MACAIRE

12th Century Old French Chanson De Geste

Modern English Summary by Nol Drek 2024

MACAIRE SUMMARY:

We are going to tell a surprising story that happened in France a 
long time ago, after the deaths of Roland and Oliver. He was one 
of the traitors of the race of Mayence, he was Macaire who hatched 
the plot and through his felony caused the death of many a valiant 
knight.

	There has never been a more powerful sovereign in the world 
than the Emperor Charlemagne, nor one who took so much trouble and 
endured so much suffering to glorify the Christian faith. He was 
always victorious over the pagans, and no one in the world was more 
feared than he. He did not listen to childish advice, so he lived 
more than two hundred years, until the time when Guillaume and 
Bertrand came. His wife was the daughter of a powerful prince, the 
Emperor of Constantinople. The lady's name was Blanchefleur. She 
was beautiful, good, loyal, and of great sense.

	It was at the time that Charlemagne held plenary court in 
Paris. There were a number of dukes, princes, counts, sons, and 
vassals there. Ogier the Dane was there, and with him Duke Naimon, 
the emperor's wise advisor. There was no better man in his time 
than Duke Naimon, no other person did more for his lord.

	Macaire of Losane, as he was called, had done so much 
through his generosity that he was in favor at court, took his 
place at the king's table, and had a large part in his friendship. 
The traitor nonetheless formed the intention of shaming Charlemagne 
and getting with the queen, even if by force. Listen to the story. 
On the day of the feast of Saint Riquier, the noble lady was in her 
orchard, where she took pleasure with other ladies in listening to 
a song sung to the sound of the vielle. 

	Macaire appears, in the company of several knights, and 
soon he begins to court the queen. "Lady," he said to her, "you can 
boast of being the most beautiful of the beauties, and it is a true 
mortal sin for such a husband to have you in his power. If love 
united us, you and me, it would be a union like no other, well 
suited for tender embraces, caresses, and kisses."

	The queen hears him, looks at him and says to him laughing, 
"Sir Macaire, what are you telling me there? Are you trying to test 
me? A man as wise as you can have no other design."

	"Stop believing it, madam," replies Macaire. "There is no 
man in the world who loves you more than me. There is no pain that 
I am not ready to suffer to please you."

	With these words, the queen understands that it is not a 
game. "Macaire," she then said to him, "you do not know me. Know 
well that I would let all my limbs be cut off, and that I would 
consent to be burned alive so that my ashes would be thrown to the 
wind, rather than have a bad thought towards the king. If I ever 
hear such language from you, I will immediately tell my lord. 
Perverted man, you are so daring to speak like this about your 
master! If he knew about it, all the riches of the world would not 
save you from a shameful death. Leave me for now, and take care 
never to resume such a dialogue."

	Macaire hears this and walks away, ashamed and agitated 
with bad feelings.

	He thinks only of his guilty design. He thinks about it 
night and day, and if he does not achieve his goals he will count 
himself for nothing. But how to succeed? There was at court a 
wicked dwarf, much loved by the king and queen. Macaire went to him 
and said to him, "Dwarf, you were born at the right time. I will 
give you enough money to enrich you and yours if you will serve me 
as I please."

	"Order me," said the dwarf, "I am ready."

	"Good," Macaire continues, "This is what you will do. When 
you are near the queen, you will represent to her how beautiful I 
am, and what an unparalleled union ours would be, if she wanted to 
respond to my desires."

	"That is enough," says the dwarf, "When I am near the 
queen, I will tell her even better things."

	"Happy dwarf," Macaire continues, "you will receive from me 
enough money to enrich all your relatives!"

	"Have no fear," said the dwarf, and left him rejoicing. 

	Macaire, no less joyful, returns to his lodging.

	The dwarf never stops thinking about his message, and when 
Macaire meets him, he does not fail to instruct him. Finally, one 
feast day, the dwarf approaches the queen, goes to her bed in 
secret, and, according to his custom, begins to court her. The 
queen, who meant no harm, caresses him, flatters him with her hand, 
and he becomes emboldened to the point of speaking to her. He says, 
"I cannot understand, Madam, that you can love Charlemagne, who in 
matters of love is not worth a denier, and you are so beautiful, so 
beautiful that nothing more beautiful can be seen. If you will 
believe me, I know of a man worthy of you by his beauty, with whom 
you could have companionship. This man is Macaire, the brave, the 
valiant Macaire. If I succeed in uniting you, you will never tire 
of him and you will be able to boast of having the most beautiful 
lover that can be found."

	The lady hears him, looks at him and says to him, "Shut up, 
fool, and stop talking to me like that, because you will soon pay 
me dearly for it."

	"Stop yourself," replies the dwarf, "Stop thinking like 
that, Madam. A single kiss from Macaire would endear him to you so 
much that you could never prefer another."

	He says so much that he annoys the lady. She grabs him, 
pushes him, and throws him down the steps so roughly that his fall 
crushes his entire head. "Go away, you naughty bastard," she said 
to him, "and come back another time!" 

	Macaire was at the bottom of the stairs at this moment. He 
picks up the dwarf, has him taken away and bandaged. The dwarf 
spent eight days in bed, to the great astonishment of the court and 
the king himself who requested him. Macaire excuses him. "He fell," 
he says, "and crushed his head on a pillar, but it will not be long 
before he gets up and returns to court."

	The race of Mayence has always been a bad race. They made 
war against Renaud of Montauban, they betrayed Roland and Oliver, 
the twelve peers, and all their companions. Here they are now 
attacking the queen, and if this cursed generation does not shame 
Charlemagne, it will not be for lack of desire.

	After spending eight days in bed, the dwarf got up and 
reappeared with his head wrapped in compresses. Everyone laughed 
about it, and the king himself could not stop laughing. The dwarf, 
who was not a child, was careful not to tell anyone about his 
misadventure. From then on, he stood with the barons and never 
appeared again before the queen. She, however, does not stop asking 
for him, but he keeps himself cautious and aloof. For all the 
riches of the East, he would no longer entertain her or take her 
orders. As for the traitor Macaire, he is always in pain and always 
dreaming of evil. May God confound him!

	The felon, the lecher comes to the dwarf and says to him, 
"Dwarf, I care about the outrage you have suffered but, if you 
would do my will, I could take revenge on the queen. She would be 
burned alive."

	"I want nothing more," replies the dwarf. "If I could take 
revenge on her, I would never be as happy in my life. When I think 
of the way in which she threw me down the stairs, I am outraged 
with anger. I live and breathe only for vengeance."

	"Well," said Macaire, "consider this and display yourself. 
I have the means to avenge us both."

	"Speak," says the dwarf, "and I am ready to obey you, 
provided that it is not necessary to speak to her, because, at this 
time, I fear her more than a snake."

	"We will be careful," said Macaire. "The emperor has the 
habit of getting up every night before dawn to go to matins. When 
they are sung, he immediately returns to bed. If you want revenge, 
you must discreetly, without anyone hearing you, without anyone 
seeing you, go hide behind their bedroom door. When he gets up, you 
will come out and take off your clothes in front of his bed. Then 
you will have to lie down next to the queen. You are small, you 
will hide easily. When the emperor returns and sees you in his bed, 
he will be transported with anger, but he will not dare touch you. 
In his eyes, that would be a disgrace. He will call his own men, 
and when he questions you, you will boldly answer him that it was 
the queen who brought you near her, and not for the first time."


	"Leave it to me," said the dwarf. "I will carry it out 
better than you could advise me, and provided I get revenge, I will 
consider myself well rewarded."

	"Do not be afraid," Macaire continues, "I will be near you 
to defend you."

	"And you will act like a baron," said the dwarf. "At this 
point, enough talking. I know what I have to do."

	"Count on a nice reward," said Macaire. "You run no risk. 
To the king's questions, answer that it is the queen who has called 
you to her side many times. If he does not want to be covered with 
shame, he will burn her on a pyre of hawthorn trees."

	"I desire nothing so much," said the dwarf. And so, he 
follows the traitor's advice from point to point. 

	Charlemagne, returning from matins, casts his eyes towards 
the imperial couch. To his great surprise, he sees clothes on the 
bench and the dwarf's big head in his bed. He says nothing, but 
with rage in his heart, he leaves the room and goes to the great 
hall of the palace. There he found Macaire, who was already up, 
with a few other knights. "Come, lords," he said to them, "come and 
share my pain and my anger! Queen Blanchefleur, whom I loved so 
much, betrayed me for a dwarf. If you doubt it, come see the 
proof."

	He leads them to his room and shows them the dwarf. At this 
sight, the barons remain completely speechless. However, the queen 
wakes up, and, seeing herself thus surrounded, thus accused, she is 
seized with fear and cannot find the words to defend herself.

	"Lords," said Charlemagne, "what do you advise me?"

	It is Macaire who speaks first. "Good king," he said, "do 
not hold anything back, if you do not burn her, you will be shamed, 
and you will attract blame to us all, to you and yours." Listen to 
what the traitor did next.

	He addresses the dwarf and says, "Dwarf, how were you so 
daring as to come into this room? How did you get there and by 
whose will?"

	"By my faith, sire, I must tell you. I would never have 
entered this room, and never would have lain down in this bed, if I 
had not been called there by the queen, and not once, but fifty 
times." He thus repeats the lesson of Macaire, of the accursed 
renegade whom God confounds! 

	Charlemagne swears that the queen will be burned alive. As 
for her, bowed under shame, she does not dare raise her head, does 
not attempt to defend herself, and only laments.

	They seize her and lock her up. The dwarf is also locked up 
separately. The news soon spread throughout Paris, where everyone 
expressed great mourning. They deplore the misfortune of this 
queen, so pleasant, so good, who gave so much of herself to poor 
people, to landless knights, and clothed their women. Everyone 
prays to God to save her from the cruel torments with which she is 
threatened. The king himself could not help but pity her, for he 
loved her tenderly. But he did not think he could pardon her, 
because he was so afraid of incurring the blame. 

	Macaire is also always there urging him, pushing him to do 
justice. "Otherwise," he says, "know well that there will be one 
voice united against you, and that young and old will count you for 
nothing."

	The king's embarrassment is extreme. Most of the barons and 
especially those of Ganelon's race are relentless against the queen 
and demand her death. But he and others feel sympathy. However, he 
decides to put her on trial. He summons Richier, Duke Naimon, and 
other barons of great renown. Macaire is still there. May God damn 
him and all his race, because they never did anything but cause 
noise and quarrels! The traitor only speaks evil words. He 
reproaches the king for his deliberations, he does not forgive him 
for them. He says it is quite wrong for Charles to listen to Duke 
Naimon, he will only be ashamed and blamed, so much so that he will 
be made to sing songs by the little boys. 

	Naimon listens to him, his head bowed, full of pain and 
anger. He speaks in turn. "Noble king, listen to me, and may God 
shame me if I say anything that is not true! You ask for advice. I 
do not agree with those who are attacking Queen Blanchefleur. They 
are eager to judge her, but they do not think of her birth. If they 
knew what their speeches could lead to, they would keep silent and 
wait to judge the queen until her father gives his assent. She is 
the daughter of a powerful prince and you must think about that. 
The Emperor of Constantinople has many lands in his custody and can 
gather many men into arms. Do you think he will love you very much 
when he learns that his daughter has been so shamefully judged? 
Spare the queen, I advise you, until her father is informed of 
everything by a messenger whom you will send to him, so that later 
he will have no hold over you." 

	Thus speaks Duke Naimon, at the will of the king, who is 
about to accommodate this overture, when Macaire throws himself in 
the way. "Noble emperor," he said, "how can you listen to such 
advice? You must be very little loved to advise you to postpone the 
punishment of an affront that causes so much publicity. This is 
what I support, and if anyone dares to deny it, let him arm himself 
and mount a horse."

	When the king's advisors heard Macaire speaking in this 
tone, they were careful not to dispute anything with him. No one 
answers him. The king then understands that he must order judgment 
without delay. Duke Naimon sees him giving in, and walks away 
without saying more. He is going to leave the palace, but the king 
restrains him. He begs him not to fight against Macaire, but to 
stay, however, to see how things will end.

	The traitor wins and Charlemagne decides to judge the 
queen. He has her brought before him. The sight of her touches his 
emotions and he cannot hold back his tears.

	Blanchefleur, usually so fresh, has lost her bright colors. 
She is very pale and ashen. "Ah! noble king," she said, "How ill-
advised you were to thus put me on trial with great wrong and great 
sin! He who gave you this advice does not like you very much. I 
call God to witness that I have never failed or damaged your honor, 
that I never even had the thought of it."

	"Vain words!" said the king. "You have been caught in 
mortal sin, and all excuses are forbidden to you. All you must do 
is think about your soul. Your punishment is coming and he who 
betrays his lord must be burned."

	"You are going to commit a great sin," said the lady.

	"It is a shame," said Macaire to the king, "to see you 
talking with her for so long."

	At these words, Naimon shakes his head and says to himself, 
"This is a judgment that will be paid dearly. Charles will only 
ever see misfortune from the cursed race that has always deceived 
and betrayed him!"

	The emperor who reigns over France is in great turmoil 
because of Blanchefleur, whom he loves above all. But justice wants 
her to be punished, and he has a hand in it, despite himself. He 
orders one of his chamberlains to have her taken to execution, 
dressed, and veiled in black. A large fire of thorns is lit in the 
square in front of the palace. The news spread throughout Paris, 
and everyone came running, ladies, knights, footmen, and merchants. 
Everyone mourns the queen with their heart and soul. She is taken 
to the stake. She sees it, falls on her knees and prays to God, the 
almighty father, not to forget that she dies without sin, and to 
avenge her soon so that all are aware. 

	Listen now, lords and good people, to what the traitor 
Macaire did. Here he comes running to the pyre, carrying the dwarf 
in his arms. "Dwarf," he asked, "have you ever been with the lady?"

	"Yes, truly, lord, and more than once, many times." 

	At these words, Macaire, in front of the entire assembly, 
threw him into the fire, saying to him, "Go, traitor! You have 
dishonored the king. You will not be able to brag about it!"

	But what he does to him is on purpose, so that the dwarf 
can never reveal anything. And now he burns, the evil dwarf. And 
the queen stands there in front and weeps, laments, wrings her 
hands, and prays to God to receive her soul mercifully.

	"Noble king," she said, "bring to me, for God's sake, a 
wise confessor who can absolve me of my sins."

	The king consents, and sends for the abbot of Saint Denis. 
The queen kneels before him and confesses all her sins, without 
forgetting a single one. She then tells him that she is pregnant 
with the child of Charlemagne. The abbot, a wise man of great 
doctrine, questions her about the crime of which she is accused. 

	She tells him how Macaire pursued her both himself and 
through the dwarf, whom he once again used for his evil purposes 
the day Charlemagne found him in his bed. "Sir abbot," she adds, "I 
beg you to absolve me of all my sins, except this one, which I 
never committed."

	The abbot hears her, looks at her and judges, from her 
words and from her countenance in the face of death, that she is 
telling him the truth. He comforts her, blesses her, and goes to 
find the king.

	The abbot goes to him and brings together in council some 
of the barons who are dearest to Charlemagne, Duke Naimon, the 
Dane, and several others, all of the best and most noble, but not a 
single one of the race of Mayence. "Lords," he said to them, "when 
death approaches, we no longer hide, we all confess our sins. I 
have heard the queen's confession, and I judge her innocent of the 
crime with which she is accused. Also, I learned from her that she 
is pregnant. So think, noble king, what you are going to do. 
Remember that by ordering her death you would sin even more than 
the one who accused God and had him nailed to the cross." Thus says 
the abbot. 

	Duke Naimon sees clearly from his language that the queen 
is not guilty. "Sir Emperor," he said, "if you wish to follow my 
advice, you will incur no blame and, on the contrary, you will be 
approved by everyone. Since the queen is pregnant, you cannot kill 
her like this. Please therefore have one of your people take her to 
a foreign country, far from your kingdom, with orders not to allow 
herself to be seen or looked at by anyone."

	"Good advice," says Charlemagne. "You could not give me 
better. I will follow it."

	The queen was immediately taken away from the pyre, and 
everyone gave thanks to God. The king said to her, "Noble queen, 
you were very dear to me. I can no longer love you, but I agree to 
spare your life, on the condition that you go so far away that you 
are never seen again. I will escort you to the borders of my 
kingdom."

	At these words, the lady begins to cry. 

	"Go and make your preparations," said the king, "and take 
money for your expenses."

	The queen obeys, and retires to her room to prepare for 
departure. The king, however, sent for one of his gentlemen, a 
relative of Morant of Rivier, named Aubri, the most courteous, the 
most courageous, and the most loyal who could be found at court. 
"Aubri," he said, "you must go with the queen and accompany her 
until she is outside the kingdom. After which you will come back."

	"Your orders, sire," replies Aubri, and without further ado 
he saddles himself with a palfrey, arms himself only with his 
sword, and takes a hawk in his fist. He was followed by a greyhound 
who never left his side. The queen, also mounted on a palfrey, 
leaves with him, and they both set off, to the great regret of 
everyone, even the king.

	At the same time, Macaire runs to his lodgings, arms 
himself from head to foot, and leaves Paris without anyone knowing, 
riding in the footsteps of Aubri, who walks without fear with the 
queen. After a long journey, they arrived at a fountain, near a 
large forest. The lady sees the water gushing out and asks Aubri to 
let her down in this place.

	"I am so tired," she said, "that I feel the need to drink." 
Aubri indulges her desire, takes her in his arms and places her 
near the fountain. The lady drinks from it, washes her hands and 
face, then looks up and sees Macaire arriving in great haste. She 
never felt such pain. "Aubri," she cried, "woe is us! This is the 
traitor who had me banished from the kingdom of the Franks."

	"Have no fear," replies Aubri, "I will defend you well."

	But here comes Macaire. "You will not take her away," he 
said to Aubri, "and I will dispose of her as I please."

	"Certainly not." replies Aubri, "First you will become 
acquainted with the edge of my sword. When the emperor and Duke 
Naimon and the Dane know why you followed me, all your riches will 
not save you from the gallows. Back and do not run to your ruin!"

	"You will not take her," said Macaire, "and if you want to 
defend yourself, you will die a terrible death!" Seeing that Aubri 
refuses to hand the queen over to him, he spurs his steed and 
rushes at the damsel. Aubri draws his sword and puts himself in 
defense. He would have been able to resist any knight if he had his 
armor, but what can a man with no other weapon than his sword do 
against a fully armed adversary? Soon Macaire's sharp lance pierces 
his body and lays him dead on the meadow.

	The queen, seized with fear at the sight of this battle, 
called for help from God and the Virgin, and buried herself, 
crying, in the thickest part of the forest. After killing Aubri, 
Macaire cannot find her, and this causes him great regret and 
remorse. He leaves Aubri lying on the grass, not far from the 
fountain, and returns to the court, hoping that the murder will 
remain unknown forever.

	Aubri is lying there in the meadow. His greyhound is lying 
on him and his palfrey grazes the grass. The greyhound remained 
three days without eating, and no one in the world ever mourned his 
lord better than this dog mourned his master, whom he had loved so 
much. After three days, overcome by hunger, he set off for Paris, 
arrived there, ran to the palace, and climbed the steps. It was 
dinner time and the barons were sitting at the table. Once in the 
room, the greyhound looks around, sees Macaire, rushes towards him, 
and gives him a big bite in the face. Then he takes bread from the 
table, flees to the cries of the guests, and returns to his 
master's body. Macaire remains with his wound, at which everyone is 
surprised. Many have looked at the dog and wondered if Aubri is 
back. They find that this dog looks very similar to his greyhound. 

	Returning to his lodging, Macaire gets himself bandaged, 
and says to his people, "When I return to the palace, if by chance 
the greyhound returns there, let each of you arm yourself with a 
good stick, and see to it that he cannot approach me."

	Meanwhile, the dog ate the bread he took away. After having 
suffered hunger for a long time, he returned to Paris and arrived a 
second time at the palace at dinner time. Macaire is at the table, 
his face still wrapped. He shows up to divert suspicion. The dog 
rushes towards him again, but the traitor is defended by his men. 
The greyhound takes some more bread and returns to his master.

	"Sire," said Duke Naimon to Charlemagne, "this could not be 
stranger. We need to know what is happening, and to do that we need 
to be ready to follow the dog when he returns."

	"So be it," said the emperor. 

	The greyhound, driven by hunger, does not take long to 
return and again tries to reach Macaire, whose people are preparing 
to push him back. 

	Duke Naimon stops them. "Upon your head," he cries, "do not 
touch it!" 

	They obeyed, and the emperor, Duke Naimon, the Dane, and a 
number of other barons mounted their horses as quickly as possible 
to follow the dog. They arrive behind him at the woods near where 
Aubri fell, and where his body spreads a great stench. They see the 
dog on its master, and in a meadow, not far away, they recognize 
Aubri's palfrey.

	"Ah! noble king," cry the barons, "what misfortune!"

	"What to do?" said Charlemagne to Duke Naimon. 

	"It is clear," replies the duke, "that the greyhound 
performed the office of justice. His hatred designated the one who 
knows everything. Have Macaire seized, and you will learn the truth 
from him. But, above all, have the body taken to Paris to be buried 
there with honor."

	The king consents. Macaire is seized and placed under 
guard. Aubri's body, surrounded by fragrant herbs, was taken to 
Paris and buried with great pomp. The crowd, which mourns him, 
immediately begins to cry for justice. 

	Charlemagne had Macaire brought to him and said to him, 
"How is it that everyone accuses you of the death of Aubri, and 
that his dog also designates you as the murderer? And if you killed 
Aubri, what became of the queen, whom he was to take to a foreign 
country to avenge my honor?"

	"Good king," replies Macaire, "listen to my defense. I am 
not guilty either in fact or even in thought, and to anyone who 
accuses me I am ready to prove it by force of arms." No one dares 
to deny this man, who is from such a powerful family. 

	Duke Naimon noticed this, not without anger, and said to 
the king, "Send him away and take council with your knights. He has 
well deserved to be judged, and if fear makes you shrink, you are 
no longer worthy to wear a crown."

	Charlemagne immediately assembled all his barons. There are 
more than a hundred who meet at the palace, in the large vaulted 
room. 

	"Lords," said the king to them, "a great outrage has been 
done to me, the queen shamefully accused, and Aubri put to death. 
Is this enough to sadden my soul? Advise me, I ask you, I beg you, 
and do not be afraid of anyone in the world." The barons heard him, 
but no one said a word. They all bend and bow before the power of 
the traitor.

	Only Duke Naimon speaks. "Noble king," he said, "I see 
clearly where all the barons assembled here are at. It is fear that 
makes them retreat. They fear the power of the traitors. For me, 
here is what I think. On the one hand, there is no one who dares to 
attack the race of Mayence, nor to enter the lists against them. 
All those of that race are so honored, from such a powerful family 
in Germany! On the other hand, to surrender justice would be a 
great sin. So, what to do? If I am to be believed, and no one will 
blame me, I think that Macaire, the accused, wearing only a bliaut, 
should be armed with a stick as long as his arm. Let a list be made 
in the square, and let him be pitted against the dog of Aubri, his 
accuser. If he defeats the dog, he will be released, but if he 
succumbs, he will be condemned to death as a traitor and a wicked 
renegade." 

	Thus speaks Duke Naimon, and no one in the council is of a 
different opinion. Everyone approves of it, including the king. 
Even the relatives of Macaire accept this ordeal with joy, as they 
are far from believing that he could be defeated and subdued by a 
dog.

	Charlemagne therefore had a palisade erected without delay 
on the square, in front of the keep, well closed on all sides. Then 
he announces an edict that anyone who dares to cross it will be 
hanged mercilessly like a thief. He wants to witness the battle in 
peace and without noise. Soon Macaire, with no other clothing than 
a bliaut, no other weapon than a stick, is introduced into the pen, 
and the dog after him.

	As soon as the dog sees Macaire, it runs after him and 
grabs him in the side with its sharp teeth. Macaire, in turn, hits 
him roughly with his stick, but without making him let go. It was a 
great battle, the greatest ever seen. All of Paris rushed to see 
this judgment, and the crowd cried out with a single voice, "Saint 
Mary, help! Let the truth come to light, declare yourself in favor 
of Aubri!"

	The struggle is fierce, incredible, such that Macaire's 
relatives are dismayed. "Who would have thought," they say among 
themselves, "that a dog could cause us such shame?" 

	Then one of them rushes to the palisade and tries to climb 
over it, but a cry is heard from all sides, "Let them hang him in 
the square!" He hears it and runs away.

	Immediately, by an edict announced by the king, a thousand 
pounds are promised to whoever can seize him. A villager who came 
to the city to shop hears the edict. He had an apple stick in his 
hand and used it to arrest the fugitive. He only runs after him to 
earn the promised sum. He takes him before the king and receives 
the thousand pounds. The king hangs the traitor at the very place 
where he tried to climb over the palisade. He then burns him, to 
the great shame of all his relatives.

	However, the battle continues. The dog continues to tear 
Macaire's sides with its bites, and Macaire, with his stick, hits 
the dog on the head until blood gushes out. Those of Mayence are in 
great turmoil. They would like to make peace by offering a sum of 
money, but the king swears that all the gold in the world will not 
save Macaire if he is defeated. He will be burned or hanged, 
according to the judgment of the barons. The greyhound, by force of 
harassing him, has tired his adversary, who can no longer help 
himself with either foot or hand. At that moment, with a furious 
leap, the greyhound jumped on his face and bit him so cruelly that 
he removed the entire cheek from one side of his face. 

	Macaire lets out a howl of pain and cries, "Where are you, 
all my relatives, who let me be overwhelmed by a dog like this?"

	"They are far from you," said the king. "It was to your 
misfortune that you saw Aubri and the queen."

	Finally, the dog, in a last attack, takes Macaire by the 
throat and holds him so well that he knocks him down beneath him. 
Macaire cries out for mercy for the love of God. "Ah! noble king, 
do not let me die like this, bring me a confessor. I want to 
confess everything."

	The king consents with joy. He sends for the abbot of Saint 
Denis.

	The abbot goes near Macaire, whom the dog has not let go. 
He asks him if he wants to tell the truth, the truth which is 
already known to him by the queen's story. Macaire responds in a 
faint voice, "Hear my confession and absolve me of all my sins. I 
am judged to death, I know it, and all my relatives will be of no 
use to me."

	"You have every reason to believe it," replies the abbot, 
"so great is your sin. And yet, if you confess it, it may be that 
out of consideration for your high nobility, the king will take 
pity on you. I will beg him myself. But he, Duke Naimon, and the 
others must hear this confession, otherwise there would be no 
honorable amends, and the dog would not let go of you. It is truly 
a miracle that a man like you was defeated by a dog. If God allowed 
it, it is because he wanted the crime to be revealed to all."

	"Do as you will," said Macaire. 

	Then the abbot calls the king, Duke Naimon, and all the 
barons to hear the guilty man's confession. "Take care," he said to 
him, "not to conceal anything from me, because I already know 
everything."

	"I will only tell the truth," replies Macaire, "but please 
make the dog let go of me."

	"Your crime is too great," said the king. "He will only let 
you go after you admit it."

	Macaire confesses his crime, starting with his request for 
love rejected by the queen. He then tells how he resorted to the 
agency of the dwarf, and how he threw him into the fire so that he 
could not betray him. Finally, he admits that the day the queen 
left, accompanied by Aubri, he could not wait, so he armed himself, 
mounted his horse, set out in pursuit, and ended up killing Aubri. 
"As for the queen," he adds, "I cannot say anything about her. She 
disappeared into the woods, and I never saw her again. I then 
returned, tormented by remorse. May God deny me absolution if I 
have not told the truth."

	"And as for me," said the king, "I will not continue to 
wear the crown if I eat before having seen your death!" And then he 
said, "Naimon, this cowardly rascal has betrayed the queen. He 
killed Aubri who I loved so much, what will be his punishment?"

	"Let us think about it," replies Naimon. "He must first be 
tied to the tail of a large horse and dragged all over Paris, and 
then we will burn him alive. None of his relatives will dare to 
complain about it. If necessary, we would do the same towards 
them."

	"Well said!" shout the barons. 

	The dog, however, is still holding Macaire, and so tightly 
that he cannot move. The king gently begs him to let go for his 
sake, and the greyhound immediately obeys, as a reasonable creature 
would have done. The abbot, before leaving, gives blessing and 
absolution to the penitent.

	Following the advice of Naimon of Bavaria, the king had 
Macaire seized and dragged throughout Paris. The crowd rushes 
behind and shouts, "To Death! To death! The wretch who wanted to 
disgrace the queen and who killed Aubri, the best young man anyone 
ever saw."

	After having dragged him like this, they brought him back 
to the square, lit a big fire, and burned him there, despite his 
relatives, and to the great shame of the race of Mayence.

	The traitor is no more, it is done. Now back to the Queen. 
After Aubri's death, she goes wandering through the forest, in 
great pain and agitation. At the end, as she comes out, she meets a 
man carrying a load of wood that he had just cut in the forest to 
earn a living. 

	The woodcutter, whose name was Varocher, saw her and said 
to her, "Lady, why are you traveling alone like this, without any 
company? You are the queen, if I am not mistaken. How are you 
doing? Has something bad happened to you? I am here, ready to help 
you."

	"Friend," she replies, "you will know everything. Yes, I am 
indeed the queen, but banished by the crime of a traitor who 
falsely accused me. I therefore ask you, kind-hearted man, 
gentleman, to lend me assistance so that I can go to 
Constantinople, where my relatives are. If you agree to this, you 
will be well rewarded. I will make you comfortable, I will enrich 
you."

	"It is enough," replies Varocher, "I will never abandon you 
in my life. Follow me to my home, near here, where I have my wife 
and two beautiful children. I will take my leave of them and we 
will set off."

	"At your will," said the queen. The two of them go together 
to the woodcutter's house.

	Arriving at his home, Varocher puts down his burden and 
says to his wife, "Do not expect me for another month."

	"And where are you going?" she asks him. 

	"By the grace of God," replies Varocher, "I cannot tell you 
more." 

	At the same time, he equips himself with a large gnarled 
stick. Varocher was tall, fat, square, thick-set, with a large 
disheveled head. He was the strangest man you could ever see. He 
sets off and the queen follows him. They cross France, Provence, 
all of Lombardy, and arrive in Venice. There they board a ship and 
cross the sea. No one sees Varocher without looking at him and 
laughing behind his back. By traveling over hill and valley, they 
reached Hungary and stayed with a good innkeeper, named Primerain, 
who had two very beautiful daughters, a very wise and good wife, 
and who was himself a man of good sense, well known and liked by 
adults and children alike. Seeing Varocher with his big gnarled 
stick and his hairy head, the innkeeper, like everyone else, takes 
him for a madman. He asks him where he comes from.

	"From beyond the mountains," replies Varocher, "and it is 
my wife who follows me."

	The innkeeper wants the lady to be well served. His wife 
takes great care of her and gives her everything she wants. She 
sees that she is pregnant, and is even more willing to help her. 
The innkeeper's wife asks her who is this big devil who accompanies 
her, armed with his staff, and if he is in his right mind or if his 
reason is not misguided.

	"He is always like this," replied the queen. "Do not attack 
him or anger him, because he is not in a good mood. He is my lord 
and master."

	"God bless him!" said the innkeeper's wife. "He will be 
served and honored as best we can."

	Indeed, Varocher is given what he asks for, but out of fear 
more than out of kindness. The third night after her arrival, the 
lady gave birth to a very beautiful child. The innkeeper's wife 
received him, bathed him, and swaddled him. She serves the queen 
and satisfies her desires as willingly as if she were her relative. 
However, Varocher, still armed with his stick, keeps watch and 
ensures that the child is not kidnapped. The lady remained in bed 
for more than eight days, as is the custom in the towns. 

	She had just got out of bed and was talking with the 
innkeeper's wife when Primerain came to her and said, "Lady, you 
have brought us here a beautiful son, it is well done to you. When 
it pleases you for him to be baptized, I will gladly be your 
accomplice."

	"A thousand thanks to you," said the queen, "do as you wish 
and give my child the name that pleases you."

	"I've already thought about it, the innkeeper continues. He 
will be called, like me, Primerain."

	After eight days, Primerain comes to ask the lady to give 
him her child to take him to baptism. He takes him, wraps him in 
his coat, and goes to the monastery, followed only by Varocher with 
his big stick on his shoulder. 

	As they are both walking, the king of Hungary arrives, 
surrounded by several of his barons. "Primerain," he said to the 
innkeeper, "where are you going and what are you carrying in your 
coat?"

	"Sire, it is a beautiful child, that of a beautiful and 
pleasant lady who came to my house the other day and gave birth 
there. I am taking him to the monastery, followed by his father 
here."

	The barons look at Varocher and cannot stop laughing, 
because he strikes them as a nobody, a beggar, a savage. The king, 
however, approaches Primerain, and lifts the cloak that covers the 
child. His surprise is great when he sees a white cross imprinted 
on his right shoulder. By this sign he recognizes that he cannot be 
the son of a beggar. 

	"Do not hurry," he said to Primerain, "I want to attend the 
child's baptism."

	"By the will of God," replies Primerain.

	The king, without further delay, went to the monastery with 
Primerain and sent for the abbot. "Abbot," he said to him, "please 
baptize this child for my sake as if he were the son of an emperor 
or royal prince, by his father and by his mother, and to perform 
the office with the greatest display of magnificence."

	The abbot complies with the king's wishes. He asks him, 
when baptizing the child, "What do you want to name him?"

	"Like myself," replies the king. The child therefore 
receives the name Louis. After the ceremony, the king said to the 
innkeeper, "Take great care of the lady, I pray you, and let her 
not lack anything." He also gives money for his needs to the so-
called father of the child. There is no need to ask whether 
Varocher is happy about it. 

	The innkeeper returns with him and goes to find the queen, 
"Lady," he said to her, "you have reason to be proud. It was the 
King of Hungary who had your son baptized. It was this great king 
who named him, and with his own name. Your son's name is Louis, and 
his father or so-called father has received enough to cover his 
expenses." 

	The lady heard this news with joy. The innkeeper, his wife 
and his daughters honor her much better than before, because they 
know their purse is fuller. After fifteen days, the king sent for 
Primerain and charged him with asking the lady for a meeting. She 
grants it with all her heart, and dresses herself as best she can 
to receive her royal friend. 

	The king comes to the lodging with some of his knights, and 
after greetings and welcomes, he and the queen go to sit and talk 
separately on a bench. "Lady," said the King of Hungary, "in having 
your son baptized I was not a little surprised to see on his 
shoulder a sign which marks the son of a king. I therefore beg you, 
noble lady, for the love of God, to open up to me as a godmother 
should with her godfather, and to tell me frankly, without 
faltering in the truth, where you are from, and why you wander thus 
with this man in a foreign land."

	The queen hears this and begins to cry. She will not hide 
anything from him. "Noble king," she said, "you want to know the 
truth. I will tell you. I am the wife of Emperor Charlemagne, the 
greatest prince in the world. A plot hatched by a traitor caused me 
to be condemned and banished from my kingdom, against all rights 
and justice. God knows I have never been guilty, even in thought, 
of the crime that I was accused of! I was going to be delivered to 
death when, at the request of the abbot who received my confession, 
the king pardoned my life and ordered one of his knights to take me 
to a foreign country. As I was going away from Paris, the traitor 
who accused me pursued me, fully armed, and killed the knight who 
accompanied me. Seized with fear at this sight, I plunged into a 
forest, where I found this man who has never left me. Thanks to 
your kindness, I am served and honored here. Do not abandon me, 
noble king, until my father is informed of my fate. He will not 
fail to send me the best of his knights. This, sire, is the whole 
truth."

	The king hears her and sees clearly that she is speaking 
the truth. He bows deeply before her. "Lady," he said to her, "you 
are welcome here and you will receive hospitality worthy of you 
until your father is informed of his daughter's fate."

	The King of Hungary paid the lady every honor imaginable. 
He gave her the rich finery befitting a queen, without forgetting 
Varocher. He did not leave her at the inn, but took her to his 
palace and gave her to his wife as a companion. You should have 
seen Varocher in his new clothes! He no longer looked like a 
beggar, and seeing himself so richly dressed, he looked just like 
one of the knights. 

	The king of Hungary, without further delay, equipped a ship 
and sent four messengers to the Emperor of Constantinople to inform 
him that his daughter, unjustly banished from France, had found 
asylum in Hungary, where she was awaiting his orders. The 
messengers arrive in Constantinople, request an audience with the 
emperor, and tell him the story of Blanchefleur's misfortunes. 
Great is the emperor's grief on receiving this news. He cannot hold 
back his tears. His first thought is to send for his daughter. 
After that, he will think of avenging her. He orders eight of his 
relatives, the flower of chivalry, to leave immediately to bring 
back the exiled woman. At the same time, the king of Hungary's 
messengers returned with rich gifts.

	Arriving in Hungary, the envoys of the Emperor of 
Constantinople were welcomed there by the king with great honors. 
Blanchefleur, who recognizes them as relatives, runs to meet them 
and asks them for news of her father and mother. 

	"Lady," they replied, "they are in pain, and are waiting 
for you and your child."

	Blanchefleur prepares for departure. She takes leave of the 
King and Queen of Hungary and does not forget her host Primerain. 
She gave great presents to him and his wife, and took with her one 
of their daughters, for whom she later arranged a rich marriage. 
She leaves, still followed by Varocher. The King of Hungary had her 
accompanied by four of his knights.

	Now back to Emperor Charlemagne. The day he found the dwarf 
in his bed, Duke Naimon had advised him, before taking justice, to 
send a messenger to Blanchefleur's father to inform him of his 
daughter's crime. A noble count, named Bérard of Montdidier, was 
entrusted with this message. Arriving in Constantinople, he found 
the emperor and empress there in the middle of the entire court 
gathered to celebrate a great festival.

	"Sire," said Bérard to the emperor, "King Charlemagne, the 
greatest king in Christendom, sends me to you, charged with a 
message which I deliver with regret. Never was a queen, I can 
assure you, so honored by her husband as your daughter was by King 
Charles, but for her sake, she forgot all her duties towards him. 
He found her in sin with a dwarf, and that is why he commands you 
by my mouth not to think it evil that he does justice."

	The emperor heard it and was astonished, but the empress, 
who raised her daughter and who knows her heart, cannot resist 
responding to the messenger. "Brother, you have lost your senses. I 
know well the one I carried by my side, and what you say is nothing 
but falsehood. It cannot be that my daughter was so improper as to 
fail in the faith she owes to her lord. She is wrongly accused. 
Right, I deny it. There is no more loyal a lady in all of 
Christendom, and it is the king who does harm by believing her to 
be guilty."

	The emperor adds, "Yes, the king of France accuses my 
daughter thoughtlessly... with a dwarf! I am so disturbed that I 
could lose my mind. When you return, you will tell your king on my 
behalf that he is to be careful never to do any harm to my 
daughter. If he has found her in sin, let him send her to me, and 
without delay, so that I may know the truth about her. If she 
confesses her guilt, woe to her! But in the meantime, do not come 
and accuse her before me, because I cannot think badly of my 
daughter, and she must have been slandered by some evil renegade. 
Do not forget what I am telling you here. If her husband puts her 
to trial without me having heard her, without me having learned the 
truth from her, it will be a great sorrow for my heart and I will 
use all my power to avenge her."

	"Sire," said the messenger, "your answer will be faithfully 
reported to the king of France." Then he takes leave of the emperor 
and departs.

	On the way, he was very surprised to learn the news of 
Aubri's death and Macaire's torture. Back in Paris, he hastened to 
go to court to report his message. Charlemagne was greatly 
embarrassed when he learned that the Emperor of Constantinople was 
asking him for his daughter. 

	"What to do?" he said to Duke Naimon. "Advise me, please."

	"It is necessary," replies Duke Naimon, "to tell the 
emperor that you had charged one of your knights with leading the 
queen into exile, that he was followed and killed by a traitor, 
that you do not know what became of the lady, but that the traitor 
was burned."

	"You are the best advisor in the world," continues the 
emperor, "and we can trust you without fear. What a good priest you 
would have made, and what wise advice you would have given to the 
faithful!"

	"My noble lord," said Naimon, "it happens that we render an 
unjust and blameworthy judgment with the confidence of being 
rewarded in heaven. This is how the most beautiful and wisest woman 
in the world was wrongly judged. But also, how can we think that 
this Macaire, your friend, your companion, would have committed 
such a betrayal to you and would have killed Aubri to get to the 
queen? Unhappy queen! What happened to her? We do not know, but I 
do not lose hope, and it seems to me that we will see her alive 
again. Let us be patient."

	"Please God!" said Charlemagne.

	"Since you cannot find her," continues Duke Naimon, "offer 
gold to her father if he wants reparation."

	"Gladly," said Charles, "but who can we entrust with this 
new message?"

	On the advice of Duke Naimon, Bérard of Mondidier was again 
chosen as the messenger. He leaves and arrives in Constantinople 
when Blanchefleur is already reunited with her father and has 
informed him of her misfortunes.

	The Emperor of Constantinople, when informed of Bérard's 
arrival, forbade anyone to speak of his daughter, so that the 
messenger could not receive any news of her. Bérard is admitted to 
the palace and delivers his message.

	"Sir messenger," replied the emperor, "return to your king 
and tell him that I once gave him my daughter as his wife and that 
today I intend for her to be returned to me. How could your king 
convince himself that, even with all the gold of Christendom, he 
could ensure that my daughter would not be talked about? He 
expelled her from her kingdom, perhaps she is dead, devoured by 
wild beasts, and he comes to ask me for thanks, as if such a 
misdeed could be redeemed! I repeat to you, you can leave, and when 
you return, you will tell the King of France on my behalf that I 
defy him, and that if he does not return the daughter I gave to 
him, I will be in Paris in less than three months!" 

	Bérard returns with this response and reports it to 
Charlemagne, who remains dismayed.

	"We have done poorly," said Duke Naimon, "with a king so 
powerful in terms of the number and wealth of his vassals and his 
relatives. It was a great mistake to banish his daughter. If he 
makes war on us, our domains will be lost. He will not leave a 
castle or fortress standing, and will burn towns and villages."

	"By the will of God," said the king. 

	"Yes, sire," Naimon continues, "the fault is with you and 
not the queen, you who always believed Ganelon's relatives, despite 
their betrayals. What would I tell you? If the emperor attacks us, 
we will defend ourselves. But it is we who are wrong, and he is in 
the right. Let us rely on God. I could not say more."

	Here we leave King Charles, Count Bérard, and Duke Naimon, 
to return to the Emperor of Constantinople. He shudders at the 
thought of the outrage done to his daughter. If he does not avenge 
her, he would no longer be worth anything. He assembles his counts 
and barons and asks their advice. He receives advice from Florimont 
and Saladin. Both agree that the emperor must demand that 
Charlemagne returns Blanchefleur or pays her weight in gold. If he 
does not accept, then there will be war. The emperor follows this 
advice. 

	Four of his barons, Florimont, Gerart, Renier, and 
Godefroi, went to Paris to notify the King of France of their 
lord's wishes. Charlemagne responds that he cannot grant what is 
asked of him, because he has no news of Blanchefleur, and as for 
gold, he would not know where to get enough.

	"In that case," say the messengers, "prepare for war. We 
challenge you in the name of the emperor our master."

	"By the will of God," said Charlemagne. "We will know how 
to defend ourselves well."

	At these words, Naimon of Bavaria said to the messengers, 
"Brothers, your emperor is very wrong, I must tell you. As soon as 
the wife is united with the husband, she no longer belongs to her 
father or her mother. He who takes her as his companion becomes her 
lord and master. He cannot separate himself from her, but in case 
of adultery he can put her to death. So let your emperor stop 
asking for his daughter again. Dead or alive, she will not be 
returned to him, and he will have neither her nor her weight in 
gold. If he wants to wage war in France, he will find valiant 
knights there who have no equal in the world."

	The messengers express their challenge again and take leave 
of Charlemagne. They report his response to the emperor in 
Constantinople. "If you defy him," they say, "he also defies you, 
and he has many knights who are unafraid of yours."

	"Before long," said the emperor, "Charlemagne will know 
what he has continued. One of us will be reduced to nothing." 

	The emperor summons all his vassals. In less than a month, 
he gathered fifty thousand. His daughter and grandson will 
accompany him. The brave, the valiant Varocher will not stay 
behind. He arms himself as he wishes and cuts himself a large, 
knotted stick, thick and massive, which he will not part with. The 
army sets out and rides towards France. May God help Charlemagne!

	Arriving under the walls of Paris, the Emperor of 
Constantinople had tents and pavilions deployed. At this sight, the 
King of France could not hold back his tears. He calls Duke Naimon, 
his wise advisor.

	"Naimon," he said to him, "I have good reason to be 
saddened when I see myself in such distress. It was to my 
misfortune that I married Blanchefleur, and you, Macaire, cursed 
traitor, why did I grant you my friendship? You rewarded me with 
betrayal!"

	"Why these lamentations?" said Duke Naimon. "Do you no 
longer remember the times gone by, and has not the race of Mayence 
always betrayed you? It is again by them that we are reduced to 
such extremities. It is through the crime of Macaire that we have 
before us mortal enemies who should be our friends. War and its 
misfortunes are at our gates. We have never seen such a calamity in 
France. May God and Saint Mary help us! For me, I do not know what 
to tell you. The best thing would still be to arm ourselves and go 
out of the city to defend ourselves. It is better to die than to 
remain here in prison, since the emperor does not want to hear of 
mercy or forgiveness and refuses any ransom."

	"So be it," said Charlemagne. 

	Then he assembled his barons. There are more than thirty 
thousand who ride on horseback under the leadership of the Dane, 
Naimon, and Isoré. The city gates are opened and they ride out to 
the fields.

	For his part, the Emperor of Constantinople ordered his 
knights to take up arms, there are well forty thousand of them. 
Varocher does not behave like a beggar, if he has neither palfrey 
nor steed, he nevertheless walks behind with the footmen, armed 
with his large stick, which he has not forgotten. Seeing 
Charlemagne's army, he has a memory of his wife and children, whom 
he has not seen since the day he met the queen. Seeing him handle 
his stick, he looks like a devil. We must tell of an exploit of 
this good Varocher. As he knows the roads and paths well, he takes 
the opportunity to enter Charlemagne's camp at night, where he is 
taken for a squire. He thus enters the king's quarters, where he 
knows the good destriers are. He gets the best one saddled, and 
thus mounted returns to his army exclaiming, "Montjoie! Knights, 
arise without delay. I have just visited Charlemagne's camp, I have 
his best steed, and he will be in great difficulty when it comes 
time to ride a horse!"

	At this call the knights run to arms, and the French camp 
is assailed. Charlemagne's discomfiture is great. He cannot find 
his steed and, to add to his worries, Duke Naimon, at the end of 
his wisdom and abilities, finds only reproaches to address to him 
and misfortunes to predict for him.

	The two armies are within sight and the battle begins. 
Floriadent jousts with Ogier the Dane. Blanchefleur, from her 
father's tent, witnesses the melee, and sees a number of French 
knights fall. She remembers that she is their queen, and cannot 
hold back her tears.

	"These people you have killed," she said to her father, 
"are friends to me, brothers!"

	"My daughter," replied the emperor, "it cannot be 
otherwise. I must cover with shame this king to whom I once gave 
you as his wife, and you cannot complain about it, you whom he so 
cruelly outraged and banished from the kingdom of France. For my 
part, I could not forget such an insult. Charles treated you like a 
concubine. I will remember it all my life."

	"Father," said the lady to him, "my lord does not know that 
I am near you. If he knew it, he would repent of his mistake and 
ask your forgiveness."

	"He will only have it," replies the emperor, "when I am 
avenged."

	At these words, Varocher appears. He brings to the emperor 
two of Charlemagne's best destriers, two Aragonese steeds. "Sire," 
he said, "I give you these coursers, which I took from the tents of 
Charlemagne and Duke Naimon. I am only a commoner, but if it would 
please you to gird a sword at my side, and if I could, like the 
others, call myself your knight, I would enter the lists to fight 
the best champion that there is in the army of the King of France.

	"We grant your request," said the emperor.

	"And with great reason," adds Blanchefleur. "There is no 
more loyal man in the world, and I cannot forget that he abandoned 
his house, his wife, and his children to accompany me to Hungary 
and to watch over me."

	"We know it," said the emperor, "and he will not remain 
without reward."

	With these words he calls his dukes and barons. 
Blanchefleur, helped by the ladies who accompanied her, had 
Varocher dressed in a rich silk tunic. The emperor girds his sword 
at his side, a duke puts on his spurs, and the new knight swears 
that Charlemagne will find in him a bad companion.

	The queen gives Varocher a good hauberk and a helm with a 
golden circle. Thus equipped, he mounts a rapid destrier, arms 
himself with a sharp iron lance, and, with an ivory shield around 
his neck, maneuvers his courser so well that one would no longer 
recognize him as a beggar, and he looks like a noble knight. He 
soon sees a thousand companions gather around him, eager for 
profit, who recognize him as their leader and swear to serve him 
loyally. Varocher announces that he will freely give them each 
their share of the spoils, but he wants them to show themselves 
well, and the next morning he will give them the opportunity. They 
will go to Charlemagne's camp, and there they will find something 
to enrich all their families, gold, silver, destriers, palfreys, 
and mules. They will not lack plunder.

	In fact, they mounted their horses before dawn, and, by a 
circuitous route which led them near the city, they entered 
Charlemagne's camp, shouting like the watchman when he made his 
rounds through the fields. The French hear them, believe that they 
are their own, and thus let them enter the tents of Charlemagne and 
his knights. There they take whatever pleases them, change their 
bad horses for good ones, take away armor, clothes, gold, and 
silver, so that someone who had fallen asleep rich wakes up poor in 
the morning. 

	After this exploit, Varocher and his companions returned to 
their camp loaded with loot. And everyone asks themselves, "Where 
did they go to get all this wealth?"

	"In a place where there is more remaining," says Varocher. 
This response earned him more than two thousand new companions, 
which he did not refuse. Varocher gives his share of the spoils to 
the emperor, Blanchefleur, and her young son. But the Queen of 
France deplores this pillaging. It is her property, she thinks, 
which is thus shared by marauders who have not earned it.

	Charlemagne, when he gets up, sees his chamber robbed and 
cannot find his horse in the stable. He does not know who to accuse 
of this theft. 

	"Sire," said Duke Naimon, "do not complain to me that you 
have lost, I have not won, because I cannot find my horse either."

	More than one laughed at this misadventure, but among these 
laughers there were some who, after searching carefully, found 
neither their good lances, nor their hauberks, nor their shields. 
This rich booty was in the hands of Varocher and his company. The 
king, who was careful not to doubt, suspected many of his people, 
whom he had captured and garroted.

	Soon, Charlemagne was attacked a second time in his camp. 
He runs to arms with his barons, and a new battle begins. Varocher 
encounters Duke Naimon, and gives him such a blow that he almost 
empties his saddle. 

	"Saint Mary!" said the duke, "He is not a man, he is the 
devil himself. I never received such a blow from any knight." 
Naimon draws his sword to take his revenge, but Varocher does not 
wait for him. He knows very well that he is not dealing with a 
young man. As he turns, Charlemagne arrives near the duke.

	"Do you see this madman?" Naimon told him. "He must have 
the devil in his body. He has just given me such a blow with his 
sword that he threw me backwards in my saddle. It is by the grace 
of God that he did not cut into me."

	"And was he not," said Charlemagne, "the wicked scoundrel 
who stole my destrier? I would willingly be glad to see him riding. 
If I can approach him, he will pay me dearly!"

	But these threats do not reach Varocher, who continues to 
ride here and there.

	While riding thus, he meets Bérard of Mondidier, and 
receives a blow from him which breaks the gemstones of his helm, 
but without penetrating it. Varocher strikes in turn, and so 
roughly that he unhorses Bérard and takes him prisoner. He takes 
him to the emperor's tent in Constantinople and hands him over to 
Blanchefleur's custody. The queen recognizes him as one of her 
knights, has him disarmed and dressed in rich silk clothes. Bérard 
falls to his knees, his joy is extreme at seeing her again, and all 
the gold in Bavaria would not make him any happier. Blanchefleur 
asks him for news of Charlemagne.

	"Lady," replied Bérard, "he is inconsolable over having 
lost you. He no longer dares to hope, he thinks you are dead. But 
you, lady, how can you endure this war in which so many of your 
people are dying? I myself, were it not for God's protection, I 
would also have succumbed to the sword of this beggar who has just 
brought me here."

	"He is brave and valiant," Blanchefleur told him, "and no 
one has rendered my lord as many services as he." Then she tells 
Bérard everything she owes to Varocher, to this new knight who was 
only a peasant when she met him. 

	"He has changed a lot," said Bérard. "No one today wears 
the hauberk better than him. But what joy for the King of France, 
if he knew you were still alive! In his life he would never have 
felt anything like this."

	"We must let him do penance," said the queen, "for having 
judged me so unjustly and so shamefully banishing me. And yet, I 
cannot help but sympathize with the sufferings of his people. But 
it is not me, it is my father who wanted this war to avenge me."

	While Bérard and Blanchefleur talk like this, the battle 
continues, terrible and fierce. It lasted all day, until 
Charlemagne called in a loud voice to the Emperor of 
Constantinople, who came to him. The two sovereigns have a one on
one meeting.

	"Sire Emperor," said Charlemagne, "how could you resolve to 
come to France and besiege my city? I bitterly deplore the fate of 
your daughter, but if she is dead, at least I have avenged you on 
the traitor who accused her. And furthermore, I am still ready to 
grant you whatever reparation you wish."

	The emperor refuses. "You have been," he said, "without 
mercy, without pity. You have driven my daughter from her kingdom, 
you sent her into exile under the care of a single knight whom 
Macaire killed. Our feud cannot end unless there is single combat 
between two champions."

	Charlemagne accepts this fight. He said, "Tomorrow, at 
sunrise, let one of your knights be armed. One of mine will be 
ready too. If my champion is defeated, I will bow to your wishes, 
and you will take whatever revenge you please from me. But if it is 
your champion who is defeated, you will return to your empire and 
there will be peace and friendship between us."

	The agreement concluded, the two princes separate and 
return to their camps. Charlemagne calls near him Duke Naimon, the 
Dane, and many other barons. He tells them of his commitment, which 
everyone approves. The Dane offers to fight and the king approves 
it. 

	For his part, the Emperor of Constantinople also announces 
the battle to his knights. "Who will be our champion?" he asks 
them.

	Everyone responded, "Varocher the valiant."

	"Gladly," said Varocher, to the great joy of the emperor 
and his barons.

	When Blanchefleur hears the news, when she knows that 
Varocher will have as his adversary the Dane, the boldest, the 
bravest knight in the world, she is moved, she sends for her 
faithful defender. "Varocher," she said to him, "it is madness to 
have taken up this gauntlet. You do not know the one you will have 
to fight, there is no warrior more formidable than Ogier the Dane."

	"I do not fear him," said Varocher, "and beg you, for my 
sake, to leave this worry behind. If Roland and Oliver were still 
alive, I would fear them less."

	Bérard of Mondidier, who remained near the queen, said to 
her, "Lady, Varocher is brave and valiant. I received from him a 
blow like no knight has ever given me. But he must have good armor, 
for Ogier has a sword whose edge is very sharp. Cortain, as the 
Germans and Bavarians call it, cuts iron, ruby, or steel more 
easily than the scythe cuts the grass of the meadow."

	"I was thinking about it," said the queen. 

	"So, hurry up," adds Varocher, "because I cannot wait to be 
face to face with my adversary."

	"Sir Varocher," said Bérard, "this is a good sentiment, but 
one which you might well repent of. Such a dream of sale or 
exchange often ends up losing a lot of its own. You do not know the 
brave Dane, there is no better knight among the pagans nor among 
the Christians."

	"I have heard of him," said Varocher, "but I do not fear 
him any more for that. You must know that since my lord armed me as 
a knight, I have become haughty and proud, so much so that when I 
happen to think of my former profession as a lumberjack and the 
loads which I carried like a beast of burden, I feel no desire to 
return to the woods. At that time, I was dressed like a beggar and 
my only weapon was a stick from an apple tree. Today, my clothes 
are those of a knight, and I carry at my side a steel sword with a 
forged blade. I lived among wild animals, now I live in an imperial 
residence and, whenever I want, chamberlains open the doors to me."

	"You are so hopeful," said the queen, "and you speak so 
well that I can no longer find anything to say to you or to oppose 
you. However, I will not stop praying for you to Our Lord, the true 
justice, to allow you to return safe and sound from this battle."

	"Enough talking," said Varocher, "bring me my armor."

	"Gladly," replies the queen.

	She brought the best arms in the world to Varocher. He dons 
a hauberk, puts on spurs, girds a sword, and laces up his helm, a 
helm that King Pharaon once wore and that no blade can cut. He 
mounts a swift Aragonese destrier, hangs a good shield around his 
neck, and arms himself with a sharp iron lance.

	"Lady," he said to Blanchefleur, "I am going by the grace 
of God."

	"And followed by my wishes," said the queen.

	Varocher spurs his destrier, rides to the emperor and says 
to him, "Sire, I am going to the battlefield. I hope to come back 
victorious."

	"God bless you," said the emperor. "If he allows me to 
return to Constantinople, I will give you gold and good lands with 
a castle and keep, so as to make you rich for the rest of your 
days."

	"I will accept," replies Varocher, "at the cost of homage, 
as by right."

	The emperor gives him his blessing, and Varocher, prouder 
than a lion or a leopard, drives his spurs into the flanks of his 
horse. He soon arrives at Charlemagne's tent and exclaims in a loud 
voice, "King of France and Laon, where is your champion? Is he 
ready to fight, yes or no?"

	Charles and Duke Naimon hear him. They say, "See this 
worthless young man! Is he not possessed by a devil?"

	Ogier also heard him, to his great dismay. He runs to his 
tent, hastily arms himself, mounts his horse, and without a word he 
sets off to meet Varocher.

	"See," said Charlemagne to Duke Naimon, "with what ardor 
the Dane rushes to battle!"

	"Would to God," adds the duke, "that he returns victorious, 
and that he can restore peace between these divided families."

	Ogier is facing Varocher. "Sir knight," he said to him, "I 
do not expect to be beaten. Do you want to test your worth or admit 
your defeat?"

	"Have you lost your senses?" Varocher replies. "Do you 
think then that I came here to sing songs, to be entertained, and 
not to raise my sword to the wind? Come on, if you are worthy of 
your reputation, you will not shrink from me."

	"That is understood," said the Dane. 

	At these words, they give each other space, then ride 
against each other brandishing their lances. They collide so 
roughly that their shields fly into pieces, but their hauberks 
resist and protect them. Both horses bend over and flex their 
knees. The two lances fall to the ground in pieces.

	The fight begins again with swords. Varocher strikes first. 
He cannot damage the helm of Ogier, whom God protects, but he cuts 
off the front of his hauberk.

	"Saint Mary!" said Ogier, "what an edge this sword has! The 
one who gave it to you hardly liked me."

	In his turn, the Dane hits Varocher on the head with such a 
terrible blow that he bends him forward on the pommel of his 
saddle. "Saint Mary, refuge of sinners," cries Varocher, "defend me 
against death!"

	"Do you recognize me?" said Ogier. "Come, surrender without 
further delay!"

	"Vain words!" replies Varocher. "I am not yet at your 
discretion."

	And both resume the fight with new ardor. Soon their armor 
is in pieces, except for the helms. Ogier admires the valor of his 
adversary. "Sir knight," he said to him, "what are you called at 
the court of the emperor whom you serve?"

	"My name is Varocher. I have only been a knight for a short 
time. At first, I was just a peasant living in the woods. But the 
emperor, in recognition of a service I rendered him, conferred a 
knighthood on me. If King Charlemagne knew a certain secret that I 
cannot reveal, far from sending you here to fight and kill me, he 
would befriend me, he would cherish me."

	"Noble knight," said the Dane, "if it would please you to 
confide this secret to me, perhaps you and I could put an end to 
this fight and make an agreement without striking a blow?"

	"If I entrust it to you," said Varocher, "will you promise 
to keep it faithfully and not to share it with anyone?"

	"I swear to you."

	"In this case," Varocher continues, "you will know 
everything." He then tells him what became of the queen after 
Aubri's death, how he met her and took her to Hungary, where she 
gave birth to a son, and how she returned to the court of the 
emperor her father. "It is to avenge her," he adds, "that he has 
assembled this great army, and I can assure you that she is at this 
time safe and sound in the imperial tent, she and her young child."

	When the Dane hears Varocher speak like this, he feels more 
joy than if he was given the kingdom of Bavaria. He puts his sword 
back in its sheath and bows to his adversary. "Varocher," he said 
to him, "you have become very dear to me. God forbid that I 
continue to joust against you. I will love you from now on like a 
brother, and I will have nothing that I do not share with you. I am 
returning to Charlemagne. He will not know how things happened. I 
will tell him that you unhorsed me, and peace will be made."

	"Great charity!" said Varocher. "So do not delay any 
longer."

	At these words, they separate. Ogier returns to the French 
camp, where he announces his supposed defeat, then he strips 
himself of his armor and runs to kneel before the king.

	"Good king," he said, "I must confess that I am defeated. I 
was subdued by the best knight in Christendom. I can only ask you 
to make peace with the emperor."

	"I would be very willing to do so," said Charlemagne, "if 
he would relent and forgive me for the death of his daughter."

	"So send him," said the Dane, "a skillful messenger, who 
knows how to speak well and who will succeed in softening him."

	"I was thinking about it," the king continues, "but who 
will be responsible for this message?"

	"Who?" replies Ogier. "Duke Naimon, and me with him."

	"Gladly," said Charlemagne. "I could not choose two better 
ones."

	Duke Naimon and the Dane therefore set off together to go 
to the emperor's camp in Constantinople. It is Varocher that they 
meet first, as was agreed between him and Ogier. Duke Naimon and 
the Dane each take him by the hand and all three thus present 
themselves before the emperor, who rises to receive them. He seats 
Naimon on his right, Ogier on his left. Varocher remains standing 
in front of them. The two messengers attract attention, and 
everyone admires their good looks. 

	It is Duke Naimon who speaks. "Just emperor," he said, 
"deign to listen to me. I will only tell you the truth. In this 
world, what is done is done and cannot be erased or destroyed. I 
can therefore only ask you, in the name of the Almighty, to grant a 
generous pardon to Charlemagne, your ally, who will put himself and 
all his followers at your command."

	"When I married my daughter to your lord," replied the 
emperor, "I had neither relative nor friend who was dearer to me 
than her. It was Charles who behaved poorly towards me and towards 
my daughter. It was he who outraged us both by condemning her to be 
burned alive. A shameful accusation has weighed unjustly on her, 
but I cannot refrain from rescuing you from the error you find 
yourself in. Thank God my daughter did not die. She is healthy and 
happy, and if you doubt it, she herself will disabuse you." Then, 
addressing Varocher, he said to him with a laugh, "Wise and valiant 
knight, go without delay to Blanchefleur and bring her into my 
presence so that Naimon and Ogier can see her."

	Varocher obeys. He goes to the lady, whom he finds in her 
room with the prisoner Bérard. "Lady," he said to her, "I bring you 
good news. The emperor, your father, commands you to come near him, 
and in your finest attire, to bear witness to the care he has taken 
of you. Two of your French subjects, Ogier and Naimon, want to see 
you."

	The lady gives thanks to God, puts on rich clothes, ties 
her hair with a golden thread and goes to her father's tent.

	As soon as the two barons saw her, they ran to throw 
themselves at her knees. Duke Naimon tells her of his mission. He 
begs her to help them conclude peace, and to consent to return to 
her kingdom, where the homage of all her subjects awaits her. The 
queen hesitates or pretends to hesitate. She reminds the duke of 
all she has suffered since the day she was so shamefully judged. 
She explains to him everything that she owes to Varocher. 

	Finally she said to him, "Peace depends on my father. He 
can dispose of me as he pleases. He has fed me and my child since I 
left France. If he agrees to forgive, I will be very happy."

	"She is speaking wisely," said Duke Naimon. Then, 
addressing the emperor and bowing deeply before him, "Sire 
Emperor," he said to him, "I beseech you by the God who was born in 
Bethlehem, make peace with Charlemagne and return the queen to him! 
She is his, no one has the right to take her away from him."

	"If I acquiesce to Charles' request," replies the Emperor, 
"know well that it is not without regret, when I remember the shame 
he made my daughter endure, and yet I consent to it, to end this 
great quarrel as you wish."

	At these words, Duke Naimon bows and humbly thanks the 
emperor. 

	The queen expresses her joy. "Naimon," she said, "if God 
grants me life, you will be well rewarded for this service, but, 
above all, take my child with you and bring him before his father, 
who has never seen him."

	"God!" exclaims the Dane, "What a rich present!"

	The queen graciously hands over her son into the hands of 
Duke Naimon. The two messengers take leave of the emperor, and 
leave with the child, whom the faithful Varocher does not allow to 
depart without accompanying him.

	As they approach Charlemagne's camp, knights and footmen 
rush to meet them to find out if they will have peace. They see the 
child and marvel at his beauty. With his blond head topped with a 
peacock feather, the little gentleman is the most handsome in the 
world, more handsome even than Absalom. 

	When they were near the king, Charles said to his two 
barons, "Who is this child? Where did you find him? We never saw a 
more beautiful one."

	"When you know his name," replies Duke Naimon, "he will be 
dearer to you than the plum of your eye."

	As he says these words, oh miracle! Here is the child who 
leaves the hand of Duke Naimon, runs near Charlemagne, and taking 
him by the chin, "Father," he said to him, "I know well how my 
mother left the kingdom of France. I am your son, do not doubt it, 
and if you do not believe me, look at the white cross that I wear 
on my right shoulder."

	The king hears him, and addresses Duke Naimon. "What does 
this child say, Naimon? I do not understand anything about his 
language. Where is he from? Who is he?"

	"When I tell you," replies Naimon, "it will be a joy for 
everyone like never before in France. This young child that you 
see, I can assure you, I can swear to you that he is your son. 
Blanchefleur his mother is not dead. I saw her just now."

	"Is it really true?" said Charlemagne. "I find it hard to 
believe, because if she lived, could she have succumbed to her 
family like this?"

	"I swear to you," continues Naimon, "I saw her, I spoke to 
her, and peace is made if you want it."

	"We will not have it until it is too late!" said 
Charlemagne. Then he begins to look at the child. "Beautiful son," 
he asks him, "what is your mother’s name? And your father, what do 
you call him?"

	"My mother's name is Blanchefleur," answers the child, "and 
she told me that Charlemagne was my father."

	The king looks at him again, kisses him and says to him, 
"Fair son, you will be dear to me. After my death, you will reign 
over France, Normandy, and Bavaria."

	"Let us think above all about peace," said Duke Naimon, 
"and that you can soon bring the queen back to France."

	"It is you," said the king, "that I entrust with the task 
of putting an end to the war."

	"Sire," replies Duke Naimon, "I have seen the queen, I have 
spoken with her, I know her intentions, it is that you meet with 
her father, one on one. There you will both agree and make peace."

	Charlemagne consents and the meeting takes place. While the 
two princes are talking, the queen arrives and suddenly interrupts 
their conversation. Charlemagne sees her and smiles gently. 

	She said to him, "Noble and powerful king, I want to forget 
everything. You took revenge on Macaire the traitor who, after 
having accused me so shamefully, was also the murderer of Aubri. I 
am your wife, and know no other lord than you. Make peace, I 
subscribe to it for my part."

	"Wise words!" said Duke Naimon. "So, leave behind all the 
bad memories!"

	"Lord Emperor," said Charlemagne, very moved, "our
conference will not be long. If I have offended you, I am ready to 
make amends. What will I tell you? I rely on God and you. I was of 
your family, and I will still be if the queen consents."

	"With unparalleled joy," said Blanchefleur. "But, Sire," 
she adds, "I tell you bluntly, be careful not to ever do it again."

	Peace concluded, the princes enter Paris, and the queen 
with the sweet smile happily sees her palace again. After fifteen 
days of celebrations, the Emperor of Constantinople and the King of 
Hungary took leave of Charlemagne and returned to their nations. 
Charles remains in Paris, his city, where he sits with the queen on 
his right side.

	Since the day Varocher had left his wife and children to 
accompany Blanchefleur, he had not seen them again, and that day 
was already far away. When he sees that the war is over, he says to 
the queen, "Lady, you remember that when I separated from my wife 
and my children, I left them in great poverty, but today, thanks to 
God and your kindness, I have gold, I have a palfrey, and I have a 
destrier. I will be comfortable for the rest of my life. Please 
allow me to take leave of you."

	The queen consents, gives him enough gifts to fill a 
chariot, and says to him, "Go, Varocher, but do not forget to 
return to court as soon as you can."

	Varocher promises her, and leaves with a small following of 
only fourteen companions. He has not forgotten the way to his home. 
On the verge of arriving there, he sees his two sons coming back 
from the woods with a heavy load, as their father had accustomed 
them to do. Touched with pity at this sight, he approaches them and 
casts aside their burdens. The two boys, thus bullied, each grab a 
large stick and lunge at their father. 

	They would have hit him, but he took a step back and said 
to them, "You will be brave, I see. Beautiful sons," he adds, "do 
you not recognize your father? I am back, and I return with enough
gold to make you rich for the rest of your life. You will ride good 
destriers and will both be armed as knights." At these words, the 
children recognized him, and we can imagine what joy they had.

	When Varocher entered his house, he found neither rich 
clothes, nor bread, nor wine, nor flesh, nor fish. His wife had no 
fur coat, and was poorly dressed, she and her two boys. Varocher, 
without further delay, gave them all clothes of silk and cotton. He 
had everything needed for a good home brought to his house, and had 
a palace with a keep built for him. He was made a champion at the 
court of Charlemagne.

	Here the song ends. God bless you!

---

REFERENCES

Macaire (original text and modern French summary) by François Guessard, 1866