Nebuchadnezzar was a great king; he made an image of gold, sixty cubits in height, and six cubits in breadth; but he who should seek ever so carefully would not, I ween, find out where his bones were laid: yet thanks to the good clerks, who have written for us in books the tales of times past, we know and can recount the marvellous works done in the days that are gone by.
Alexander was a mighty king; he conquered twelve kingdoms in twelve years: he had many lands and much wealth, and was a king of great power; but his conquests availed him little, he was poisoned and died. Cæsar, whose deeds were so many and bold, who conquered and possessed more of the world than any man before or since could do, was at last, as we read, slain by treason, and fell in the capitol. Both these mighty men, the lords of so many lands, who vanquished so many kings, after their deaths held of all their possessions nought but their bodies' length. What availed them, or how are they the better for their rich booty and wide conquests? It is only from what they have read, that men learn that Alexander and Caesar were. Their names have endured many years; yet they would have been utterly forgotten long ago, if their story had not been written down.
All things hasten to decay; all fall; all perish; all come to an end. Man dieth, iron consumeth, wood decayeth; towers crumble, strong walls fall down, the rose withereth away; the war-horse waxeth feeble, gay trappings grow old; all the works of men's hands perish[2]. Thus we are taught that all die, both clerk and lay; and short would be the fame of any after death, if their history did not endure by being written in the book of the clerk.
The story of the Normans is long and hard to put into romanz. If any one ask who it is that tells it and writes this history, let him know that I am Wace, of the isle of Jersey, which is in the western sea, appendant to the fief of Normandy. I was born in the island of Jersey, but was taken to Caen when young; and, being there taught, went afterwards to France, where I remained for a long time. When I returned thence, I dwelt long at Caen, and there turned myself to making romances, of which I wrote many.
In former times, they who wrote gests and histories of other days used to be beloved, and much prized and honoured. They had rich gifts from the barons and noble ladies; but now I may ponder long, and write and translate books, and may make many a romance and sirvente, ere I find any one, how courteous soever he may be, who will do me any honour, or give me enough even to pay a scribe. I talk to rich men who have rents and money; it is for them that the book is made, that the tale well told and written down; but noblesse now is dead, and largesse hath perished with it[3]; so that I have found none, let me travel where I will, who will bestow ought upon me, save king Henry the second. He gave me, so God reward him, a prebend at Bayeux[4], and many other good gifts. He was grandson of the first king Henry, and father of the third[5]. Three kings—dukes and kings—dukes of Normandy, and kings of England—all three have I known, being a reading clerk, in their days.
In honour of the second Henry, of the line of Roul, I have told the tale of Roul, of his noble parentage, of Normandy that he conquered, and the prowess that he showed. I have recounted the history of William Lunge-espee, till the Flemings killed him by felony and treason; of Richard his son, whom he left a child; [of the second Richard, who succeeded him; of his son the third Richard; who was soon followed by Duke Robert his brother, who went to Jerusalem, and died by poison; and now the tale will be of William his son, who was born to him of the 'meschine, Arlot of Faleise'][6].
[1] The list in the printed 'Chronique de Normandie,' though very inaccurately given, is based upon Wace's. It may be found much more correctly in the fine MS. Chronicle of Normandy, (which ought to be printed.) in the British Museum, Bibl. Reg. 15 E. vi. fol. ccccx.
[2] A much more correct copy is printed in the french translation of Ducarel, published in 1823.
[3] These laments are frequent in the minstrels' songs of that age in all countries. Walther von der Vogelweide, the German minnesinger, by for the most varied and interesting poet of his day, is often very plaintive in his lamentations;