Chretien de Troyes Cliges (ang).pdf

CLIGES

Chretien DeTroyes

Fl. 12th Century A.D.

Online Medieval and Classical Library Release #22

Originally written in Old French, sometime in the second half of the 12th Century A.D., by the court poet

Chretien DeTroyes. Translation by W.W. Comfort, 1914.

The text of this edition is based on that published as CHRETIEN DETROYES: ARTHURIAN

ROMANCES, (Trans: W.W. Comfort; Everyman's Library, London, 1914). This text is in the PUBLIC

DOMAIN in the United States.

CLIGES

Part I: Vv. 1 - Vv. 2278

CLIGES (1)

(Vv. 1-44.) He who wrote of Erec and Enide, and translated into French the commands of Ovid and the

Art of Love, and wrote the Shoulder Bite, (2) and about King Mark and the fair Iseut, (3) and about the

metamorphosis of the Lapwing, (4) the Swallow, and the Nightingale, will tell another story now about a

youth who lived in Greece and was a member of King Arthur's line. But before I tell you aught of him,

you shall hear of his father's life, whence he came and of what family. He was so bold and so ambitious

that he left Greece and went to England, which was called Britain in those days, in order to win fame and

renown. This story, which I intend to relate to you, we find written in one of the books of the library of

my lord Saint Peter at Beauvais. (5) From there the material was drawn of which Chretien has made this

romance. The book is very old in which the story is told, and this adds to its authority. (6) From such

books which have been preserved we learn the deeds of men of old and of the times long since gone by.

Our books have informed us that the pre-eminence in chivalry and learning once belonged to Greece.

Then chivalry passed to Rome, together with that highest learning which now has come to France. God

grant that it may be cherished here, and that it may be made so welcome here that the honour which has

taken refuge with us may never depart from France: God had awarded it as another's share, but of Greeks

and Romans no more is heard, their fame is passed, and their glowing ash is dead.

(Vv. 45-134.) Chretien begins his story as we find it in the history, which tells of an emperor powerful in

wealth and honour who ruled over Greece and Constantinople. A very noble empress, too, there was, by

whom the emperor had two children. But the elder son was already so far advanced before the younger

one was born that, if he had wished, he might have become a knight and held all the empire beneath his

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sway. The name of the elder was Alexander, and the other's name was Alis. Alexander, too, was the

father's name, and the mother's name was Tantalis. I shall now say nothing more of the emperor and of

Alis; but I shall speak of Alexander, who was so bold and proud that he scorned to become a knight in

his own country. He had heard of King Arthur, who reigned in those days, and of the knights whom he

always kept about him, thus causing his court to be feared and famed throughout the world. However, the

affair may result and whatever fortune may await him, nothing can restrain Alexander from his desire to

go into Britain, but he must obtain his father's consent before proceeding to Britain and Cornwall. So

Alexander, fair and brave, goes to speak with the emperor in order to ask and obtain his leave. Now he

will tell him of his desire and what he wishes to do and undertake. "Fair sire," he says, "in quest of

honour and fame and praise I dare to ask you a boon, which I desire you to give me now without delay, if

you are willing to grant it to me." The emperor thinks no harm will come from this request: he ought

rather to desire and long for his son's honour. "Fair son," he says, "I grant you your desire; so tell me now

what you wish me to give you." Now the youth has accomplished his purpose, and is greatly pleased

when the boon is granted him which he so greatly desired. "Sire," says he, "do you wish to know what it

is that you have promised me? I wish to have a great plenty of gold and silver, and such companions

from among your men as I will select; for I wish to go forth from your empire, and to present my service

to the king who rules over Britain, in order that he may make me a knight. I promise you never in my life

to wear armour on my face or helmet upon my head until King Arthur shall gird on my sword, if he will

graciously do so. For from no other than from him will I accept my arms." Without hesitation the

emperor replies: "Fair son, for God's sake, speak not so! This country all belongs to you, as well as rich

Constantinople. You ought not to think me mean, when I am ready to make you such a gift. I shall be

ready soon to have you crowned, and to-morrow you shall be a knight. All Greece will be in your hands,

and you shall receive from your nobles, as is right, their homage and oaths of allegiance. Whoever

refuses such an offer is not wise."

(Vv. 135-168.) The youth hears the promise how the next morning after Mass his father is ready to dub

him knight; but he says he will seek his fortune for better or worse in another land. "If you are willing in

this matter to grant the boon I have asked of you, then give me mottled and grey furs, some good horses

and silken stuffs: for before I become a knight I wish to enrol in King Arthur's service. Nor have I yet

sufficient strength to bear arms. No one could induce me by prayer or flattery not to go to the foreign

land to see his nobles and that king whose fame is so great for courtesy and prowess. Many men of high

degree lose through sloth the great renown which they might win, were they to wander about the world.

(7) Repose and glory ill agree, as it seems to me; for a man of wealth adds nothing to his reputation if he

spends all his days at ease. Prowess is irksome to the ignoble man, and cowardice is a burden to the man

of spirit; thus the two are contrary and opposite. He is the slave of his wealth who spends his days in

storing and increasing it. Fair father, so long as I have the chance, and so long as my rigour lasts, I wish

to devote my effort and energy to the pursuit of fame."

(Vv. 169-234.) Upon hearing this; the emperor doubtless feels both joy and grief: he is glad that his son's

intention is fixed upon honour, and on the other hand he is sorrowful because his son is about to be

separated from him. Yet, because of the promise which he made, despite the grief he feels, he must grant

his request; for an emperor must keep his word. "Fair son," he says, "I must not fail to do your pleasure,

when I see you thus striving for honour. From my treasure you may have two barges full of gold and

silver; but take care to be generous and courteous and well-behaved." Now the youth is very happy when

his father promises him so much, and places his treasure at his disposal, and bids him urgently to give

and spend generously. And his father explains his reason for this: "Fair son," he says, "believe me, that

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generosity is the dame and queen which sheds glory upon all the other virtues. And the proof of this is

not far to seek. For where could you find a man, be he never so rich and powerful, who is not blamed if

he is mean? Nor could you find one, however ungracious he may be, whom generosity will not bring into

fair repute? Thus largess makes the gentleman, which result can be accomplished neither by high birth,

courtesy, knowledge, gentility, money, strength, chivalry, boldness, dominion, beauty, or anything else.

(8) But just as the rose is fairer than any other flower when it is fresh and newly blown, so there, where

largess dwells, it takes its place above all other virtues, and increases five hundred fold the value of other

good traits which it finds in the man who acquits himself well. So great is the merit of generosity that I

could not tell you the half of it." The young man has now successfully concluded the negotiations for

what he wished; for his father has acceded to all his desires. But the empress was sorely grieved when

she heard of the journey which her son was about to take. Yet, whoever may grieve or sorrow, and

whoever may attribute his intention to youthful folly, and ever may blame and seek to dissuade him, the

youth ordered his ships to be made ready as soon as possible, desiring to tarry no longer in his native

land. At his command the ships were freighted that very night with wine, meat, and biscuit.

(Vv. 235-338.) The ships were loaded in the port, and the next morning Alexander came to the strand in

high spirits, accompanied by his companions, who were happy over the prospective voyage. They were

escorted by the emperor and the empress in her grief. At the port they find the sailors in the ships drawn

up beside the cliff. The sea was calm and smooth, the wind was light, and the weather clear. When he

had taken leave of his father, and bidden farewell to the empress, whose heart was heavy in her bosom,

Alexander first stepped from the small boat into the skip; then all his companions hastened by fours,

threes, and twos to embark without delay. Soon the sail was spread and the anchor raised. Those on shore

whose heart is heavy because of the men whom they watch depart, follow them with their gaze as long as

they can: and in order to watch them longer, they all climb a high hill behind the beach. From there they

sadly gaze, as long as their eyes can follow them. With sorrow, indeed, they watch them go, being

solicitous for the youths, that God may bring them to their haven without accident and without peril. All

of April and part of May they spent at sea. Without any great danger or mishap they came to port at

Southampton. (9) One day, between three o'clock and vespers, they cast anchor and went ashore. The

young men, who had never been accustomed to endure discomfort or pain, had suffered so long from

their life at sea that they had all lost their colour, and even the strongest and most vigorous were weak

and faint. In spite of that, they rejoice to have escaped from the sea and to have arrived where they

wished to be. Because of their depleted state, they spend the night at Southampton in happy frame, and

make inquiries whether the King is in England. They are told that he is at Winchester, and that they can

reach there in a very short time if they will start early in the morning and keep to the straight road. At this

news they are greatly pleased, and the next morning at daybreak the youths wake early, and prepare and

equip themselves. And when they were ready, they left Southampton, and kept to the direct road until

they reached Winchester, where the King was. Before six o'clock in the morning the Greeks had arrived

at the court. The squires with the horses remain below in the yard, while the youths go up into the

presence of the King, who was the best that ever was or ever will be in the world. And when the King

sees them coming, they please him greatly, and meet with his favour. But before approaching the King's

presence, they remove the cloaks from about their necks, lest they should be considered ill-bred. Thus, all

unmantled, they came before the King, while all the nobles present held their peace, greatly pleased at

the sight of these handsome and well-behaved young men. They suppose that of course they are all sons

of counts or kings; and, to be sure, so they were, and of a very charming age, with graceful and shapely

forms. And the clothes they wore were all of the same stuff and cut of the same appearance and colour.

There were twelve of them beside their lord, of whom I need tell you no more than that there was none

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better than he. With modesty and orderly mien, he was handsome and shapely as he stood uncovered

before the King. Then he kneeled before him, and all the others, for honour's sake, did the same beside

their lord.

(Vv. 339-384.) Alexander, with his tongue well skilled in speaking fair and wisely, salutes the King.

"King," he says, "unless the report is false that spreads abroad your fame, since God created the first man

there was never born a God-fearing man of such puissance as yours. King, your widespread renown has

drawn me to serve and honour you in your court, and if you will accept my service, I would fain remain

here until I be dubbed a knight by your hand and by no one else. For unless I receive this honour from

your hand, I shall renounce all intention of being knighted. If you will accept my service until you are

willing to dub me a knight, retain me now, oh gentle King, and my companions gathered here." To which

at once the King replies: "Friend, I refuse neither you nor your companions. Be welcome all. For surely

you seem, and I doubt it not, to be sons of high-born men. Whence do you come?" "From Greece."

"From Greece?" "Yes." "Who is thy father?" "Upon my word, sire, the emperor." "And what is thy name,

fair friend?" "Alexander is the name that was given me when I received the salt and holy oil, and

Christianity and baptism." "Alexander, my dear, fair friend. I will keep you with me very gladly, with

great pleasure and delight. For you have done me signal honour in thus coming to my court. I wish you to

be honoured here, as free vassals who are wise and gentle. You have been too long upon your knees;

now, at my command, and henceforth make your home with man and in my court; it is well that you have

come to us."

(Vv. 385-440.) Then the Greeks rise up, joyful that the King has so kindly invited them to stay.

Alexander did well to come; for he lacks nothing that he desires, and there is no noble at the court who

does not address him kindly and welcome him. He is not so foolish as to be puffed up, nor does he vaunt

himself nor boast. He makes acquaintance with my lord Gawain and with the others, one by one. He

gains the good graces of them all, but my lord Gawain grows so fond of him that he chooses him as his

friend and companion. (10) The Greeks took the best lodgings to be had, with a citizen of the town.

Alexander had brought great possessions with him from Constantinople, intending to give heed above all

to the advice and counsel of the Emperor, that his heart should be ever ready to give and dispense his

riches well. To this end he devotes his efforts, living well in his lodgings, and giving and spending

liberally, as is fitting in one so rich, and as his heart dictates. The entire court wonders where he got all

the wealth that he bestows; for on all sides he presents the valuable horses which he had brought from his

own land. So much did Alexander do, in the performance of his service, that the King, the Queen, and the

nobles bear him great affection. King Arthur about this time desired to cross over into Brittany. So he

summons all his barons together to take counsel and inquire to whom he may entrust England to be kept

in peace and safety until his return. By common consent, it seems, the trust was assigned to Count

Angres of Windsor, for it was their judgement that there was no more trustworthy lord in all the King's

realm. When this man had received the land, King Arthur set out the next day accompanied by the Queen

and her damsels. The Bretons make great rejoicing upon hearing the news in Brittany that the King and

his barons are on the way.

(Vv. 441-540.) Into the ship in which the King sailed there entered no youth or maiden save only

Alexander and Soredamors, whom the Queen brought with her. This maiden was scornful of love, for she

had never heard of any man whom she would deign to love, whatever might be his beauty, prowess,

lordship, or birth. And yet the damsel was so charming and fair that she might fitly have learned of love,

if it had pleased her to lend a willing ear; but she would never give a thought to love. Now Love will

make her grieve, and will avenge himself for all the pride and scorn with which she has always treated

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him. Carefully Love has aimed his dart with which he pierced her to the heart. Now she grows pale and

trembles, and in spite of herself must succumb to Love. Only with great difficulty can she restrain herself

from casting a glance toward Alexander; but she must be on her guard against her brother, my lord

Gawain. Dearly she pays and atones for her great pride and disdain. Love has heated for her a bath which

heats and burns her painfully. At first it is grateful to her, and then it hurts; one moment she likes it, and

the next she will have none of it. She accuses her eyes of treason, and says: (11) "My eyes, you have

betrayed me now! My heart, usually so faithful, now bears me ill-will because of you. Now what I see

distresses me. Distresses? Nay, verily, rather do I like it well. And if I actually see something that

distresses me, can I not control my eyes? My strength must indeed have failed, and little should I esteem

myself, if I cannot control my eyes and make them turn their glance elsewhere. Thus, I shall be able to

baffle Love in his efforts to get control of me. The heart feels no pain when the eye does not see; so, if I

do not look at him, no harm will come to me. He addresses me no request or prayer, as he would do were

he in love with me. And since he neither loves nor esteems me, shall I love him without return? If his

beauty allures my eyes, and my eyes listen to the call, shall I say that I love him just for that? Nay, for

that would be a lie. Therefore, he has no ground for complaint, nor can I make any claim against him.

One cannot love with the eyes alone. What crime, then, have my eyes committed, if their glance but

follows my desire? What is their fault and what their sin? Ought I to blame them, then? Nay, verily.

Who, then, should be blamed? Surely myself, who have them in control. My eye glances at nothing

unless it gives my heart delight. My heart ought not to have any desire which would give me pain. Yet its

desire causes me pain. Pain? Upon my faith, I must be mad, if to please my heart I wish for something

which troubles me. If I can, I ought to banish any wish that distresses me. If I can? Mad one, what have I

said? I must, indeed, have little power if I have no control over myself. Does Love think to set me in the

same path which is wont to lead others astray? Others he may lead astray, but not me who care not for

him. Never shall I be his, nor ever was, and I shall never seek his friendship." Thus she argues with

herself, one moment loving, and hating the next. She is in such doubt that she does not know which

course she had better adopt. She thinks to be on the defence against Love, but defence is not what she

wants. God! She does not know that Alexander is thinking of her too! Love bestows upon them equally

such a share as is their due. He treats them very fairly and justly, for each one loves and desires the other.

And this love would be true and right if only each one knew what was the other's wish. But he does not

know what her desire is, and she knows not the cause of his distress.

(Vv. 541-574.) The Queen takes note of them and sees them often blanch and pale and heave deep sighs

and tremble. But she knows no reason why they should do so, unless it be because of the sea where they

are. I think she would have divined the cause had the sea not thrown her off her guard, but the sea

deceives and tricks her, so that she does not discover love because of the sea; and it is from love that

comes the bitter pain that distresses them. (12) But of the three concerned, the Queen puts all the blame

upon the sea; for the other two accuse the third to her, and hold it alone responsible for their guilt. Some

one who is not at fault is often blamed for another's wrong. Thus, the Queen lays all the blame and guilt

upon the sea, but it is unfair to put the blame upon the sea, for it is guilty of no misdeed. Soredamors'

deep distress continued until the vessel came to port. As for the King, it is well known that the Bretons

were greatly pleased, and served him gladly as their liege lord. But of King Arthur I will not longer speak

in this place; rather shall you hear me tell how Love distresses these two lovers whom he has attacked.

(Vv. 575-872.) Alexander loves and desires her; and she, too, pines for the love of him, but he knows it

not, nor will he know it until he has suffered many a pain and many a grief. It is for her sake that he

renders to the Queen loving service, as well as to her maids-in-waiting; but to her on whom his thoughts

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