King Pepin, at her side, with courtesy continued
To ask about King Flor, his welfare and his wishes:
“Your Highness,” she replied, for she was wise and willing,
“My husband, thank the Lord, is well and full of vigour.
1980 But if he knew I’d find my daughter on her sickbed,
So ill and still of limb she has not even risen
To welcome me, his joy would vanish in an instant –
For he loves Bertha more than any person living!”
“My lady, fret no more,” King Pepin said, “I bid you!
Please God above, I’m sure that she’ll recover quickly.
When you are at her door, her pain will vanish swiftly.
On seeing you, her joy will banish all her sickness!”
The town, as in they rode, looked very grand and pretty:
Fine ladies, richly dressed, looked out from every window,
1990 And all the street was swathed in flags of silk or linen.
On every side they gazed at whom their King had with him,
And silently they raised a spate of maledictions
Against her, out of hate for Bertha and her imposts!
Before the marble hall dismounting from her stirrups,
Queen Blancheflor was led, by Pepin’s hand, within it.
Margiste ran up at once, with tears upon her visage:
To feign her woe, her nails had scratched her cheeks a little,
She darted up as one whom grief had driven witless,
Then fell, as in a swoon, before her former mistress.
2000 The queen saw who it was and went at once to lift her.
She held her in her arms, and, also weeping, kissed her:
“Margiste, where is my girl? Please take me there this instant.”
“Ah, woe is me, my queen,” the crone said, in a whisper,
“That you should find my ward in such a sad condition!
But ever since she heard the word about your visit,
Because she has desired so long to have you with her,
The tide of her delight has flooded so her spirits
That it has overwhelmed her gentle body’s limits
And cast her in a swoon from which she hasn’t risen.
2010 Please, let her rest in bed until it’s time for dinner.”
On hearing this, the queen agreed to do as bidden.
She left the hall and went to rooms most finely fitted–
But she was so disturbed she took no pleasure in them.
The crone returned at once, not waiting for a minute,
Within the gloomy room that held Aliste well hidden
By cloth of gold and silk suspended post to pillow!
KING PEPIN TRIED his hardest to solace and to cheer
The heavy heart that burdened the bosom of the queen.
“By good St Vincent’s body,” she answered. “noble liege,
2020 “When I farewelled my husband we hoped and had agreed
That I would try my utmost to bring back home with me
A son of yours and Bertha’s, with your goodwill and leave,
So while we lived the loss of our daughter would be eased,
And when we died he’d govern as king of Hungary.”
“My lady,” answered Pepin, “then do so, happily!
If that is what would please you, then that’s what I’ll decree.”
Said Blanchflor: “Your Highness, we thank you much indeed.”
When this was said the tables were laid with every speed,
And noble knights, four hundred, sat down with them to eat.
2030 The queen and her attendants were fêted at the feast,
But she was keen to finish, and soon arose to leave,
Then rushed to where her daughter, or so she thought, would be.
At once Margiste jumped forward and seized her arm to speak:
“By good St Clément’s body, my lady, if you please:
I’ve told the queen your daughter that you would not be here
Until the night had fallen, so she could rest in peace.
Go back a while, I beg you – her sleep has been too brief!”
The queen, who meant no trouble, replied: “Most willingly.
I swear by God Almighty, I won’t disturb her sleep.
2040 But know that I shall stay here: I certainly won’t leave
Until I’ve seen my daughter, who is so fair to see,
And kissed her, very softly, upon her lovely cheek.”
On hearing her intention, Margiste was far from pleased,
And thought her heart would shatter, it pounded so with fear.
May God, Who made the Heavens, confound her wicked scheme!
SO, JUST OUTSIDE the room to which Aliste was keeping,
Beneath a leafy tree, upon the lovely greensward,
Sat Blancheflor the queen, and waited there to see her.
With sorrow and with dread her heavy heart was beating.
2050 God! If she only knew the torment and the evil
Her child had really borne, that good and gentle creature,
At either servant’s hands, in their conniving treason,
And simple Tybert’s too, who, all this time, was seeking
To quell the welling fear that young Aliste was feeling!
May God above ensure they earn in full and equal
The payment they deserve for all their double dealing!
THE QUEEN SAT on the greensward, beneath a leafy ledge.
She called the crone towards her – as hell will in the end!
Margiste obeyed the summons with very hasty steps.
2060 “By St Marcel, I’m after the truth!” the monarch said.
“Whose evil game has sullied my daughter’s name so well
That young and old revile it throughout this noble realm?
I am appalled to learn it, for you must know yourself
That a detested woman is like a tarnished gem!”
“I swear,” the crone responded, “that that is not correct!
A curse on all and any who’ve said this of the best
Of women on whose finger a wedding-ring is set!
In all she does my Bertha is full of mirthful jest!”
QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR herself was in no mood for jesting,
2070 And thought of something else that she had meant to question:
“Where is your girl Aliste, as fair herself as Bertha?”
“My lady, here’s the truth: my lovely daughter perished
Quite suddenly one day when riding out for pleasure.
Her jaw had ached a while, as if it were infected.
If she had lived, she may have ended life a leper.
You can be sure my heart was broken at her deathbed,
For she was quick of wit and good of heart and merry.
Beside an ancient church I had her body buried
In secret, so that none should know the way she ended.”
2080 She told the queen this lie, by whom it was accepted –
But it would not be long before the wrong was reckoned!
Queen blancheflor was thwarted, for two whole days and nights,
From visiting the daughter she thought was hers, inside,
As old Margiste and Tybert, a curse upon their kind,
Found one way or another of putting off the time.
But then, as night was falling – the third since she’d arrived –
Queen Blancheflor decided, whose patience had expired,
That she must see her daughter, and wouldn’t be denied.
And so, in spite of Tybert, on lookout all the time,
&
nbsp; 2090 A noble maid, whom Pepin had nurtured from a child,
Obtained a key, God bless her, and led the queen inside.
She also lit a candle to light their way a while,
But, as she did, a cudgel attacked her from behind
So viciously she bled on the bedroom’s shiny tiles:
“Away with you, young hussy!” they heard its wielder cry,
“The queen’s not finished sleeping, and cannot stand the light!”
On hearing this, the maiden feared greatly for her life,
And ran away as quickly, and far, as she could fly.
She knew Margiste had spoken, and she had felt her spite!
2100 Queen Blancheflor was angry, but such was her desire
To see at last her daughter she let the matter lie,
And, coming to the bedside, put forth her hand of white.
“Most welcome here, good mother!” she heard a voice reply,
So feebly that she scarcely could hear as it inquired:
“How does my noble father? God bless his worthy life!”
“I left him well and happy,” Queen Blancheflor replied.
She heard another whisper: “Thank God for that!” it sighed.
“Alas, I cannot greet you as well as I would like –
And that itself so hurts me it makes me want to die,
2110 Unless I can recover and welcome you aright!”
ALISTE WAS FILLED with fear beyond my skill’s describing.
She shook from head to foot, her look was far from smiling,
As constantly she squirmed and tried her best to hide it.
Said Blancheflor: “My heart is cleft apart inside me!
I cannot see you well, yet dearly I desire to!”
“Good mother,” said the girl, “my sickness has so blighted
My skin that it’s so thin and sallow any lighting,
So all the doctors say, will burn it up entirely!
The best for me, they say, is total rest and silence.
2120 I dare not raise my voice, or visage, any higher!
My heart goes out to you, and father, so contritely
I don’t know what to do; I fear I may be dying.
Good mother, let me rest! God bless you for your kindness!”
QUEEN BLANCHEFLOR, on hearing this speech as it was made,
Could see she wasn’t wanted – except to go away!
The sorrow pierced her bosom and broke her heart in twain:
“So help me, God Almighty, Who never lies,” she wailed,
“This cannot be my daughter in this benighted place!
By St Rémi, if Bertha had one foot in the grave,
2130 She’d rise up on the other and welcome my embrace!”
On thinking this, she rose up, at once and in a rage,
Flung back the heavy portal to Bertha’s room half-way,
Then called upon her escort, still standing there in wait:
“Good men of mine, attend me! I swear upon my faith
I haven’t found my daughter! Our trust has been betrayed –
But now, by God Almighty, I’ll learn their lying game!”
Beside the door, young Tybert himself was deathly pale
As Blancheflor rushed forward without the least delay!
Inside her daughter’s chamber, she tore down all the drapes,
2140 The cloths of gold and curtains in which the room was swathed:
“For love of God, my lady,” Margiste the crone exclaimed,
“Have pity on your daughter – she’s hasn’t slept for days!”
The queen replied: “Be silent! I’ll not heed you again!”
And flung the windows open with her companions’ aid.
When Tybert and his kinsmen could see their cards were played,
You don’t need me to tell you if they were sore afraid!
The queen approached the bedside and scanned the maiden’s face.
At once she seized the covers, with both her hands, and raked
The sheets away, revealing the traitor where she lay.
2150 She saw her feet were normal – and thought her heart would break!
Aliste snatched up a blanket and tried to run away,
But Blancheflor caught hold of her golden hair that day
And flung her to the floorboards before she could escape.
Then everybody entered, on hearing the affray,
And parted the combatants, which gave Aliste the space
To find another bedroom – and kinder hands, I’d say!
“O trickery most wicked!” Queen Blancheflor exclaimed.
“This queen is not my daughter, alas and lackaday!
This is Aliste, the daughter of old Margiste the maid!
2160 This pair has slaughtered Bertha, whose love for me was great!”
The tidings sped to Pepin of what had taken place,
And hearing them, he hurried to clarify the same,
Attended very closely by every lord of state,
Their faces clearly showing the shock they had sustained.
THE FACE OF Blancheflor showed plainly more than anguish!
As Pepin came in sight, with streaming eyes she stammered:
“Fine monarch, where’s my child, so debonair of manner,
So courtly and so kind? Her mind was bred and fashioned
With every care to be the most refined and happy!
2170 I’ll lose my own, unless you’ve news of what has happened:
The woman in this bed was not the one you married,
Not Bertha, but Aliste, my serving-maid, God damn her!
Pursue the beast at once, before she flees the palace,
And make sure that Margiste, who bore the whore, is captured!”
On saying this, she swooned, and Pepin moved to catch her,
As in the vaulted room he wept in full compassion –
For he could understand how the exchange was managed,
How Bertha had been tricked, betrayed and made to vanish:
The treachery was clear, the evidence was damning.
2180 The queen was in a swoon, and tended by her landsmen,
While Pepin staggered too, in sadness close to madness.
“Ah, Bertha mine!” he cried, “My debonair companion!
How poor a lord I’ve been to leave you so abandoned!
I swear, by Mary’s Son, that every malefactor
Who has betrayed your trust, shall suffer for their malice!
When Tybert took away the mad-girl with the dagger
I’m sure now it was you, caught grabbing at its handle.
Aliste deceived us both – but with her mother’s planning –
And Tybert seized your life, by hunter’s knife or hanging!
2190 I swear, before they burn tomorrow’s compline candles,
All three of them shall learn the folly of their actions.”
THE KING WAS RED with anger, his body fit to burst,
His heart so full of sorrow it drove his wits berserk.
So much he pitied Bertha there’s nowhere on this earth
He’d not have gone to find her, if knowing where to search.
Four soldiers of his choosing he summoned with the words:
“Arrest Margiste the traitor! By scrawny arm or skirt
Deliver her before me! The best shall do his worst!”
The angriest was happy when this command was served.
2200 “Old woman,” thundered Pepin, “whoever taught you first
That cunning was a blessing, has made your name a curse!
Whoever taught you treason made wicked cunning worse!
By Jesus Christ our Saviour, I swea
r that you shall burn!”
On hearing this, she shuddered – though terror held her firm!
With this exchange he left her, and, striding forth, returned
Inside the hall, where, calling in ringing tones, he urged
Each baron that was in there to gather and confer.
When all of them came forward King Pepin’s voice affirmed
That it was fitting justice for Margiste to be burned.
2210 “Indeed,” agreed the barons, “but firstly we should learn
What’s happened to Queen Bertha – who better knows than her?
Was Bertha drowned, unburied, or murdered and interred?”
“Yes, we must know,” said Pepin, “exactly what occurred.”
Again the crone was summoned – with this they all concurred –
And Pepin, as he saw her, bemoaned his pain and cursed
Whoever first had chosen Margiste for Bertha’s nurse.
MARGISTE, now she was caught, stood sullen, sad and nervous.
The day itself was dark, with bolts of thunder bursting.
The King stood in his hall, by walls of gold encircled.
2220 The crone stood there alone – at first – although I’m certain
Aliste will join her soon, her daughter, known as Bertha
Through all of France, although not in Valgiste, her birthplace!
“Old woman,” cried the King, “for what benighted purpose
Did you betray your ward, who never harmed or hurt you?
You knew it was Aliste who lay with me, not Bertha!
The weight of Satan’s hate lies heavy on your person:
Why do you not confess and lessen thus its burden –
So, with your body’s death, your soul may sojourn further!
I’m sure you planned it all – the treason and the murder.”
2230 MARGISTE WAS CAUGHT already; her daughter followed soon,
With Tybert, their young kinsman, until the evil news
Of their most cunning treason was known the city through.
“Dear God,” said all the people, “Why did You let them do
Such wickedness and give them the pleasures of its fruit?
And how could they have hidden so long the awful truth?
Fine Monarch, make them suffer as much as each is due.
If you show any pity, then who will pity you?”
“You’re right, indeed,” said Pepin, whose heart was good and true.
Heroines of the French Epic Page 55
