Arthurian Romances (24 page)

In this way she quarrelled with herself. One moment she loved and the next she hated. She was so confused that she did not know what was best to do. She thought she was defending herself against Love, but any defence was useless. God! If only she had known that Alexander was thinking about her too! Love gave them equal portions of what he owed them. He treated them reasonably and rightly, for each loved and desired the other. This love would have been true and right, if each had known the other's desire; but he did not know what she wished, and she knew not the cause of his distress.

The queen took notice and saw the two of them frequently flush and grow pale, sigh and tremble, but she did not know why and attributed it to the sea over which they sailed. Surely she would have recognized the cause had the sea
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not deceived her; but the sea tricked and deceived her, so that she could not recognize love on the sea. For they were on the sea; but bitter
pain caused their suffering, and love was their malady. But of the three – love, bitterness, and the sea – the queen knows only to blame the sea, for the two of them denounce to her the third and by the third the two are excused, though they are guilty in the matter. Often he who is innocent of any wrong pays for another's sin. Thus the queen laid all the guilt and blame upon the sea, but it was wrong to do so, for the sea had done no wrong. And so Soredamors suffered a great deal until the ship came to port.

As for the king, it is well known that the Bretons celebrated his arrival and gladly served him as their rightful lord. At this time I do not wish to speak any further of King Arthur; instead, you'll hear me tell how Love attacked the two lovers against whom he was waging battle.

Alexander loved and desired the maiden, who was sighing for his love; but he did not know this, and would not learn it before he himself had suffered much pain and torment. Out of love for her he served the queen and the maidens of her royal chamber, but he dared not address or speak to the one who dominated his thoughts. Had she dared to claim the rights she thought were hers, he would gladly have told her all; but she did not dare nor should she have. The fact that they saw one another but did not dare say or do anything was a source of great distress for them, and so the flames of their love increased. But it is the custom of all lovers to feast their eyes if they cannot have more; and they think that, because they derive pleasure from what gives rise to their love and makes it grow, it is to their advantage but instead it harms them. Similarly, he who draws close to the fire burns more than he who stands back. Their love was constantly growing and increasing, but each was embarrassed in front of the other, and they hid and covered over so much that no flame or smoke appeared from the ember lying beneath the ashes. Yet the heat was no less for all this, because heat lasts longer beneath the ashes than on top. Both were in great anguish, but both were obliged to mislead people by a false demeanour so that no one might know or perceive of their discomfort. But at night each of them moaned loudly in their loneliness.

I shall tell you first of Alexander, how he grieved and lamented. Love continually filled his mind with the one who had wounded him so deeply, for she tortured his heart and allowed him no rest in his bed. He took great pleasure in recalling the beauty of her countenance, though he had no hope that any good would ever come to him from her.

‘I can consider myself a fool,' he said. ‘A fool? Truly I am a fool when I dare not say what I am thinking because that might quickly bring me harm. My thoughts are thoughts of folly; but is it not better to hide my thoughts
than to be called a fool? Will what I desire never be known? Will I hide what torments me and never dare seek help or relief for my sufferings? The man who feels ill and does not seek a remedy, if it is anywhere to be found, is the real fool. Yet many a man believes he is seeking what will benefit him, when in truth he is pursuing his ruin. And if he thinks there is no chance to recover, why ask for help? His efforts would be wasted. I feel that my malady is so grievous that no medicine, no potion, no herb, no root could heal me. For some illnesses there are no cures, and mine lies so deep within that it can never be cured. Never? I believe I have lied. Had I dared reveal or speak of this malady when first I felt it, I might have spoken to the physician who could have cured me completely. But it is difficult for me to state my case, and perhaps she would not have deigned to listen to me or accepted any fee. So it is no wonder if I am distressed, for I am very ill and do not know the nature of the malady that has me down, nor do I know the source of my pain. I do not know? But I do, or think I do: this malady comes from Love. How can that be? Can Love do harm? Is he not gentle and high-born? I thought that there was only good in Love, but I've found him to be a great traitor. You cannot know all of Love's games until you have tried them. One is a fool to side with him, because he is always trying to harm his own. Upon my word, his game is a bad one. It's not good to play with him, for his game will cause me grief. So what shall I do? Shall I back away? I think that that would be wise, but I don't know how to go about it. If Love admonishes and threatens mc in order to instruct and teach me, should I disdain my teacher? A man is a fool to disdain his teacher. I should heed and retain Love's lessons and instructions, for soon they might profit me greatly. Yet I am frightened because he mistreats me so.

‘But no bruise or cut appears, and still you complain? Are you not mistaken? No indeed, for he has wounded me so deeply that he has shot his arrow straight into my heart and has not pulled it out again. How could he have shot through your body when there is no sign of a wound? Tell me this, I'd like to know! Through where did he shoot you? Through my eye. Through your eye? Did he not put it out? He did not hurt my eye at all, but I have a great pain in my heart. Now tell me how the arrow passed through your eye without wounding or putting it out. If the arrow entered through your eye, why is the heart in your breast suffering and the eye not suffering, though it took the initial blow? I can give you the answer to that: the eye itself is not concerned with feelings and can do nothing on its own; rather, it is the mirror of the heart, and the fire that inflames the heart passes through this mirror without damaging or breaking it. For is the heart in one's breast
not like the flaming candle within a lantern? If you remove the candle, no light will shine forth; but as long as the candle burns the lantern is not dark, and the flame shining within does not harm or destroy it. It is the same with a pane of glass: no matter how thick or solid, the sun's rays pass through without breaking it; yet no matter how bright the glass, it will not help you to see unless some brighter light strikes its surface. Know that the eyes are like the glass and the lantern, for through the eyes comes the light by which the heart sees itself and the outside world, whatever it may be. It sees many different objects, some green, some indigo, some red, some blue; it likes some and dislikes others, scorns some and praises others. But something that appears enticing when you look at it in the mirror may deceive you, if you are not careful. My mirror has greatly deceived me, for my heart perceived a ray of light hidden within its shadows that has overwhelmed me, and because of it my heart has left me. My heart, which was my friend, has treated me poorly in abandoning me for my enemy. I can accuse it of treason, for it has done me a great disservice. I thought I had three friends: my heart and my two eyes, but it seems that they all hate me. Where will I ever find a friend, since these three have become my enemies. Though a part of me, yet they are killing me! These servants of mine overestimate my kindness when they do whatever they wish without concern for me. By the example of these three who have done me wrong, I can know for certain that a good man's love is rotted by the wicked company he keeps. Whatever may happen, he who keeps bad company will most assuredly regret it sooner or later.

‘Now I shall tell you how the arrow that has been entrusted to my care is made and shaped. But I am afraid I might fail, and the arrow's shape is so splendid that it would be no surprise if I did. Yet I shall direct all my efforts to describing how it appears to me. The nock and feathers are so close together, if one looks carefully, that they are divided only by the thinnest line; and the nock is so smooth and straight that there can be no question of any imperfection. The feathers are coloured as if they were of gold or gilded; but gilding had no part in it, I'm sure, for they are even brighter than gold. The feathers are the blonde tresses I saw the other day upon the sea: that is the arrow that makes me love. Dear God, what a precious thing! If a man could possess such treasure, why would he covet any other riches all his life? For myself, I can swear that I would never wish for anything more; I would not give up even the nock and feathers for all the riches of Antioch. And having valued these two things so highly, who can estimate the worth of what remains? It is so fair and comely, so dear and precious, that I desire and yearn to see myself reflected once again upon her brow,
which God has made so bright that no mirror, emerald, or topaz can compare. But all this is nothing compared to the brightness of her eyes, for they shine like two candles for all to see. And whose tongue is skilled enough to describe the symmetry of her shapely nose and shining face, wherein the rose suffuses the lily and slightly softens its glow to enhance her face? Or to describe the smiling mouth, which God fashioned in such a way that all who see it think she's laughing? And what of the teeth in that mouth? Each one is right against the next, so that they seem to form a perfect row; and Nature's handiwork was added to give them extra charm: anyone seeing her lips parted, would say her teeth were of ivory or silver. There is so much to tell and relate in describing every minute feature of her chin and ears, that it would be no wonder were I to overlook some little thing. As for her throat, I've no need to say that crystal is cloudy by comparison. And the shoulders beneath her braids are four times as white as ivory. From her neck to the clasp of her gown I saw enough of her bare bosom to know that it was whiter than the new-fallen snow. My grief would have vanished had I been able to see all of that arrow! Were it possible I would gladly describe to you the shaft; but I did not see it, and it is not my fault if I cannot describe what I have not seen. At that time Love showed me no more than the nock and feathers for the shaft was hidden in the quiver, that is, in the tunic and the shift the maiden wore. Upon my word, that is the malady that is killing me: it is the arrow, it is the ray, that has too wretchedly upset me. I am behaving like a wretch by being enraged. Never will a straw be broken in any disagreement or conflict between myself and Love. Let Love do with me what he will, as he should do with his subject, for such is my wish and desire; and I hope this malady will never leave me. I would rather linger on like this forever than be healed by anyone, unless it be by her from whom my illness came.'

Alexander's complaint was heartfelt, but the girl's was no less so. All night long she was in such great torment that she could neither rest nor sleep. Love had locked up within her body a conflict and frenzy that troubled her heart so that it nearly failed her, and that so tormented and obsessed her that she wept all the night through – lamenting, tossing, and trembling. After she had struggled, sobbed, gasped, trembled, and sighed, she gazed into her heart to see who it was and what manner of man it was for whom Love was causing her such suffering. And once she had cheered herself with happier thoughts, she stretched and turned over, convinced that all her earlier notions had been foolish ones.

Then she began to debate with herself again, saying: ‘Fool! What is it to
me if this young man is well-born, clever, courteous, and brave? All this is to his honour and credit. And why should I care if he is handsome? Let his good looks stay with him! And they surely will, for I have no intention of depriving him of anything. Deprive him? No, indeed, I certainly wouldn't do that! If he had the wisdom of Solomon, and if Nature had given him more beauty than any human creature, and if God put into my hands the power to destroy it all, I would never harm him; rather, if I could, I would gladly seek to make him wiser and more handsome still. Upon my word! Then I don't hate him. But does that make me his friend? Not at all – no more than I am anyone else's. Then why do I think more often of him, if he is no more pleasing to me than another? I don't know; I'm all confused. I've never before thought so much about any man in all the world, and if I had my way I'd see him every day; he pleases me so much when I look at him that I don't ever want to take my eyes from him. Is this love? Yes, I believe so. I would not appeal to him so often if I did not love him more than anyone else.

‘Now that I've admitted I love him, will I not give in to my desire? Yes, as long as it does not displease him. This desire is wrong, but Love has so overwhelmed me that I am a bewildered fool; I must suffer Love's assault, for there is no defence against it. I prudently protected myself from Love for a long while and always refused to do his bidding; but now I am much too obliging to him. But what thanks will he owe me, if through love he cannot obtain my service and good will? His strength has overcome my pride, so I must accede to his pleasure. I want to love; I have a teacher; Love will instruct me – but in what? In how I must serve him. But I have learned this lesson well and am so expert in his service that no one could find fault with me. There is no more to be learned of that. Love wishes, and I too wish, that I be gentle and modest, friendly, cordial, and hospitable to all for the sake of one. Shall I love them all because of the one? I must be pleasant to everyone, but Love does not instruct me to be the true love of everyone. Love teaches me only what is good.

‘I have not been given the name Soredamors for nothing. I must love and I must be loved, and I wish to prove this by my name, if I can reason it out.
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It is significant that the first part of my name is of golden hue, for the more blonde one is, the better. Therefore I consider my name the best, since it begins with the colour with which gold is most in harmony. And the end of my name reminds me of Love, for whoever calls me by my right name evokes Love's tint within me. One half of my name gilds the other with the bright yellow hue of gold, for “Soredamors” means “gilded over with
Love”. Love has done me great honour in having gilded this name upon me. The golden tint of gold itself is not so fine as that which brightens me. And I shall strive to be his gilding and shall never complain of this role. Now I am in love and will love forever! Whom? Indeed, what a question! The one Love commands me to love, for no other will ever have my love. What does it matter, since he will not know it unless I tell him myself? What shall I do if I don't beg his love? Whoever wants anything must petition and request it. What? Shall I beg him then? No. Why not? Because no one has ever seen a woman behave so wrongly as to ask a man to love her, unless she were more deranged than the next person. I would be a proven fool if ever I spoke a word that would bring me reproach. If he were to learn it from my mouth, I think he would lose esteem for me and lastingly reproach me for having spoken first. May love never stoop so low that I beseech him first since he would then esteem me less. Oh, God! How will he ever learn the truth since I won't tell him? Until now I've suffered little for all the complaints I've made. I'll wait until he notices, if ever he does notice. He'll recognize my love, I'm sure, if he's ever experienced Love himself or heard tell of him. Heard tell? Now I've spoken like a fool. Love is not so gracious as to reveal himself by words alone; they must be coupled with experience. I know this by my own example: I never learned a thing of love through wooing and seductive words, though I was often flattered in the school of Love. I held aloof from Love, but now he exacts a heavy price, for I know more of him than does an ox of ploughing. But one thing causes me despair: perhaps this young man has never loved? And if he does not love and never has, then I have cast my seeds upon the sea where seeds cannot take root. There is nothing to be done but wait and suffer, until I see whether I can set him on the path by looks and subtle words. I'll do enough that he'll be certain of my love, if he dares ask for it. For now there is nothing left for me to do but love him and be his. Though he does not love me, still I'll love him.'