Four Arthurian Romances
pale and trembles, and in spite of herself must succumb to Love. Only
with great difficulty can she restrain herself from casting a glance
toward Alexander; but she must be on her guard against her brother, my
lord Gawain. Dearly she pays and atones for her great pride and disdain.
Love has heated for her a bath which heats and burns her painfully. At
first it is grateful to her, and then it hurts; one moment she likes it,
and the next she will have none of it. She accuses her eyes of treason,
and says: [211] "My eyes, you have betrayed me now! My heart, usually
so faithful, now bears me ill-will because of you. Now what I see
distresses me. Distresses? Nay, verily, rather do I like it well. And if
I actually see something that distresses me, can I not control my eyes?
My strength must indeed have failed, and little should I esteem myself,
if I cannot control my eyes and make them turn their glance elsewhere.
Thus, I shall be able to baffle Love in his efforts to get control of
me. The heart feels no pain when the eye does not see; so, if I do not
look at him, no harm will come to me. He addresses me no request or
prayer, as he would do were he in love with me. And since he neither
loves nor esteems me, shall I love him without return? If his beauty
allures my eyes, and my eyes listen to the call, shall I say that I love
him just for that? Nay, for that would be a lie. Therefore, he has no
ground for complaint, nor can I make any claim against him. One cannot
love with the eyes alone. What crime, then, have my eyes committed, if
their glance but follows my desire? What is their fault and what their
sin? Ought I to blame them, then? Nay, verily. Who, then, should be
blamed? Surely myself, who have them in control. My eye glances at
nothing unless it gives my heart delight. My heart ought not to have any
desire which would give me pain. Yet its desire causes me pain. Pain?
Upon my faith, I must be mad, if to please my heart I wish for something
which troubles me. If I can, I ought to banish any wish that distresses
me. If I can? Mad one, what have I said? I must, indeed, have little
power if I have no control over myself. Does Love think to set me in
the same path which is wont to lead others astray? Others he may lead
astray, but not me who care not for him. Never shall I be his, nor
ever was, and I shall never seek his friendship." Thus she argues with
herself, one moment loving, and hating the next. She is in such doubt
that she does not know which course she had better adopt. She thinks to
be on the defence against Love, but defence is not what she wants. God!
She does not know that Alexander is thinking of her too! Love bestows
upon them equally such a share as is their due. He treats them very
fairly and justly, for each one loves and desires the other. And this
love would be true and right if only each one knew what was the other's
wish. But he does not know what her desire is, and she knows not the
cause of his distress.
(Vv. 541-574.) The Queen takes note of them and sees them often blanch
and pale and heave deep sighs and tremble. But she knows no reason why
they should do so, unless it be because of the sea where they are. I
think she would have divined the cause had the sea not thrown her off
her guard, but the sea deceives and tricks her, so that she does not
discover love because of the sea; and it is from love that comes the
bitter pain that distresses them. [212] But of the three concerned,
the Queen puts all the blame upon the sea; for the other two accuse the
third to her, and hold it alone responsible for their guilt. Some one
who is not at fault is often blamed for another's wrong. Thus, the Queen
lays all the blame and guilt upon the sea, but it is unfair to put the
blame upon the sea, for it is guilty of no misdeed. Soredamors' deep
distress continued until the vessel came to port. As for the King, it is
well known that the Bretons were greatly pleased, and served him gladly
as their liege lord. But of King Arthur I will not longer speak in
this place; rather shall you hear me tell how Love distresses these two
lovers whom he has attacked.
(Vv. 575-872.) Alexander loves and desires her; and she, too, pines for
the love of him, but he knows it not, nor will he know it until he
has suffered many a pain and many a grief. It is for her sake that he
renders to the Queen loving service, as well as to her maids-in-waiting;
but to her on whom his thoughts are fixed, he dares not speak or address
a word. If she but dared to assert to him the right which she thinks she
has, she would gladly inform him of the truth; but she does not dare,
and cannot do it. They dare neither speak nor act in accordance with
what each sees in the other--which works a great hardship to them both,
and their love but grows and flames the more. However, it is the custom
of all lovers to feast their eyes gladly with gazing, if they can do
no more; and they assume that, because they find pleasure in that which
causes their love to be born and grow, therefore it must be to their
advantage; whereas it only harms them more, just as he who approaches
and draws close beside the fire burns himself more than he who holds
aloof. Their love waxes and grows anon; but each is abashed before the
other, and so much is hidden and concealed that no flame or smoke arises
from the coals beneath the ashes. The heat is no less on this account,
but rather is better sustained beneath the ashes than above. Both of
them are in great torment; for, in order that none may perceive their
trouble, they are forced to deceive people by a feigned bearing; but at
night comes the bitter moan, which each one makes within his breast. Of
Alexander I will tell you first how he complains and vents his grief.
Love presents before his mind her for whom he is in such distress; it is
she who has filched his heart away, and grants him no rest upon his bed,
because, forsooth, he delights to recall the beauty and the grace of her
who, he has no hope, will ever bring him any joy. "I may as well hold
myself a madman." he exclaims. "A madman? Truly, I am beside myself,
when I dare not speak what I have in mind; for it would speedily fare
worse with me (if I held my peace). I have engaged my thoughts in a mad
emprise. But is it not better to keep my thoughts to myself than to be
called a fool? My wish will never then be known. Shall I then conceal
the cause of my distress, and not dare to seek aid and healing for my
wound? He is mad who feels himself afflicted, and seeks not what will
bring him health, if perchance he may find it anywhere; but many a one
seeks his welfare by striving for his heart's desire, who pursues only
that which brings him woe instead. And why should one ask for advice,
who does not expect to gain his health? He would only exert himself
in vain. I feel my own illness to be so grievous that I shall never be
healed by any medicine or draught, by any herb or root. For some ills
there is no remedy, and mine lies so deep within that it is beyond the
reach of medicine. Is there no help, then? Methinks I have lied. When
first I felt this malady, if I had dared to make mention of it. I might
have spoken with a physician who could have completely cured me. But I
like not to discuss such matters; I think he would pay me no heed and
would not consent to accept a fee. No wonder, then, if I am terrified;
for I am very ill, yet I do not know what disease this is which has me
in its grip, and I know not whence this pain has come. I do not know? I
know full well that it is Love who does me this injury. How is that? Can
Love do harm? Is he not gentle and well-bred? I used to think that there
was naught but good in Love; but I have found him full of enmity. He who
has not had experience of him does not know what tricks Love plays.
He is a fool who joins his ranks; for he always seeks to harm his
followers. Upon my faith, his tricks are bad. It is poor sport to play
with him, for his game will only do me harm. What shall I do, then?
Shall I retreat? I think it would be wise to do so, but I know not
how to do it. If Love chastens and threatens me in order to teach and
instruct me, ought I to disdain my teacher? He is a fool who scorns his
master. I ought to keep and cherish the lesson which Love teaches me,
for great good may soon come of it. But I am frightened because he beats
me so. And dost thou complain, when no sign of blow or wound appears?
Art thou not mistaken? Nay, for he has wounded me so deep that he has
shot his dart to my very heart, and has not yet drawn it out again.
[213] How has he pierced thy body with it, when no wound appears
without? Tell me that, for I wish to know. How did he make it enter in?
Through the eye. Through the eye? But he has not put it out? He did not
harm the eye at all, but all the pain is in the heart. Then tell me, if
the dart passed through the eye, how is it that the eye itself is not
injured or put out. If the dart entered through the eye, why does the
heart in the breast complain, when the eye, which received the first
effect, makes no complaint of it at all? I can readily account for that:
the eye is not concerned with the understanding, nor has it any part in
it; but it is the mirror of the heart, and through this mirror passes,
without doing harm or injury, the flame which sets the heart on fire.
For is not the heart placed in the breast just like a lighted candle
which is set in a lantern? If you take the candle away no light will
shine from the lantern; but so long as the candle lasts the lantern is
not dark at all, and the flame which shines within does it no harm or
injury. Likewise with a pane of glass, which might be very strong and
solid, and yet a ray of the sun could pass through it without cracking
it at all; yet a piece of glass will never be so bright as to enable one
to see, unless a stronger light strikes its surface. Know that the same
thing is true of the eyes as of the glass and the lantern; for the
light strikes the eyes in which the heart is accustomed to see itself
reflected, and lo! it sees some light outside, and many other things,
some green, some purple, others red or blue; and some it dislikes, and
some it likes, scorning some and prizing others. But many an object
seems fair to it when it looks at it in the glass, which will deceive it
if it is not on its guard. My mirror has greatly deceived me; for in
it my heart saw a ray of light with which I am afflicted, and which has
penetrated deep within me, causing me to lose my wits. I am ill-treated
by my friend, who deserts me for my enemy. I may well accuse him of
felony for the wrong he has done to me. I thought I had three friends,
my heart and my two eyes together; but it seems that they hate me. Where
shall I ever find a friend, when these three are my enemies, belonging
to me, yet putting me to death? My servants mock at my authority, in
doing what they please without consulting my desire. After my experience
with these who have done me wrong, I know full well that a good man's
love may be befouled by wicked servants in his employ. He who is
attended by a wicked servant will surely have cause to rue it, sooner or
later. Now I will tell you how the arrow, which has come into my keeping
and possession, is made and fashioned; but I fear greatly that I shall
fail in the attempt; for the fashion of it is so fine that it will be no
wonder if I fail. Yet I shall devote all my effort to telling you how
it seems to me. The notch and the feathers are so close together, when
carefully examined, that the line of separation is as fine as a hair's
breadth; but the notch is so smooth and straight that in it surely no
improvement could be made. The feathers are coloured as if they were
of gold or gilt; but gilt is here beside the mark, for I know these