Cliges: A Romance | Page 9

until he shall have suffered many an ill and many a grief. For love
of her he serves the queen and the ladies of her chamber; but he does not dare to speak to
or address her who is most in his mind. If she had dared to maintain against him the right
which she thinks is hers in the matter, willingly would he have told him of it; but she
neither dares nor ought to do so. And the fact that the one sees the other, and that they
dare not speak or act, turns to great adversity for them; and love grows thereby and burns.
But it is the custom of all lovers that they willingly feed their eyes on looks if they can do
no better, and think that because the source whence their love buds and grows delights
them therefore it must help their case, whereas it injures them: just as the man who
approaches and comes close to the fire burns himself more than the man who draws back
from it. Their love grows and increases continually; but the one feels shame before the
other; and each conceals and hides this love so that neither flame nor smoke is seen from
the gleed beneath the ashes. But the heat is none the less for that; rather the heat lasts
longer below the gleed than above it. Both the lovers are in very great anguish; for in
order that their complaint may not be known or perceived, each must deceive all men by
false pretence; but in the night great is the plaint which each makes in solitude.
First will I tell you of Alexander: how he complains and laments. Love brings before his
mind the lady for whose sake he feels such Sorrow; for she has robbed him of his heart,
and will not let him rest in his bed; so much it delights him to recall the beauty and the
mien of her as to whom he dare not hope that ever joy of her may fall to his lot. "I may
hold myself a fool," quoth he. "A fool? Truly am I a fool, since I do not dare to say what I
think; for quickly would it turn to my bane. I have set my thought on folly. Then is it not
better for me to meditate in silence than to get myself dubbed a fool? Never shall my
desire be known. And shall I hide the cause of my grief, and not dare to seek help or
succour for my sorrows? He who is conscious of weakness is a fool if he does not seek
that by which he may have health if he can find it anywhere; but many a one thinks to
gain his own advantage and to win what he desires, who pursues that whereof he sorrows
later. And why should he go to seek advice when he does not expect to find health? That
were a vain toil! I feel my own ill so heavy a burden that never shall I find healing for it
by medicine or by potion or by herb or by root. There is not a remedy for every ill: mine
is so rooted that it cannot be cured. Cannot? Methinks I have lied. As soon as I first felt
this evil, if I had dared to reveal and to tell it, I could have spoken to a leech, who could
have helped me in the whole matter; but it is very grievous for me to speak out. Perhaps
they would not deign to listen and would refuse to accept a fee. No wonder is it then if I
am dismayed, for I have a great ill; and yet I do not know what ill it is which sways me
nor do I know whence comes this pain. I do not know? Yes, indeed, I think I know; Love
makes me feel this evil. How? Does Love, then, know how to do evil? Is he not kind and
debonair? I thought that there would have been nought in Love which was not good; but I
have found him very malicious. He who has not put him to the test knows not with what
games Love meddles. He is a fool who goes to meet him; for always he wishes to burden
his subjects. Faith! his game is not at all a good one. It is ill playing with him; for his
sport will cause me sorrow. What shall I do, then? Shall I draw back I think that this
would be the act of a wise man; but I cannot tell how to set about it. If Love chastises and
threatens in order to teach me his lesson, ought I to disdain my