Arthurian Romances

by Chretien de Troyes

  The young man had succeeded fully in all he had asked and sought, since his father had commanded that his every desire be fulfilled. The empress was very sad when she heard tell of the course her son was about to take. Yet no matter who was saddened or grieved by it, no matter who considered it youthful folly, no matter who chastised or admonished him, the young man ordered his ships to be readied without delay for he had no desire to remain in his land any longer. By his order, the ships were loaded that night with wine, meat, and biscuit.

  The laden ships were at port and the next day Alexander came down to the shore in high spirits, accompanied by his companions, who were all excited about the voyage. The emperor and his sorrowing empress escorted them. At the port they found the mariners in the ships beside the cliff. The sea was calm and quiet; the wind was gentle and the weather clear. After taking leave of his father and bidding farewell to the empress, whose heart was heavy in her breast, Alexander was the first to enter the ship from the launch; then his companions, in groups of four, three, and two, hastened aboard. In quick succession the sail was unfurled and the anchor lifted. Those who remained ashore, saddened at seeing the youth set sail, kept him company with their eyes as long as they were able. In order to keep the youth and his companions in sight longer, they all climbed up a high hill overlooking the sea, and from there they watched the source of their sadness until he was out of sight. They were truly saddened by what they observed: for they worried about the young man and hoped that God would guide him to safe harbour without accident or shipwreck.

  They were on the seas for all of April and part of May. Without great danger or difficulty they reached port below Southampton. One day between the hour of nones and vespers they cast anchor and came ashore. The youths, who were not accustomed to discomfort or pain, had suffered so much from their long voyage on the high seas that they had grown palc, and even the strongest and healthiest among them were weakened and fatigued. Yet in spite of that they all rejoiced to have escaped from the sea and reached their destination. Because they were all exhausted, they remained outside Southampton that night; they celebrated and inquired whether the king was in England. They were told that he was at Winchester and that they could soon be there themselves if they were willing to set off in the morning and keep to the right road. This news pleased them greatly.

  The next morning the young men awoke at break of day, dressed, and readied themselves. Once they were prepared, they left Southampton and kept to the right road until they reached Winchester, where the king was staying. The Greeks came to court before the hour of prime. They dismounted at the foot of the steps; the squires and horses remained down in the courtyard while the young men went up into the presence of the best king who was or ever will be in the world. As the king observed their approach, he saw that they were pleasant and agreeable. But before they came up to him, they removed the mantles from their shoulders so no one would consider them ill-bred. Thus attired they approached the king. And the barons all fell silent, for these handsome and noble youths were a pleasure to behold. They were certain that all were sons of counts or kings, as indeed they were; and all were of a handsome age, fair and well-formed in body. The clothes they wore were of identical cloth and cut, of one colour and design. There were twelve of them, not counting their lord, of whom I need only tell you there was none better. Modestly and politely without his cloak he came before the king; he was most handsome and well-formed. He knelt before him, and to show their respect all the others knelt beside their lord. Alexander, whose tongue was apt for speaking well and wisely, greeted the king.

  ‘My lord king,’ he said, ‘if Fame who speaks your praises does not lie, no God-fearing king to equal you has been born since God created the first man. My lord king, your widespread fame has brought me to your court to serve and honour you; and I wish to remain here, if my service is pleasing to you, until I am knighted by your hand and no other. For if I am not knighted by you, I shall never be called a knight. If you esteem my service highly enough to make me a knight, then retain me, gentle king, and my companions here with me.’

  The king replied at once. ‘Friend,’ he said, ‘I refuse neither you nor your companions, but welcome you all! You appear to be, and I believe that you are, sons of high-born men. Where are you from?’

  ‘We are from Greece.’

  ‘From Greece?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Who is your father?’

  ‘Upon my word, sir, the emperor.’

  ‘And what is your name, dear friend?’

  ‘When I received salt and holy chrism in Christian baptism, I was given the name Alexander.’

  ‘Alexander, my dear good friend, I will gladly retain you in my service, with great pleasure and happiness, for you have paid me a great honour in coming to my court. I wish you to be honoured here as free, wise, and noble young men. You have been on your knees too long: arise, I command you, and henceforth be at home with me and in my court. You have reached a safe harbour.’

  The Greeks rose up at once, happy to have been retained so graciously by the king. Alexander is most welcome: nothing he desires is lacking, and even the mightiest barons at the court address him kindly and make him welcome. He is not foolish and does not act haughtily or become puffed up or conceited; he introduces himself to my lord Gawain, then to the others one by one. He makes himself appreciated by them all, and my lord Gawain loves him so well that he calls him friend and companion.

  The Greeks had taken the best lodgings they could have with a townsman in the city. Alexander had brought great wealth from Constantinople; mindful of the emperor’s exhortation and advice to have his heart ever ready to give and spend liberally, he was attentive to this before all else. He set his mind to this and devoted his efforts to living well in his lodgings, to giving and spending liberally, as befitted his wealth and the inclinations of his heart. Everyone at court wondered at the source of his expenditure, for he gave everyone valuable horses he had brought from his land. Alexander had done so much and served so well that the king held him in great affection, as did the barons and the queen.

  At that time King Arthur wished to cross over to Brittany. He brought together all his barons to seek their counsel and ask to whom he could entrust England until his return, who could watch over it and keep the peace. It seems that everyone agreed it should be entrusted to Count Angrés of Windsor, for they believed there was no more trustworthy baron in all the kingdom. The day after the land had been given into Count Angrés’s hand, King Arthur set off with the queen and her ladies. News reached Brittany that the king and his barons were coming, and the Bretons all rejoiced.

  On the ship in which the king sailed travelled no young noble other than Alexander, and the queen indeed was accompanied by no young woman except Soredamors, who was scornful of love. She had never heard tell of any man, however handsome or brave or mighty or noble, whom she would deign to love. Yet in spite of this the maiden was so comely and attractive that she should have learned Love’s lessons, had she been pleased to hear them. But she refused to pay them any mind. Now Love would cause her suffering and try to take revenge for the haughtiness and scorn she had always shown towards him. Love aimed well when he shot his arrow into her heart. Frequently she grew pale and often broke into a sweat; in spite of herself, she had to love. Only with great difficulty could she avoid looking at Alexander; but she had to be constantly on her guard against her brother, my lord Gawain. She paid dearly for her great haughtiness and scorn. Love has heated her a bath that greatly burns and scalds her. One moment she likes it, and the next it hurts; one moment she wants it, and the next she refuses.

  She accuses her eyes of treason, saying: ‘Eyes, you’ve betrayed me! Because of you my heart, which was always faithful to me, has begun to hate me. What I see torments me. Torments? No it doesn’t, it pleases me! And if I should see something that torments me, could I not hold my eyes in check? I would have little strength indeed and no self-esteem if I could not contro
l my eyes and make them look elsewhere. In this way I can protect myself from Love, who is seeking to control me. What the eyes do not see can never pain the heart. If I don’t see him, then he’ll be nothing to me.

  ‘He has not begged or solicited my affection. If he loved me, then he would have solicited me; and since he neither loves nor cares for me, shall I love him without return? If his beauty tempts my eyes and my eyes heed their call, is that reason enough to say I love him? Indeed not, for that would be a lie. So he has no hold upon me and cannot lay any claim against me; one cannot love with the eyes alone. And what wrong have my eyes done me in looking at what I want to see? What fault, what sin, have they committed? Must I blame them? Indeed not. Who then? Myself, who controls them. My eyes look at nothing unless it pleases my heart. My heart should not desire anything that brings me sorrow; its desire is what brings me sorrow. Sorrow? In faith, I am a fool to want something when I am driven mad on its account. If I can, I should uproot this desire that brings me suffering. If I can? Fool, what have I said! I would have little strength indeed if I did not have power over myself. Does Love, who has led others astray, think he’ll set me on the same path? He’ll have to send someone else, for I don’t care for him. I never was and never will be his, and I’ll always resist his friendship!’

  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 sea4 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 di
slikes 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.’