Heroines of the French Epic

by Newth, Michael A. H. ;

  “Young Tybert’s back shall batter the stony highway smooth!”

  2240 THE CRIMINALS surveyed the ruins of their future:

  As, thoroughly, the plot they’d planted was uprooted,

  They knew the payment due from everyone who grew it!

  “Old woman,” cried the crowd, “ how could you think to do it,

  To make your daughter queen by wicked substitution

  Of her for Pepin’s wife, of treachery for duty?

  You’ve slain our rightful queen and brought our land to ruin!

  Your punishment must plumb the depths of your collusion!

  Dear God, why did You not expose the traitors sooner?

  Queen Blancheflor, the flower of charity and beauty,

  2250 Delivered them from thrall and poverty’s ill usage:

  How could they ever bite her loving hand so cruelly?”

  THE KING OBSERVED the women and Tybert at his feet.

  His heart, a-brim with nothing but hatred for all three,

  First overspilled its anger upon the crone Margiste:

  He told the guards to seize her and crush her thumbs beneath

  The screws, until the torment was such that she would plead

  To make a full a confession – and so it was indeed:

  “Ah Pepin, mighty Monarch, for pity’s sake,” she screamed,

  “Release me and I’ll tell you the whole of it in brief!”

  2260 Without delay he ordered her thumbs to be released,

  And there, where all could hear it, her evil was revealed,

  The treachery, the treason, the trickery most mean

  That from the very outset she’d practised on them each.

  She also made confession of her intent and scheme

  To poison noble Pepin and Blancheflor the queen

  With venom that she’d purchased to put inside their meals.

  Her punishment, by burning, was justly set and sealed,

  As Tybert sprang before them and hastily appealed:

  “I swear by good St Vincent, my lord and king,” he squealed,

  2270 “I did not murder Bertha – and that’s the truth, my liege!

  I could have, and I would have – I will not lie at least –

  But Sergeant Morant stopped me! He stayed my hand indeed.”

  Then Tybert told how Morant had swiftly intervened

  To stop him killing Bertha, and set the maiden free

  Inside the Mansel forest, alone among the trees.

  “I think she must have perished, for where we left her teemed

  With savage boars and lions, and bears that, so I hear,

  Attack in packs, devouring whatever they can see.”

  And then Tybert recounted how his three men and he

  2280 Had cut a wild-pig’s heart out, and feigning this to be

  Fair Bertha’s own had shown it to Margiste and Aliste.

  He told them next how tightly and painfully the Queen

  Had been restrained and covered – so nobody would hear

  The many cries she uttered or heavy sighs of grief –

  And how she had been beaten and struck continually.

  He too confessed completely what his intent had been.

  On hearing this, for pity the court began to weep.

  And then Aliste came forward – a curse on her deceit!

  “My lord,” she said to Pepin, “I’m sure you clearly see

  2290 That none of this was started or even done by me!

  Margiste, my evil mother, began it all, and we –

  Tybert and I, are victims of her insanity!

  Dear God, Who dwells in Heaven, made Hell for such as she!”

  FOR LOVE OF their true Queen, fair Bertha, all the people

  Within the town were sad, and, maddened by their grieving,

  Raised up a pyre themselves, of thorny wood and piercing,

  Whose smoking pile they poked to keep it burning fiercely

  Until Margiste could share the warmness of their feeling!

  And she deserved to meet the fate that she was meted,

  2300 For traitors shouldn’t live to profit from their treason,

  And she had laboured hard, and never loath, at evil.

  How many handsome youths were seen that morning weeping

  For lovely Bertha’s sake – and that’s the truth, believe me!

  They fetched the crone and cast the wretch who had deceived them

  Among the flames to scourge and purge the putrid creature.

  On seeing this, Aliste felt suddenly so fearful

  She fainted in a swoon upon the ground beneath her.

  WHEN OLD MARGISTE had perished, young Tybert, bound in cords,

  Was dragged along the high street till he was red and raw,

  2310 Then strung upon a gibbet and swung at Montfaucon.

  King Pepin’s highest nobles had stepped aside to talk:

  “Your Majesty,” they chorused, “although the choice is yours,

  It cannot be disputed that kings must act for all.

  We think it would be wiser to spare Aliste, my lord,

  And so we would advise you to spare her from the sword

  And let her live as long as the will of God accords.

  For she remains the mother to princes of your loins:

  Their welfare is your duty: this cannot be ignored.

  But we are just as certain, although the choice is yours,

  2320 That she should be forbidden to speak with you henceforth,

  Or live with you, or any but God and her remorse!”

  On hearing this, King Pepin began to sigh: “My lords!

  I swear, by good St Omer, the sin that she has wrought

  Is one that she should pay for by stoning till she falls!

  But I respect the justice and wisdom of your thoughts.”

  On hearing of their judgment, the maiden praised the Lord,

  And asked to be escorted to Pepin in the hall.

  As soon as she was taken, she saw him and implored:

  “For love of God in Heaven, please favour me once more,

  2330 And send me to Montmartre, to spend my days employed

  In singing and in reading inside its convent-walls!

  You also owe me something, my noble, gracious lord,

  For love of your own children, the children I have borne.

  Allow me, then, a portion of all the wealth I’ve stored,

  And I shall see their marriage and future are assured.

  Make men of them, Your Highness, then knight them with your sword,

  For they are both your children – of that you can be sure!”

  The King did not refuse her, but granted what she sought –

  And so, I as I have told you, this matter ran its course.

  2340 Aliste arranged for sumpters and wagons big and small

  To carry to Montmartre the wealth she had purloined,

  Of purest gold and silver. So mighty was the hoard,

  Increased with other riches beyond my knowledge or

  Beyond the wit of any to tally now, my lords,

  It took a week of labour to stack and pack it all!

  IN PEPIN BEAT a heart by nature very royal.

  No Emperor or king was more benign or loyal.

  The loss of his true wife oppressed him very sorely

  As he consoled the queen, whose spirit was in torment,

  2350 Her mother’s heart distraught for her beloved daughter:

  “Alas, what will he say, your father, who adores you,

  Who sent you here so fair, so charming and so joyful,

  So careless of your wealth, so caring for the poo
rer!

  Now Flor has lost his son and both his daughters also:

  May God, if so He wills, Who governs mortal fortune,

  Direct your lovely souls to bide with Him henceforward.

  I shall return to Flor before the light of morning.”

  BY BLANCHEFLOR the Lady, so fair of hair and face,

  Sat Pepin, deep in sorrow and brooding thought the same.

  2360 The people of his kingdom were angry that the maid

  Would not be made to smoulder or moulder in her grave.

  Queen Blancheflor, determined to leave for her domain,

  Prepared for her departure without the least delay.

  Whatever she requested King Pepin did or gave

  With courtesy and caring that nobody could blame.

  And so, the coming morning, with dawn about to break,

  Queen Blancheflor was settled upon a litter placed

  Between two harnessed palfreys of noble strength and race:

  She couldn’t ride, for sorrow had drained her strength away.

  2370 What loud and heavy curses the population laid

  Upon Aliste the servant, whose evil had betrayed

  Their noble monarch Pepin and turned their happy state

  Into a land abandoned to poverty and hate.

  “The curse of God attend her each hour of every day,

  And fall upon her children, Prince Rainfroi and Hardré!”

  Queen Blancheflor left Paris through Saint-Denis that day:

  Until Senlis King Pepin attended her with grace,

  Then left her on the morrow, his bitter sorrow plain.

  QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR returned, her heart in desperation:

  2380 “Ah, woe is me,” she cried, “dear Mother of our Saviour!

  Bertha! My lovely child! How gentle was your nature,

  How sweet to one and all, how full of grace and favour!

  What awful news I bring! How ever shall I say it

  To him who’s loved you best since you were just a baby?

  I know he’ll tear away his beard of grey and sable.

  When he discovers who, and how they have betrayed you,

  There’ll be no sadder man from Frisia to Asia.

  My heart, stop beating now – – alas, you disobey me!

  By St Denis, I swear the joy in life you gave me

  2390 Will not return until the Judgement Day awakes me.

  I’d rather die than live with woe there’s no escaping.”

  THE RETINUE continued, not wishing to abide.

  Through many lands they journeyed, through forests tall and wide,

  With Blancheflor to care for, whose sadness never died.

  With dogged steps they travelled from dawning day till night

  Until they reached their homeland upon the day assigned

  To celebrate St John’s Day, a holy day and high.

  They met the king, whose manner, as soon as they arrived

  And told him of his daughter, was altered in a trice.

  2400 With tears upon their faces, the parents’ arms entwined,

  But neither spoke in greeting; so heavily they sighed

  They swooned upon the courtyard in sorrow out of mind.

  Their subjects ran towards them and helped the pair to rise.

  What grieving gripped the people, both young and old alike!

  “What curse has come upon us, dear God,” the monarch cried,

  “That we should thus be robbed of our one remaining child?

  Your will be done, however, Whose wisdom is Divine:

  My Lord, this heavy fortune is mine by Your design.

  I know and praise Your virtue. All powerful and kind,

  2410 Your purpose will be patent when time and I are ripe.”

  WHEN BLANCHEFLOR returned with her unhappy tidings

  Of Bertha’s sad abuse, the news of it went flying

  Across the town and sent the people into riot:

  They tore their hair apart, they smote their bosoms wildly:

  Their king was so distraught they thought that he was dying,

  And Blancheflor their queen lay fever-struck beside him.

  The city streets were filled with weeping and repining.

  “If Bertha’s lost,” they sighed, “our loveliest and brightest,

  Dear God, this is a shock and shame beyond abiding!

  2420 Before she left our land her loving hand had lightened

  The burdens of the poor, whom freely she provided

  With better clothes and shoes, from wealth she held in private.

  May God, Who moves the clouds, rain curses on the viper

  Aliste for what she’s done, and on Margiste and Tybert,

  Who’ve robbed us of the joy in which our land delighted.

  But may He bless the soul of Bertha, who was finer

  Than any other maid the world has every sighted!”

  IN HUNGARY the people were overcome with grief

  At losing lovely Bertha; so precious had she been,

  2430 So kind on all occasions, so courteous and sweet

  That they had always called her ‘The Debonair’ indeed.

  I swear I couldn’t tell you, not in a day or week,

  How much the Magyar people were stricken and bereaved,

  Or the degree of grieving that everywhere was seen.

  Queen Blancheflor, in private, between her flowing tears,

  Told noble Flor the details, the wicked ways and means

  By which Margiste had managed her treacherous deceit.

  Omitting naught, she told him how she had placed Aliste

  In Bertha’s bed the night of King Pepin’s marriage-feast.

  2440 How Bertha had been taken by Tybert, well concealed

  And bound: he’d even gagged her so hard she couldn’t speak.

  How he had planned to slay her in woodland dark and deep,

  And would have if good Morant and two more of his peers

  Had not restrained his weapon, God bless their chivalry!

  How in the Mansel forest they’d set fair Bertha free –

  But to the thrall and threat of its denizens of beasts.

  Each word he heard incited King Flor the more to weep

  And wail anew in pity and anguish unrelieved.

  Their hearts a-brim with sadness, it’s time for us to leave

  2450 That grieving pair of parents, the Magyar king and queen,

  To cry and sigh with sorrow at Bertha’s destiny,

  While we return to Pepin, whose visage burned with zeal.

  When Blancheflor had left him, and he had left Senlis,

  With weeping eyes they’d parted and wishes of ‘Godspeed’,

  And he’d returned to Paris, that admirable seat.

  As soon as he’d arrived there he’d asked at once to see

  Good Morant and his comrades; he’d made it very clear

  That they should come directly; and so they had indeed,

  With willing hearts, for Bertha, whose plight had sorrowed each.

  The Fourth Geste – Bertha restored

  2460 “Now, Mōrant, hear me out!” said Pepin to his liegeman.

  “You stood beside my wife when Tybert’s hand had seized her:

  I know she would have died if yours had not released her.

  I think she has become a victim of the greenwood,

  For if she were alive, by now we should have seen her.

  I want you nonetheless to breach again the reaches

  Of Mansel wood, and there to question all its people

  For any trace at all of Bertha having been there.

  Discover, if you can, if any chanced to meet her<
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  Or see her in the wood beyond the time you freed her.

  2470 I swear, by Mary’s Son, if you could but retrieve me

  Some little part of her, some stitch of clothing even,

  I’d cherish it above all other wealth, believe me:

  Each morning and each night I’d kiss and hold it near me!

  By God, Who makes the sky and dew, I do beseech you

  To try your best in this, and I’ll reward you dearly.”

  All three of them replied: “We’ll do our best to please you.”

  Indeed, they left at dawn upon the morn succeeding.

  It didn’t take them long, so keen they were and eager

  To reach the very spot – a great ravine was near it –

  2480 Where Bertha had been lost and they were last to see her.

  They found the very ground and fell upon it, weeping.

  They didn’t stay there long, but started round the region

  To seek for any clue of Bertha’s having been there.

  Soon everybody knew that Pepin’s men were seeking

  Fair Bertha, Queen of France, abandoned in their greenwood

  Some years ago, by hands that laboured now to greet her.

  They searched for fifteen days, but nothing brought them nearer

  To finding out the truth or proof of their bereavement.

  The word at last arrived in Simon’s little precinct,

  2490 Who told his wife about this royal disappearance.

  Constanzia was shocked, and pondered on it deeply.

  “BY ALL THE FAITH I owe you,” Constanzia replied:

  “This was the very manner, in circumstance and time,

  That you discovered Bertha, my lord, – am I not right?

  Let’s speak to her about it, directly, you and I.”

  “With all my heart,” said Simon, “we’ll do as you advise.”

  And so they summoned Bertha, when no one else was nigh,

  To meet with them in private and speak with them a while.

  The honest man addressed her as soon as she arrived,

  2500 And told her of the heartbreak, the cruelty and crime

  To which their monarch Pepin was victim and beguiled.

  “As clearly as I see you, right now, I know alike

  I saw you first the season that caused King Pepin’s plight.

  Fair Bertha, tell me truly if you are Pepin’s wife.”

  On hearing this, her conscience and heart were torn awry: