To begin our fine romance, I'll tell you of noble Bertrand's origins. As is well known, he was born in Brittany, six leagues from the worthy city of Rennes, at La Motte Broons where a great castle stands. Regnault du Guesclin was father of the child by a well-born and most gentle lady. But this child I speak of, I believe there was none so ugly from Rennes to Dinan! Snub-nosed, whey-faced, puny, wretched – his father and mother loathed him so that they often heartily wished him dead or drowned in a rushing river: stupid, miserable wretch they called him! So spurned and shunned he was that the squires and servants ignored him utterly.

But it's often been witnessed in this world that the most despised later prove the most illustrious of all; and so it was with him, you may be sure, for there has never been such a knight as he since the days of Roland. The king reigning at the time of which I sing kissed him often as his loyal, beloved friend, for Bertrand risked his life for him, venturing forth unafraid of death. Many a knight has mourned – and will do so yet – the death of that worthy, noble conqueror. Many a mighty soldier – minstrel, too, and many an able herald – lost a great friend at his passing, for Bertrand always rewarded them liberally with jewels and fine garments, with gold and shining silver. Generous, brave and courtly was this Bertrand of whom I sing, as you're about to hear now in this noble romance.

As I've already told you in this song, the child who was to win such great renown was often called a wretch and was held as such till he was six years old or thereabouts. Then, on the high feast day of Ascension, Bertrand's mother was in a chamber of her house with her sons close about her. But Bertrand was sitting on a little stool with no companion, all alone. His two brothers were in pride of place with Bertrand in the background, completely ignored as if he were a half-wit – for he was indeed a simple child, coarse and unappealing, and as mischievous and annoying as could be! And he was never without a stick in his hand. Let me tell you now what was in little Bertrand's mind.