown and not a crowing humbug!

  And so, with Bertha gone, he wasn’t long becoming

  The father of two sons, of whom Aliste was mother.

  The elder one, Rainfroi, was full of evil cunning,

  While Hadré was a false and jealous younger brother:

  1470 May God confound them both upon the Day of Judgement,

  For their desires condemned so many to destruction

  Through treachery they wrought and perjuries they uttered –

  As you will hear today, if I remain among you!

  The serving-maid Aliste, obeying the instructions

  The crone, her mother crooned, soon ruined France the lovely

  Through many harsh decrees that made the people suffer:

  Through taxes and through tolls imposed on them abruptly,

  Which overwhelmed the poor and ruined any number,

  Destroying many lives or leaving them with nothing.

  1480 In Paris, her ‘reforms’ have now become the custom:

  The city, from her spite, has never quite recovered –

  Its spirit’s not the same, they tell me, as it once was!

  The truth is, one can bind an evil thing to others

  That cannot be undone when legal strings have strung it!

  No priory there was, nor abbey in the country,

  From which she didn’t strip outrageous sums of money.

  And no one dared to stand against her grand injustice,

  For everybody feared her evil and her cunning.

  The more her daughter’s spite wrought havoc and corruption,

  1490 The more it brought delight and pleasure to her mother.

  THE FIRST-BORN son of Pepin, conceived by evil plot,

  As you have heard already, received the name Rainfroi.

  The second-born was Hardré – and both were ill-begot!

  On both occasions envoys were speedily sent off

  To Bertha’s noble parents, the wise and courtly Flor,

  And Blancheflor, his consort, whose hair, they say, was blond.

  The envoys were rewarded with horses rare of stock,

  And other wealth, whatever they wished for or could want.

  They always left directly, without remaining long,

  1500 Returning straight to Paris with laden cart and cottes.

  If only Flor had known that his daughter had been lost

  And left in Mansel forest, he’d not have been so fond!

  What’s more, another daughter, a duchess too she was,

  Grew sick, and died – then, truly, so did his only son,

  All this within a twelvemonth of Bertha having gone.

  King Flor had every reason to sorrow, did he not?

  His only other daughter was subsequently robbed

  Of every town and tower, and border-pass across

  Her dower-land by marriage – for she was heir thereof –

  1510 When Saxony was seized by the Pagan Justamont,

  Who claimed his clan had ruled there in centuries bygone!

  King Witikind the haughty succeeded him anon,

  His son and heir, whose hatred for Frenchmen never stopped,

  But spurred his wish to crush them and take their armies on

  In England, France and Flanders, Champagne and Orléans.

  To far Cologne he journeyed, committing many wrongs.

  In Saxony, unchallenged, his Pagan reign was long,

  Until the French and Germans regained the land for God.

  In this they were assisted by knights from Hurepoix,

  1520 Brabant and coastal Flanders, and gallant Ardenois:

  Enough of that, however, for that’s another song,

  And I must take you back to the one I started on!

  KING FLOR, you must agree, had every cause for sorrow:

  His elder daughter died, and then he lost Sir Godfrey,

  His son and heir, who held the mighty tower of Gossa.

  Young Bertha thus remained his only heir and offspring:

  God keep her safe, I say, wherever she may wander!

  My song returns to France, and wrongs imposed upon it,

  In everybody’s view, by Aliste the imposter,

  1530 Who took its wealth by stealth, or stole it like a robber

  In taxes and in tithes on workers in the forest.

  But no one spoke a word or stirred a limb to stop her,

  In case some person near informed on them for profit.

  THE REIGNING ‘QUEEN’ was dreaded throughout King Pepin’s realm,

  And hated more the further her evil edicts spread.

  On every trading merchant a heavy tax was set,

  And anyone heard grumbling, I swear this is correct,

  Was seized upon by Tybert and his brigade of men,

  Then thrown inside a prison to languish, till at length

  1540 He’d gladly pay the impost, so he could leave his cell.

  Indeed, the fate of many filled others so with dread

  They paid the money rather than run the risk instead

  Of dying in her prisons of torture or neglect.

  And so it was the traitors amassed enormous wealth –

  And Pepin let them do it, because he was obsessed

  With his beloved consort, and blinded to the rest.

  Indeed, whoever gazed on the one they thought he’d wed,

  Could not deny the beauty she outwardly possessed.

  But inwardly she rotted to such a foul extent

  1550 She went to church no longer and held God in contempt.

  Both she and her old mother, God shame the pair of them,

  And Tybert – once they’d found him and wound him in their web

  Of trea
son, spun to capture sweet Bertha’s innocence

  And then to kill their mistress – all three of them since then

  Had never once been able to stay till Mass’s end:

  The Lord would not allow them to stay there unconfessed –

  Though God above lets many pursue their wicked bent,

  He knows it, and He shows it in all its wickedness,

  For all the world to see it, before they meet their deaths,

  1560 And, meeting with their Maker, are evermore condemned.

  ALISTE THE JEALOUS maid – may God repay her envy –

  Enforced her will on France and ruthlessly subjected

  The land to every tax her avarice suggested:

  On candle-wax and spice, on cumin seed and pepper,

  On harvest-wheat and wine, upon so much and many

  I couldn’t name a thing or person she exempted,

  Nor could I give the sum of money she collected.

  I know it killed the poor or filled them with resentment,

  Although she laughed to see each grain of gain collected:

  1570 If she had had more sense, she would have wept, I tell you,

  For in the end her pain and loss were worse than any’s.

  ALISTE THE SCHEMING servant amassed her wealth in piles,

  From everywhere and any her avarice contrived,

  Destroying hearts and homesteads of humble folk and high.

  Her heart was set on riches, and all the time her mind

  Was filled with finding methods to prosper this desire,

  And any thought of honour was lost or tossed aside.

  So many evil taxes were loaded at this time

  On gentle France that many still burden people’s lives.

  1580 In Hungary, however, upon one Sunday night,

  The Monarch Flor was sitting inside his fortress fine

  With Blancheflor, his consort, who filled the hall with sighs

  For Bertha, whom she longed for, her one surviving child.

  “Fair lady,” said her husband, “no heir of yours and mine

  Remains but lovely Bertha – and now that she resides

  So far from us, my spirits are often low alike.

  I’d like to see young Hardré, our grandson, so that I

  Can leave to him my kingdom and all our wealth besides.

  If God the Lord Almighty will let him live and thrive,

  1590 He must be my successor – it can’t be otherwise.

  Let’s send a man to Pepin to see if he’ll comply.

  I’m sure the King will favour this wish of yours and mine.”

  “Your plan is good and cheering,” his noble wife replied.

  AND SO, ONE Tuesday morn – according to the writing –

  King Flor and Blancheflor sent off to France a rider:

  A man to whom they knew their task was well confided,

  An envoy tried and true, whose wits they could rely on

  To not become with drink so addled or so idle

  They’d lose the skill to think or to deliver rightly

  1600 The speech they’d memorized, in full or even slightly!

  This man prepared to go both speedily and wisely:

  The swarthy mule he chose was strong of limb and lively:

  The road it wouldn’t go would have to lead to Iceland!

  The envoy made for France, and lost no time in finding,

  At Tours upon the Loire, the King of France abiding.

  THE ENVOY, having readied himself in every way,

  Went forth to speak with Pepin without the least delay.

  On seeing him, he hailed him with courtesy and grace,

  And handed him a missive in Bertha’s parents’ name.

  1610 King Pepin broke its sealing and saw the scroll contained

  King Flor’s solicitation, and Blancheflor’s the same,

  To send to them Prince Hardré – for, as he’d find explained

  In documents they’d written to guarantee the claim,

  He now was their successor, the heir to their domains,

  Since all their own had perished, in truth, and none remained:

  Each one of them had gone to a very early grave,

  Except his daughter Bertha, so fair of form and face.

  When Pepin heard these tidings his sympathy was great,

  As, pondering his answer, he washed before he ate.

  1620 His men led off the envoy to visit straightaway

  The queen, the proud pretender – a curse upon her game!

  To her again he stated the message he conveyed

  And gave her, as requested, the proofs that appertained.

  When she had read the charters and truly ascertained

  That Flor the Magyar monarch had no successor save

  Her so-called self as Bertha –whose love had only gained

  By all their other losses – then instantly she feigned

  To sigh and weep. Her mother, Margiste, alike bewailed

  With lying sighs the losses her homeland had sustained.

  1630 But both of them, in private, enjoyed this turn of fate:

  Their hearts were void of honour of any kind, or faith.

  May God the Lord confound them, Whose Judgement Day awaits.

  They honoured much the envoy, and bidding him remain,

  They led him back to Pepin to dine with them in state.

  He stayed until the morning, and thought his aim attained.

  AT DAWN THE COMING morn, as soon as it was daylight,

  The envoy rose at once and went to join the faithful

  At great St Martin’s church, where Mass was celebrated.

  He left the ‘queen’ Aliste, when she had risen later:

  1640 Her mother, old Margiste, commended him and gave him

  A missive, sealed with wax, to take back to his patron.

  He left her as, again, she feigned her desolation,

  And then returned at once to Pepin, who was waiting.

  On seeing him, the King gave his decision, saying:

  “My friend, I wish you well and bid you travel safely.

  Convey to royal Flor and Blancheflor your lady,

  My greetings and my hope that better times await them,

  For, by the Virgin Maid, their troubles grieve me greatly –

  Although all things fulfil the will of God our Maker.

  1650 But, as concerns my son, I cannot grant their favour:

  His mother will not brook one day of separation!”

  The envoy saw at once the King’s determination

  And knew that nothing he or Flor could do would change it.

  And so he took his leave – indeed, with such impatience

  He spurred the swarthy mule to spurn the least delaying.

  In Hungary he told King Flor at once and plainly

  That none of Pepin’s sons would ever rule their nation,

  And that he’d have to find another to replace them.

  On hearing this, the king was angry and frustrated,

  1660 And Blancheflor the queen so sad and agitated,

  So stricken with distress, so sick at heart and taken

  With misery and loss she swayed and almost fainted.

  All Hungary indeed was very shocked and shaken.

  I KNOW YOU’VE HEARD it often – because it’s often said –

  That hidden crime and treason will surface in the end.

  Aliste and her old mother had plumbed corruption’s depth

  And caused their rightful mistress to suffer much distress.

  But God, Who is the provost and mayor of all offence,

  No longer could abide them, and moved to
their arrest!

  1670 Beware, my friends, of holding God’s judgment in contempt!

  Although our Lord lets many pursue their evil bent,

  He knows it and He shows them in all their ugliness

  For everyone to see them, and witness by their deaths

  That those who deal in evil will meet an evil end!

  QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR was born of a lineage unblemished,

  A woman firm in faith and full of good endeavour.

  One midnight, as she lay upon her bed, together

  With noble Flor, her lord, inside their royal bedroom,

  It seemed to her a bear approached her as she slept there,

  1680 A bear that ate her thigh and right arm to the elbow!

  And then an eagle came and perched upon her bed-head!

  She woke up with a start, her heart and body trembling

  So hard she couldn’t quell her overwhelming terror.

  Her thoughts were so awry she almost lost her senses.

  WHEN BLANCHEFLOR had woken, her mind was most distraught,

  And so she told her husband the nightmare she had borne.

  “By God on High,” she added, “Whose word is never false,

  I beg this favour of you, for love of me, my lord:

  This Easter let me journey to noble Pepin’s court

  1690 And see my lovely Bertha, the daughter I adore.

  If you do not allow me, my heart will break in four!”

  “My dear, by good St Rémi,” replied her husband Flor,

  “We two have never parted for anything before!”

  “For love of God, allow it!” his noble wife implored:

  “For eight years and a half now, indeed, for even more,

  Fair Bertha has not seen us, nor have we her at all.

  I fear we’ve little shown her our love or our support.”

  The king somewhat relented at this, and, as she talked,

  He finally consented to let her journey forth,

  1700 Upon this one condition: that if it could be wrought,

  She would, upon returning, bring one of Pepin’s boys.

  “My noble lord,” she promised, “I’ll do as you exhort:

  I shall return with Hardré or Rainfroi from the North.”

  “Then what you ask is granted, my lady,” answered Flor.

  WHEN BLANCHEFLOR received the favour she had sought for,

  The chance to go to France, it filled her with rejoicing.