Four Arthurian Romances
slashed her flesh, and when the blood is dropping down, as it trickles
from among the wounds, even then their efforts are of no avail to
extract from her a sigh or word, nor to make her stir or move. Then they
say that they must procure fire and lead, which they will melt and lay
upon her hands, rather than fail in their efforts to make her speak.
After securing a light and some lead they kindle a fire and melt the
lead. Thus the miserable villains torment and afflict the lady, by
taking the lead all boiling hot from the fire and pouring it into the
palms of her hands. Not satisfied with pouring the lead clean through
her palms, the cowardly rascals say that, if she does not speak at once
they will straightway stretch her on the grate until she is completely
grilled. Yet, she holds her peace, and does not refuse to have her body
beaten and maltreated by them. Now they were on the point of placing
her upon the fire to be roasted and grilled when more than a thousand
ladies, who were stationed before the palace, come to the door and
through a little crack catch sight of the torture and anguish which they
were inflicting upon the lady, as with coal and flame they accomplished
her martyrdom. They bring clubs and hammers to smash and break down the
door. Great was the noise and uproar as they battered and broke in the
door. If now they can lay hands on the doctors, the latter will not have
long to wait before they receive their full deserts. With a single rush
the ladies enter the palace, and in the press is Thessala, who has no
other aim than to reach her mistress. Beside the fire she finds her
stripped, severely wounded and injured. She puts her back in the bier
again, and over her she spreads a cloth, while the ladies go to give
their reward to the three doctors, without wishing to wait for the
emperor or his seneschal. Out of the windows they threw them down into
the court-yard, breaking the necks, ribs, arms, and legs of all: no
better piece of work was ever done by any ladies.
(Vv. 6051-6162.) Now the three doctors have received their gruesome
reward at the hands of the ladies. But Cligés is terror-stricken and
filled with grief upon hearing of the pain and martyrdom which his
sweetheart has endured for him. He is almost beside himself, fearing
greatly, and with good reason, that she may be dead or badly injured by
the torture inflicted upon her by the three physicians who now are dead.
So he is in despair and despondency when Thessala comes, bringing with
her a very precious ointment with which she has already gently rubbed
the body and wounds of her mistress. When they laid her back in her bier
the ladies wrapped her again in a cloth of Syrian stuff, leaving her
face uncovered. All that night there is no abatement of the cries they
raise unceasingly. Throughout the city, high and low, poor and rich, are
beside themselves with grief, and it seems as if each one boasts that he
will outdo all others in his woe, and would fain never be comforted. All
that night the grief continues. The next morning John came to the court;
and the emperor sends for him and issues to him this command: "John, if
ever thou wroughtest a fine piece of work, now put forth and show all
thy skill in constructing such a sepulchre as for beauty and workmanship
shall have no match." And John, who had already performed the task,
says that he has already completed one which is very fine and cleverly
wrought; but when he began the work he had no thought that other than a
holy body should be laid in it. "Now let the empress be laid in it and
buried in some sacred place, for she, I think, is sanctified." "You have
spoken well," says the emperor; "she shall be buried yonder in my lord
Saint Peter's Church, where bodies are wont to be interred. For before
her death she made this request of me, that I should have her buried
there. Now go about your task, and place your sepulchre in the best
position in the cemetery, where it ought rightfully to be." John
replies: "Very well, my lord." John at once takes his leave, and
prepares the sepulchre with great skill; a feather-bed he placed inside,
because the stone was hard and cold; and in order that the odour may
be sweet, he spreads flowers and leaves about. Another reason for doing
this was that no one might perceive the mattress he had laid within
the grave. Already Mass had been said for the dead in the churches and
parishes, and the bells were tolling continuously as is proper for the
dead. Orders are given to bring the body to be laid in the sepulchre,
which John with all his skill has constructed so richly and handsomely.
In all Constantinople none remains, whether small or great, who does
not follow the body in tears, cursing and reproaching Death. Knights and
youths alike grow faint, while the ladies and damsels beat their breasts
as they thus find fault with Death: "O Death," cries each, "why didst
thou not take ransom for my lady? Surely, thy gain was slight enough,
whereas the loss to us is great." And in this grief Cligés surely bears
his part, as he suffers and laments more than all the others do, and it
is strange he does not kill himself. But still he decides to put this
off until the hour and the time shall come for him to disinter her and
get possession of her and see whether she be alive or not. Over the
gave stand the men who let down the body into its place; but, with John
there, they do not meddle with the adjustment of the sarcophagus, and
since they were so prostrated that they could not see, John had plenty
of time to perform his special task. When the coffin was in its place,
and nothing else was in the grave, he sealed up tightly all the joints.
When this was done, any one would have been skilful who, except by
force or violence, could take away or loosen anything which John had put
inside.
(Vv. 6163-6316.) Fenice lies in the sepulchre until the darkness of
night came on. But thirty knights mount guard over her, and there
are ten tapers burning there, which light up the place all about. The
knights were weary and exhausted by the strain they had undergone; so
they ate and drank that night until they all fell sound asleep. When
night came on, Cligés steals away from the court and from all his
followers, so that there was not a single knight or servant who knew
what had become of him. He did not stop until he found John, who advises
him as best he can. He furnishes him with arms, but he will never
have any need of them. Once armed, they both spur to the cemetery. The
cemetery was enclosed all about with a high wall, so that the knights,
who had gone asleep after making the gate fast within, could rest
assured that no one would enter there. Cligés does not see how he can
get in, for there is no passing through the gate. And yet, somehow he
must pass through, for love bids him and drives him on. He tries the
wall and climbs up, being strong and agile. Inside was a garden planted
with trees, one of which stood so near the wall that it touched it. Now
Cligés had what he needed, and after letting himself down by the tree,
the first thing he did was to go to open the gate for John. Seeing the
knights asleep, they extinguished all the lights, so that the place
remained in darkness. And John now uncovers the grave and opens the
coffin, taking care to do it no harm. Cligés steps into the grave and
lifts out his Sweetheart, all weak and prostrate, whom he fondles,
kisses, and embraces. He does not know whether to rejoice or regret that
she does not stir or move. And John, as quickly as he could, closed
up the sepulchre again, so that it was not apparent that any one had
tampered with it. Then they betook themselves as fast as they could to
the tower. When they had set her in the tower, in the rooms which were
beneath the level of the ground, they took off her grave clothes; and
Cligés, who knew nothing of the potion which she had taken, which made
her dumb and kept her motionless, thinks that she is dead, and is in
despair with anxiety as he heavily sighs and weeps. But soon the time
will come for the potion to lose its force. And Fenice, who hears his
grief, struggles and strives for strength to comfort him by word or
glance. Her heart almost bursts because of the sorrow which he shows.
"Ah Death!" he says, "how mean thou art, to spare and reprieve all
things despicable and vile--to let them live on and endure. Death! art
thou beside thyself or drunk, who hast killed my lady without me? This
is a marvellous thing I see: my lady is dead, and I still live on! Ah,
precious one, why does your lover live to see you dead? One now could
rightly say that you have died in my service, and that it is I who
have killed and murdered you. Sweetheart, then I am the death that has
smitten you. Is not that wrong? For it is my own life I have lost in
you, and have preserved your life in me. For did not your health and
life belong to me, sweet one? And did not mine belong to you? For I
loved nothing excepting you, and our double existence was as one. So now
I have done what was right in keeping your soul in my body while mine
has escaped from your body, and one ought to go to seek the company of
the other, wherever it may be, and nothing ought to separate them." At
this she heaves a gentle sigh and whispers faintly: "Lover mine, I am
not altogether dead, but very near it. I value my life but little now. I
thought it a jest and a mere pretence; but now I am indeed to be pitied,
for death has not treated this as a jest. It will be a marvel if I
escape alive. For the doctors have seriously wounded me, and broken my
flesh and disfigured me. And yet, if it was possible for my nurse to
come here, and if efforts were of any avail, she would restore me to
health again." "Do not worry, dear, about that," says Cligés, "for this
very night I will bring her here." "Dear, let John go for her now." So
John departed and looked for her until he found her, and told her how
he wished her to come along and to let no other cause detain her; for
Fenice and Cligés have sent for her to come to a tower where they are
awaiting her; and that Fenice is in a grievous state, so that she must
come provided with ointments and remedies, and to bear in mind that
she will not live long, if she does not quickly come to bear her aid.
Thessala runs at once and, taking ointments, plaster, and remedies which
she has prepared, she meets John again. Secretly they go out from the
city, until they come straight to the tower. When Fenice sees her nurse,
she feels already cured, because of the loving faith and trust she
places in her. And Cligés greets her affectionately, and says: "Welcome,
nurse, whom I love and prize. Nurse, for God's sake, what do you think
of this young lady's malady? What is your opinion? Will she recover?"
"Yes, my lord, have no fear but that I shall restore her completely.
A fortnight will not pass before I make her so well that she was never
before so lively and strong."
(Vv. 6317-6346.) While Thessala is busy with her remedies, John goes to
provide the tower with everything that is necessary. Cligés goes to the
tower and comes away bravely and openly, for he has lodged a moulting
falcon there, and he says that he goes to visit it; thus no one can
guess that he goes there for any other reason than for the falcon. He
makes long stays there night and day. He orders John to guard the tower,
so that no one shall enter against his will. Fenice now has no further
cause to complain, for Thessala has completely cured her. If Cligés were
Duke of Almeria, Morocco, or Tudela, he would not consider it all worth
a holly-berry compared with the joy which he now feels. Certainly Love
did not debase itself when it joined these two, for it seems to them,
when they embrace and kiss each other, that all the world must be better