Arthurian Romances (29 page)

Now I must speak of the maiden and of Cligés; and you will hear of the Duke of Saxony, who sent a quite young nephew of his, not yet knighted, to Cologne to inform the emperor that he could expect no truce or peace from his uncle the duke unless he sent him his daughter. And if the man who was intending to carry her back to Greece with him should set out, he would find the road cut off and well defended unless he handed her over. The young man delivered his message well, without haughtiness or insult, but he received no reply from anyone, neither knight nor emperor. When he saw that no one would speak and that their silence was filled with scorn, he strode defiantly from the court; but as he was leaving, his youthful impetuosity led him to challenge Cligés to a tournament.

The men mounted their horses to commence the tournament; the sides were even, with three hundred men on each. The whole palace emptied and not a person remained; all the knights and ladies climbed to the balconies, the battlements, and the windows to watch and observe those who were
about to joust. Even the girl whom Love had won and subjected to his will went up and took her place at a window, where she sat very delightedly for from there she could see the man who had stolen her heart. Nor did she have any desire to take it back from him, for she would never love another; but she did not know his name, nor who he was, nor of what lineage, and it was not proper for her to ask, though she was eager to hear words that might cheer her heart. Through the window she observed the shields gleaming with gold, and the men who bore them at their necks who were engaged in the jousting. But all her thoughts and cares were directed to a single place, and nothing else concerned her: she gazed avidly at Cligés, following him with her eyes wherever he went. And he, for love of her, fought bravely for all to see, so that she might hear tell only of his strength and skill; at the least it would then be proper for her to praise him for his valour.

He headed for the duke's nephew, who had broken many lances and was routing the Greeks. Distressed by this, Cligés braced himself firmly in his stirrups and charged him so hotly that the young envoy could not keep himself from being thrown from his saddle. There was great commotion as he struggled to his feet. He stood up and then remounted, intent on avenging his shame. But some men, when they think they have the chance to avenge their shame only add to it. The youth charged towards Cligés, who lowered his lance to meet him and thrust at him with such might that he threw him to the earth again. Now his shame has doubled and all his men are discomfited, seeing clearly that they will not be able to leave the battlefield with honour. Not one of them had the skill and valour to keep his saddle if attacked by Cligés. The Germans and the Greeks all rejoiced when they saw their men driving off the Saxons, who fled in a rout. They pursued them for their shame and overtook them at a river, in which a good number dived and were soaked. Cligés upended the duke's nephew in the deepest part of the ford, and so many others in addition that to their shame and disgrace they fled away grieving and dispirited.

Then Cligés returned rejoicing, having been proclaimed the victor by both sides, and came directly to a door that was near the lodgings of the maiden who, as he entered, exacted her toll in the form of a tender glance, which he paid her: for their eyes met and each vanquished the other. But every German there, whether from the northlands or the south, who had the gift of speech exclaimed: ‘My God, who is this young man in whom such beauty has blossomed? Heavens, how is it he has so quickly won such glory?'

So many asked ‘Who is this young man? Who is he?' that before long throughout the city his name was known, and that of his father, and the pledge that the emperor had given and sworn to him. This news was repeated so often that word even reached the girl, whose heart was overjoyed by it, because now she could no longer say that Love had mocked her. She had no cause for complaint, because Love had made her give her heart to the fairest, the most courteous, and the bravest knight to be found anywhere.

Yet she was being forced to marry someone who could bring her no pleasure, which made her anxious and distraught, and not knowing whom to consult about her love she is left to her own thoughts and sleepless nights. And these two concerns so troubled her that she grew pale and wan, so that it was clear to all from her loss of colour that she did not have everything she desired. She was less given to pleasure than before, laughed less, and was less carefree; but if anyone asked the reason for her change, she hid it well and denied everything.

Her governess, who had nursed her as a child, was named Thessala and was skilled in necromancy. She was called Thessala because she had been born in Thessaly, where diabolical enchantments flourish and are taught. The women of this land practise magic spells and bewitchments. Thessala saw the wanness and pallor of the girl Love held in his grip and counselled her with these words. ‘Heavens!' she said, ‘are you bewitched, my dear sweet lady, to have your face so wan? I wonder what could be the matter. Tell me, if you know, where this pain affects you most. If anyone is to heal you, you can count on me, for I know how to restore your health. I know how to cure the dropsy and can heal the gout, quinsy, and asthma. I am so skilled in reading urine and the pulse that you'd be wrong to seek another doctor; and, if I dare say so, I am more familiar with true and proven spells and enchantments than Medea
¹¹
ever was. Though I've cared for you since birth, I've never told you of this until now. But don't blame me for this, for I would not have told you even now had I not clearly seen that a malady for which you need my aid has overwhelmed you. My lady, you would do well to explain to me your sickness before it afflicts you further. The emperor has placed me in your service to watch over you, and I have always performed my duties so well that I've kept you in good health. Now all my efforts will have been in vain if I cannot heal you of this malady. You mustn't hide from me whether this is a sickness or something else.'

The girl did not dare reveal the fullness of her desire for fear that Thessala
might blame or discourage her. However, once she had heard Thessala boast of her skills and knowledge of enchantments, spells, and potions, she determined to reveal the reason why she was pale and wan, but only after having her swear never to reveal her secret and not oppose her will.

‘Without lying, nurse,' she said, ‘I don't believe I've felt any pain, yet before long I believe I shall. Just thinking of it brings me great pain and grief. But how can anyone who doesn't experience it know the difference between pain and happiness? My pain is different from any other for, if I'm to tell you the truth, it pleases me though it causes me to suffer, and I take pleasure in my discomfort. And if there's any pain that can please, then my trouble is what I seek, and my suffering is my health. So I don't know why I should complain, for nothing I know causes me pain except by my own choosing. My desire is painful, possibly, but I feel so much comfort in my desire that it causes a sweet suffering, and so much joy in my trouble that I am sweetly ill. Nurse Thessala, tell me: this pain that seems sweet to me, yet torments me so, is it not some delusion? I don't know how to recognize whether it is a sickness or not. Please, nurse, tell me its name, and symptoms, and nature. Yet rest assured that I've no desire to be healed in any manner, for I'm very fond of this suffering.'

Thessala, who was very wise in all the ways of love, knew and understood from what she had said that it was love which was troubling her: since she called her sufferings sweet, it was certain she was in love, for all pains are bitter except that which comes from loving. But Love turns her bitterness to sweetness and delight, and then often turns it back again.

And knowing full well what state she was in, she replied: ‘Have no fear, for I'll tell you both the name and nature of your pain. You've told me, I believe, that the suffering you feel seems both joyful and invigorating: the pain of love is of this nature exactly, for it comes from joy and suffering. Therefore you're in love, and I can prove it to you, because I find no sweetness in any pain except the pain of love alone. All other sorts of pain are always horrible and cruel, but love is sweet and pleasant. You're in love, I'm completely sure of it, and I don't hold it against you; but I would consider it wrong if you were to hide your feelings from me out of silliness or folly.'

‘Nurse, it's no use trying to draw me out, for first I must be certain and convinced that nothing will ever compel you to speak of this to anyone alive.'

‘My lady, indeed the winds will speak of this before I, unless you give me leave. And moreover, I'll swear to help you so that you may know for certain that through me you'll find your happiness.'

‘Then you will have healed me for certain, nurse. But the emperor is marrying me, which makes me sad and angry, for the one I love is the nephew of the man I must wed. And if the emperor takes his pleasure of me, then I will have lost my own happiness and can expect no other. I'd rather be torn limb from limb than have our love remembered like that of Tristan and Isolde, which has become a source of mockery and makes me ashamed to talk of it. I could never agree to lead the life Isolde led. Love was greatly abased in her, for her heart was given entirely to one man, but her body was shared by two; so she spent all her life without refusing either. Her love was contrary to reason, but my love will always be constant, because nothing will ever cause my heart and body to be separated. Truly my body will never be prostituted, nor will it ever be shared. Let him who possesses my heart possess my body, for I abjure all others.

‘But I cannot understand how the one to whom my heart yields can have my body, since my father is giving me to another and I dare not oppose him. And when he becomes lord of my body, if he uses it in a way I don't wish, then it is not right for me to welcome another. Nor can the emperor marry without breaking his oath; on the contrary, unless Alis betrays him, Cligés is to inherit his empire after his death. But if you knew of any artifice whereby the man to whom I'm pledged and given would have no part of me, you'd have rendered me a very welcome service. Nurse, I beg you to see to it that Alis does not break his oath never to take a wife: he swore it to Cligés's father, who formulated the oath himself. His word will be broken, though, since he is about to marry me. But my love for Cligés is such that I would rather be dead and buried than see him lose a penny of what is rightfully his. May no child of mine ever cause him to be disinherited. Nurse, see to it now that I will always be grateful to you.'

Then her nurse assured her that she would devise so many conjurings, potions, and enchantments that she need have no cause to fear or worry about this emperor: as soon as he has drunk the potion she will give him to drink, they will share the same bed, but no matter how often she is with him she will be as safe as if there were a wall between them. ‘But don't let it upset you if he takes his pleasure of you in his dreams, for when he's fast asleep he'll have his sport with you, and will firmly believe he took his pleasure while awake. He'll never suspect it was a dream, deceit, or lie. This is how he'll have his sport with you: while he's asleep he'll believe that he's awake and making love to you.'

The girl cherished, praised, and valued this kindness and this service. In promising her help and swearing to be faithful to her, the nurse brought her
new hope. And so the girl anticipated attaining her happiness, no matter how long it would have to be postponed; for Cligés would never be so heartless – if he knew she loved him and was suffering so for his sake (she intended to save her maidenhead to preserve his inheritance) – that he would fail to pity her, if he were of a noble nature and such as he should be. The girl believed her nurse, and trusted in her and was reassured by her; they pledged and swore to one another that this decision would be kept so secret that it would never afterwards be known.

Thus their conversation ended, and when morning came the emperor sent for his daughter, who came as soon as she was summoned. What more shall I tell you? The two emperors had so resolved their affairs that the marriage was already being celebrated and joy was breaking out in the palace. But I do not wish to tarry by giving all the details; I wish rather to speak once more of Thessala, who was ever intent on mixing and preparing her potions.

Thessala ground her potion, adding spices in abundance to sweeten and temper it. She ground and mixed it well, and filtered it until it was perfectly clear without a trace of bitterness, for the spices she used made it sweet and aromatic. By the time the potion was ready, the day was drawing to its end. Tables had been set up for supper and the tablecloths spread, but I shall not describe the meal. Thessala needed to find some clever means or person to deliver her potion. Everyone was seated for the meal and more than six courses had been set out. Cligés was serving his uncle; Thessala, as she observed him, felt that his services were wasted, since he was serving his own disinheritance, and this thought distressed and saddened her. Then, in her goodness, the thought came to her that she would have the potion served by the man to whom it would mean both joy and profit. Thessala sent for Cligés, who came to her at once and asked why she had sent for him.

‘My friend,' she said, ‘I wish to honour the emperor at this meal with a drink that he will esteem most highly, and I don't want you to serve him any other drink at supper or at bedtime. I believe he will derive great pleasure from it, for he will never have tasted one so good, and no beverage was ever so costly. But I warn you to be careful that no one else drinks of it, for there is very little. And I also admonish you not to let him know where it came from. Say only that you found it by chance among the gifts, and because you sensed and detected on the breeze the fragrance of its sweet spices and beheld its perfect clarity, you poured it into his cup. If by chance he should inquire, this story will satisfy him fully. But you mustn't harbour
any evil suspicions with regard to what I've told you, for the drink is pure and healthy and full of good spices; and the time will come, I believe, when it will bring you joy.'