Four Arthurian Romances
colours: one white, one sorrel, one fallow red, and one black. But I
must have passed over something which it is not proper to omit. Cligés
goes to ask and obtain leave to depart from his sweetheart Fenice; for
he wishes to commend her to God's safe keeping. Coming before her,
he throws himself upon his knees, weeping so bitterly that the tears
moisten his tunic and ermine, the while keeping his eyes upon the
ground; for he dares not raise his eyes to her, as if he were guilty
of some crime and misdeed toward her, for which he seems overcome with
shame. And Fenice, who timidly and fearfully looks at him, does not know
the occasion of his coming, and speaks to him with difficulty. "Rise,
friend and fair sir! Sit here beside me, and weep no more, and tell me
what your pleasure is." "Lady, what shall I say, and what leave unsaid?
I come to ask your leave." "Leave? To do what?" "Lady, I must go off to
Britain." "Then tell me what your business is, before I give you leave
to go." "Lady, my father, before he departed this life and died, begged
me not to fail to go to Britain as soon as I should be made a knight.
I should not wish for any reason to disregard his command. I must not
falter until I have accomplished the journey. It is a long road from
here to Greece, and if I should go thither, the journey would be too
long from Constantinople to Britain. But it is right that I should ask
leave from you to whom I altogether belong." Many a covert sigh and sob
marked the separation. But the eyes of none were keen enough, nor the
ears of any sharp enough, to learn from what he saw and heard that there
was any love between these two. Cligés, in spite of the grief he felt,
took his leave at the first opportunity. He is full of thought as he
goes away, and so are the emperor and many others who stay behind. But
more than all the others, Fenice is pensive: she finds no bottom or
bound to the reflections which occupy her, so abundantly are her cares
multiplied. She was still oppressed with thought when she arrived in
Greece. There she was held in great honour as mistress and empress; but
her heart and mind belong to Cligés, wherever he goes, and she wishes
her heart never to return to her, unless it is brought back to her by
him who is perishing of the same disease with which he has smitten her.
If he should get well, she would recover too, but he will never be its
victim without her being so as well. Her trouble appears in her pale and
changed colour; for the fresh, clear, and radiant colour which Nature
had given her is now a stranger to her face. She often weeps and often
sighs. Little she cares for her empire and for the riches that are hers.
She always cherishes in her remembrance the hour when Cligés went away,
and the leave he took of her, how he changed colour and grew pale, and
how tearful his expression was, for he came to weep in her presence
humbly and simply upon his knees, as if constrained to worship her.
All this is sweet and pleasant for her to remember and think about. And
afterward, as a little treat, she takes on her tongue instead of spice
a sweet word which for all Greece she would not wish him to have used
contrary to the sense she had understood when he first had uttered
it; for she lives upon no other dainty, and there is nothing else that
pleases her. This word alone sustains and nourishes her, and assuages
all her pain. She cares to eat and drink of no other dish or beverage,
for when the two lovers came to part, Cligés had said he was "altogether
hers." This word is so sweet and tastes so good that from the tongue it
stirs her heart, and she takes it into her mouth and heart to be all the
more sure of it. Under any other lock she would not dare to store this
treasure. Nowhere could it be lodged so well as in her own bosom. She
will never leave it exposed at any price, being in such fear of robbers
and thieves. But there is no ground for her anxiety, and she need have
no fear of the birds of prey, for her treasure is not movable, but is
rather like a house which cannot be destroyed by fire or flood, but will
always stay fixed in a single place. But she feels no confidence in the
matter, so she worries and strives to find and hold some ground on which
to stand, interpreting the situation in divers ways. She both opposes
and defends her position, and engages in the following argument: "With
what intention should Cligés say 'I am altogether yours' unless it was
love that prompted him? What power can I have over him that he should
esteem me so highly as to make me the mistress of his heart? Is he not
more fair than I, and of higher rank than I? I see in it naught but
love, which could vouchsafe me such a boon. I, who cannot escape its
power, will prove by my own case that unless he loved me he would never
say that he was mine; unless love holds him in its toils, Cligés
could never say that he was mine any more than I could say that I was
altogether his unless love had put me in his hands. For if he loves me
not, at least he does not fear me. I hope that love which gives me to
him will in return give him to me. But now I am sore dismayed because it
is so trite a word, and I may simply be deceived, for many there be who
in flattering terms will say even to a total stranger, 'I and all that
I have are yours,' and they are more idle chatterers than the jays. So
I do not know what to think, for it might well turn out that he said it
just to flatter me. Yet I saw his colour change, and I saw him weeping
piteously. In my judgment, the tears and his face confused and pale were
not produced by treachery, nor were they the fruits of trickery. Those
eyes from which I saw tears roll down were not guilty of falsehood.
Signs enough of love I saw, if I know anything about it. Yes, in an
evil hour I thought of love; woe is me that I ever learned it, for the
experience has been bitter. Has it indeed? Yes, verily. I am dead when
I cannot see him who has stolen my heart away by his cajoling flattery,
because of which my heart leaves its dwelling, and will not abide with
me, hating my home and establishment. In truth I have been ill treated
by him who has my heart in his keeping. He who robs me and takes what is
mine cannot love me, of that I am sure. But am I sure? Why then did he
weep? Why? It was not in vain, for there was cause enough. I must not
assume that I was the cause of it, for one is always loath to leave
people whom one loves and knows. So it is not strange if he was sorry
and grieved and if he wept when he left some one whom he knew. But
he who gave him this advice to go and dwell in Britain could not have
smitten me more effectively. He is cut to the quick who loses his heart.
He who deserves it, should be treated ill; but I have never deserved
such treatment. Alas, unhappy one, why has Cligés killed me when I
am innocent? But I am unjust to accuse him thus without cause. Surely
Cligés would never have deserted me if his heart were like mine. I am
sure his heart is not like mine. And if my heart is lodged in his it
will never draw away, and his will never part from mine, for my heart
follows him secretly: they have formed such a goodly company. But, after
all, to tell the truth, they are very different and contrary. How are
they different and contrary? Why, his is the master and mine the slave;
and the slave can have no will of his own, but only do his master's will
and forsake all other affairs. But what reference has that to me? My
heart and service are no concern to him. This arrangement distresses
me, that one is master of us both. Why is not my heart as independent
as his? Then their power would be equalised. My heart is now a prisoner,
unable to move itself unless his moves as well. And whether his heart
wanders or stays still, mine must needs prepare to follow him in his
train. God! why are our bodies not so near one another that I could
in some way bring back my heart! Bring back? Foolish one, if I should
remove it from its joy I should be the death of it. Let it stay there!
I have no desire to dislodge it, but rather wish that it tarry with its
lord until he feel some pity for it. For rather over there than here
ought he to have mercy on his servant, because they are both in a
foreign land. If my heart knows well the language of flattery, as is
necessary for the courtier, it will be rich ere it comes back. Whoever
wishes to stand in the good graces of his lord and sit beside him on his
right, to be in the fashion now-a-days, must remove the feather from
his head, even when there is none there. But there is one bad feature of
this practice: while he is smoothing down his master, who is filled
with evil and villainy, he will never be so courteous as to tell him the
truth; rather he makes him think and believe that no one could compare
with him in prowess and in knowledge, and the master thinks that he is
speaking the truth. That man does not know himself who takes another's
word about qualities which he does not possess. For even if he is a
wicked and insolent wretch, and as cowardly as a hare, mean, crazy, and
misshapen, and a villain both in word and deed--yet some man will praise
him to his face who behind his back will mock at him. But when in his
hearing he speaks of him to some other, he praises him, while his lord
pretends not to hear what they say between themselves; if, however, he
thought that he would not be heard, he would say something his master
would not like. And if his master is pleased to lie, the servant is all
ready with his consent, and will never be backward in averring that all
his master says is true. He who frequents courts and lords must ever be
ready with a lie. So, too, must my heart do if it would find favour with
its lord. Let it flatter and be obsequious. But Cligés is such a knight,
so fair, so open, and so loyal, that my heart, in praising him,
need never be false or perfidious, for in him there is nothing to be
improved. Therefore I wish my heart to serve him, for, as the people's
proverb runs, 'He who serves a noble man is bad indeed if he does not
improve in his company.'"
(Vv. 4575-4628.) Thus love harrows Fenice. But this torment is her
delight, of which she can never grow weary. And Cligés now has crossed
the sea and come to Wallingford. There he took expensive quarters in
great state. But his thoughts are always of Fenice, not forgetting her
for a single hour. While he delays and tarries there, his men, acting
under his instructions, made diligent inquiries. They were informed that
King Arthur's barons and the King in person had appointed a tourney to
be held in the plain before Oxford, which lies close to Wallingford.
[234] There the struggle was arranged, and it was to last four days. But
Cligés will have abundant time to prepare himself if in the meantime
he needs anything, for more than a fortnight must elapse before the
tournament begins. He orders three of his squires to go quickly to
London and there buy three different sets of arms, one black, another
red, the third green, and that on the way back each shall be kept
covered with new cloth, so that if any one should meet them on the road
he may not know the colour of the arms they carry. The squires start at
once and come to London, where they find available everything they need.
Having finished this errand, they return at once without losing any
time. When the arms they had brought were shown to Cligés he was
well pleased with them. He ordered them to be set away and concealed,
together with those which the emperor had given him by the Danube, when
he knighted him. I do not choose to tell you now why he had them stored
away; but it will be explained to you when all the high barons of the
land are mounted on their steeds and assemble in search of fame.