came at night, so he noticed nothing strange about the shore. Though
every one was talking of the curious thing that had happened, no one
liked to tell him. They knew he would not like to hear of it. He would
think his country was bewitched.
Arviragus looked for Dorigen in the hall. When he could not see her
there, he hurried to her room, to make sure that she was safe and
well. As he sprang up the broad staircase, the sheath of his sword and
the spurs at his heels clanked harshly on the stone steps.
Dorigen heard him, but, instead of going to meet him, she buried her
head deeper in her cushions and wept. Arviragus crossed the room to
where she sat, and knelt before her. He drew her hands from her eyes
and said, "Dorigen, what is it? Why dost thou weep like this, my
beloved?"
For a little time Dorigen's tears only fell the faster, then she said
brokenly: "Alas, that ever I was born! I have said it! Arviragus! I
have promised!"
"What hast thou promised, my wife?"
Then Dorigen told Arviragus all that had happened; told him that she
had promised to give her jewel to Aurelius when he would take all the
rocks away.
Arviragus leapt up and went to the window. The moon had burst through
a cloud, and everything was bright and clear. He looked away north, as
Dorigen had so often looked to watch for his coming. In the moonlight
Arviragus saw the sea lie smooth and cold. His eyes swept the skyline.
It seemed as as if all the rocks had sunk into his heart, it was so
heavy.
He turned towards Dorigen, and saw how great was her sorrow.
Then he said very gently: "Is there aught else than this, that thou
shouldst weep, Dorigen?"
"Nay, nay, this is indeed too much already," she sighed.
"Dear wife," he said, "something as wonderful as the sinking of the
rocks may happen to save us yet. God grant it! But whether or not,
thou must keep thy troth. I had rather that my great love for thee
caused me to die, than that thou shouldest break thy promise. Truth is
the highest thing that man may keep."
Then his courage broke down, and he began to sob and weep along with
Dorigen.
Next morning he was strong and brave again. He said to Dorigen, "I
will bear up under this great sorrow."
He bade her farewell, and she set out with only a maid and a squire to
follow her.
Arviragus could not bear to see Dorigen as she went down from the
castle, so he hid himself in an inner room. But some one saw her go
out. It was Aurelius. For three days he had watched the castle gate to
see what she did, and where she went. He came forward and said,
"Whither goest thou?"
Dorigen was almost mad with misery, but she said bravely, "To thee, to
keep my troth, and give my jewel to thee, as my husband bids me. Alas!
alas!"
Aurelius was full of wonder when he heard this. He began to be sorry
for Dorigen, and for Arviragus the worthy knight, who would rather
lose his wife than have her break her word. He could be cruel no
longer.
"Madam," he said, "say to thy lord Arviragus that since I see his
great honor and thy sad distress, I had rather bear my own sorrow than
drive thee away from him and all thy friends. I give thee back thy
promise. I shall never trouble thee more. Farewell, farewell! thou
truest woman and best that I have ever seen."
Down on her knees, on the roadway, fell Dorigen to thank Aurelius. Her
blessing followed him as he turned and left her.
But how can I tell of Dorigen's return? She seemed to be treading on
air. When she reached the room where her husband sat with his head
sunk on his arms, she paused. She had not known the greatness of his
love till then. He looked old and forlorn after the night of sorrow.
She spoke, and he raised his eyes to gaze on her, as if she had been a
lady in a dream. But when she told him all, when he knew that she was
there herself, and for always, he could not speak for joy.
Aurelius wished he had never been born when he thought of the thousand
pounds of pure gold that he owed to the Magician.
He said to himself, "What shall I do? I am undone! I must sell my
house and be a beggar. I will not stay here and make my friends
ashamed of me, unless I can get the Magician to give me time. I will
ask him to let me pay him part of my debt year by year till all is
paid. If he will, my gratitude will know no bounds, and I will pay him
every penny I owe."
With a sore heart he went to his coffer and took out five hundred
pounds of gold. These he took to the Wise Man, and begged him to grant
him time to pay the rest.
"Master," said he, "I can say truly, I never yet failed to keep a
promise. My debt shall be paid to thee, even if I go begging in rags.
But if thou wilt be so gracious as to allow me two years, or three, in
which to pay the, rest, I will rejoice. If not, I must sell my house;
there is no other way."
When the Magician heard this he said, "Have not I kept my promise to
thee?"
"Yes, certainly, well and truly!"
"Hast thou not thy jewel?"
"No, no," said Aurelius, and sighed deeply.
"Tell me, if thou mayest, what is the cause of this?"
"Arviragus in his honor had rather die in sorrow and distress than
that his wife should break her word. Dorigen would rather die than
lose her husband and wander alone on the earth. She did not mean to
give me her promise. She thought the rocks would never move. I pitied
them so much that I gave her back her promise as freely as she brought
her jewel to me. That is the whole story!"
The Magician answered, "Dear brother, you have each behaved nobly.
Thou art a squire, he is a knight, but by God's grace I can do a noble
deed as well as another. Sir, thou art free from thy debt to me, as
free as if thou hadst this moment crept out of the ground, and hadst
never known me till now. For, sir, I will not take a penny from thee
for all my skill, nor for all my work. It is enough! Farewell! Good
day to thee!"
Whereupon the Magician bowed once and again, mounted his horse, and
rode away.
Dorigen and Arviragus were walking on the cliffs as the Magician
parted from Aurelius. They noticed the two men, and when the horseman
rode away they saw a strange white mist rise from the sea and follow
the rider.
Dorigen caught her husband's arm, for there, there, out at sea, and
close by the cliffs, were the rocks, grisly and black and fearsome as
before. The sunlight fell on her jewel, and it shone more brightly
than of old, nor did its light ever grow dim in all the happy years
that followed.
II
EMELIA
Emelia the Radiant lived in a great castle in Athens.
Hippolyta, Emelia's sister, had once been queen of the Warrior Women,
and had led her armies to battle. But Emelia had never fought in these
battles. When she was still a child, Duke Theseus of Athens had fought
with Hippolyta and conquered her. Instead of sending his royal captive
to prison, Theseus married her, and took her home to Athens with him.
When he took her there, he took Emelia with her. He was very kind to
them both, and the castle in Athens was a happy home for Hippolyta and
her little sister.
As Emelia grew up she became most beautiful. She was more graceful
than a lily on its stem, and the flush on her cheeks was more delicate
than the hue of the rose-petals in the old Greek castle garden. Her
golden hair fell in heavy masses round her face, and lay in a great
plait down her back. It caught all the light that fell on it, and sent
it out again to make glad the hearts of those who looked on her. So
men called her Emelia the Radiant, and all who met her smiled for joy
at the sight of so beautiful a maid.
One May morning Emelia went into the castle garden to bathe her face
in the early dew. Everything was dim and gray in the twilight. She
looked up at the great dungeon tower which overshadowed the garden,
and thought of the two young princes who were prisoners there. Duke
Theseus had brought them from Thebes. He was very proud of them, and
would not give them up, although the people of their land offered to
give him gold and jewels for their ransom. The princes were cousins,
and were the last of the royal line of Thebes. In the stillness Emelia
murmured their names to herself, "Palamon and Arcite, Palamon and
Arcite. How miserable they must be in their narrow cell!" she thought.
Then she sighed that life should be so sad for them while it was so
bright for her!
As she roamed up and down and gathered roses white and red to make a
garland for her hair, the sun broke through the mist and shone into
the garden. Once more she raised her eyes to the tower. This time she
did not look at it, but at the sunlit clouds beyond. The light from
the east fell on her. Her hair shone like gold, and her face was
radiant with happiness.
Palamon at that moment came to the narrow iron-barred window through
which alone he and his cousin could see the sky and the fields and the
city. He saw the morning light fall on the fair buildings of Athens,
and on the plains and hills beyond. Then a glad song which burst from
Emelia's happy heart floated up to him. He looked down. Before him
stood the maiden bathed in sunlight.
She seemed to him the very Spirit of Beauty. He thought of all the joy
and life and freedom that he could never have. He started back from
the window and cried aloud.
His cousin Arcite sprang from his couch and said, "My cousin, what
aileth thee? I pray thee that thou bear our imprisonment in patience.
Sad it is in truth, but we must abide it. We can do nought else."
But Palamon said: "Thou art mistaken. Prison walls drew not that cry
from me. An arrow hath entered my heart through mine eye, and I am
wounded. What life can give is bound up for me in the fairness of a
maiden who roams in yonder garden. Be she Spirit or woman I know not!
But this I know, was never woman nor Spirit half so fair before."
"Spirit of Beauty," he cried, "if thou choosest to take the form of a
radiant woman here before me in this garden, pity my wretchedness!
Save us from this prison, and if that may not be, have pity on our
country and help our fallen friends."
Arcite pressed forward and leant over Palamon's shoulder. The window
was only a narrow slit, and the wall through which it was cut was
thick, so it was not easy for Arcite to see into the garden. At last
he caught a glimpse of Emelia.
"Oh, how lovely she is!" he said. "I shall die of my wish to serve
her. Most beautiful of maidens she is, truly."
When Palamon heard this, he turned on Arcite, looked coldly at him and
asked, "Sayest thou so in earnest or in jest?"
"Nay, truly in earnest, my cousin; I have little will to jest!"
Palamon looked fiercely at him and said, "Little honor to thee then!
Hast thou forgotten thine oath of truest brotherhood to me, and mine
to thee? Hast thou forgotten thy promise to help me in all I do? How,
then, canst thou dream of claiming to love my lady? This thou shalt
not do, false Arcite! I loved her first, and told thee, and thou must
help me to win her if ever we escape. Thine honor demands this of
thee. Otherwise thou art no true knight."
But Arcite drew himself up scornfully and said, "Rather it is thou
that art false! A moment ago thou didst not know whether she were
maiden or Spirit! I loved her first for what she is, and told thee as
my brother! But even if thou hadst loved her first, could I, because
of that, refuse to love the fairest of maidens? Besides, why should we
strive? Thou knowest too well that thou shalt never win her smile, nor
yet shall I! These prison walls so thick and black leave no hope for
us. We fight as did the fabled dogs for the bone. They fought all day,
yet neither won. There came a kite while they raged, and carried off
the bone. Love thou the maid if thou wilt. I shall love her till I
die."
The prison had been narrow and bare and cold before, but now it seemed
ten times more dismal. The world from which it shut them in was so
much more sweet because of the maiden who dwelt there, and the
friendship for each other which had cheered them through many evil
days was broken.
But Emelia the Radiant sang her gay songs and stepped lightly among
the flowers, with never another thought of the weary eyes that watched
her.
One day the greatest friend that Duke Theseus of Athens had, came to
see him. This friend had known Arcite in Thebes, and had loved the
handsome boy. He begged Theseus to forgive him, and to let him go
free. Theseus was glad to find something he could do to please his
dear friend, so one morning he took him with him to the prison where
Palamon and Arcite were. The attendants could scarcely follow, for the
royal robes filled all the dingy little space! A streak of light from
the window fell on the Duke's mantle and his jewels. They looked
strangely bright in that dark room beside the faded clothes of the two
young prisoners.
Arcite and the friend of Theseus greeted each other joyously, and the
heart of Arcite beat wildly with hope, but when he heard the words of
Theseus the Duke it sank like lead.
"Arcite," said he, "by the desire of my friend, I grant to thee thy
freedom. I grant it on one condition only. Thou must wander away far
beyond my kingdom. If ever thou art seen for one moment on any
furthest corner of my land, that moment shall be thy last. By the
sword thou shalt die."
Homeward to Thebes sped Arcite with a sad heart.
"Woe is me for the day that I was born!" he moaned; "woe is me that
ever I knew the friend of Theseus! Had he not known me, I might even
now be gazing on the maiden I serve, from the window in the Duke's
tower. Ah, Palamon, thou art the victor now! Day by day thou gazest on
her, and kind fortune may grant to thee thy freedom and her favor
while I am banished for ever! Ah, why do we complain against our
fortune? We know that we seek happiness, but know not the road
thither! Think how I dreamt and longed for freedom, and thought that
if I were only out of prison my joy would be perfect. Behold, my
freedom is my banishment, and my hope my undoing!"
As for Palamon, when he saw that Arcite was gone, he made the great
tower walls re-echo with his howls of misery. The very fetters on his
ankles were wet with his salt tears.
"Alas," he groaned, "Arcite, my cousin, thou hast borne off the prize
in this strife of ours! Thou walkest now at liberty in Thebes. Little
thou thinkest of me and of my sorrow! Strong thou art, and wise.
Doubtless thou art even now gathering together the people of Thebes to
invade this land and win the sister of the Duke for thy wife, while I
die here in this prison like a caged lion. The prison walls heed my
weeping and my wailing not at all."
He could not even rejoice in the sight of Emelia when she walked in
the garden, so fearful was he lest Arcite should win her.
Meanwhile Arcite passed his days in Thebes in grief. He wandered about
alone, and wailed and made moan to himself. He cared not to eat, and
sleep forsook him. His spirits were so feeble that the sound of music
brought fresh tears to his eyes. He grew gaunt and thin, and his voice
was hollow with sadness.
At last, when he was nearly dazed with sorrow, he dreamt one night
that a beautiful winged boy with golden curls stood before him. "Go
thou to Athens," said the boy; "the end of all thy sorrow awaits thee
there!"
Arcite started up wide awake and said, "I will to Athens, to my lady.
It were good even to die in her presence."
He caught up a mirror. He had not cared to look in one for many
months, but now that he meant to return to his lady, he wished to see
if he looked strong and young as ever. At first he was shocked to see
how great a change had passed over his face. Then he thought, "If I do
not say who I am, I may live unknown in Athens for years. Then I shall
see my lady day by day."
Quickly he called to him a squire, and told him all his will, and
bound him to keep his name a secret and to answer no questions about
himself or his master. Then Arcite sent his squire to find clothes
such as the laborers in Athens wore. When he returned, Arcite and he
put on the clothes and set out by the straight road to Athens.
In Athens no one took any notice of the two poor men.
Before they came to the castle the squire left his master and found a
house to live in, where he could do Arcite's bidding at any time. But
Arcite hurried on to the courtyard gate. There he waited till the
master of the servants who waited on Emelia came out. Then he said to
him, "Take me, I pray thee, into thy service. Drudge I will and draw
water, yea, and in all thou dost command I will obey."
The master of the servants asked Arcite what was his name.
"Philostrate, my lord," said Arcite, and as "Philostrate" he entered
that part of the castle where Emelia's home was.
He could hew wood and carry water well, but he was not long left to do
such rough work. The master of the house saw that whatever he trusted
to Philostrate's care was rightly done, so he gave him less humble
work to do, and made him a page in the house of Emelia. The lords and
ladies of the castle began to notice what a gentle and kind page this
Philostrate was. They spoke to Theseus about him, and said that he
deserved to have a higher place that he might show his goodness and
courage in knightly deeds. To please them, Theseus made him one of his
own squires.
Seven years passed away, and Palamon was still in prison. This year,
however, in the May-time, a friend of his, who heard where he was,
helped him to escape. During the short night he fled as fast as he
could, but when the early dawn began to break he strode tremblingly to
a grove of trees, that he might hide there all day. When the darkness
fell once more he meant to go on again to Thebes, there to gather his
old armies to make war on Theseus. He wished either to win Emelia or
to die. He cared little for his life if he might not spend it with
her.
As Palamon lay beside a bush in the grove, he watched the sunbeams
drying up the dew drops on the leaves and flowers near him, and
listened to the joyous song of a lark that poured forth its welcome to
the morning.
The same lark that Palamon heard awakened Arcite. He was now the chief
knight in the Duke's house, and served him with honor in peace and
war. He sprang up and looked out on the fresh green fields. Everything
called to him to come out. He loosed his horse from the stall and
galloped over hill and dale. He came to the edge of a grove, and tied
up his steed to a tree. Then he wandered down a woodland path to
gather honeysuckle and hawthorn to weave a garland for himself. Little
he thought of the snare into which he was walking. As he roamed he
sang--
"O May, of every month the queen,
With thy sweet flowers and forests green,
Right welcome be thou, fair fresh May."
The grove was the one in which Palamon lay beside a pool of water.
When he heard the song of Arcite, cold fear took hold on him. He did
not know that it was Arcite who sang, but he knew that the horse must
belong to a knight of the court, and he crouched down to the ground
lest he should be seen and taken back to prison.
Soon Arcite's joyous mood passed away, and he grew sorrowful. He
sighed and threw himself down not far from the spot where Palamon lay.
"Alas, alas!" said Arcite, "for the royal blood of Thebes! Alas that I
should humbly serve my mortal enemy! Alas that I dare not claim my
noble name, but must be known, forsooth, as Philostrate, a name worth
not a straw! Of all our princely house not one is left save only me
and Palamon, whom Theseus slays in prison. Even I, free though I am,
am helpless to win Emelia. What am I to her but an humble squire?"
Palamon was so angry when he heard this, that he forgot his own
danger. He started out from his hiding-place and faced Arcite.
"False Arcite," he cried, "now art thou caught indeed! Thou hast
deceived Duke Theseus and hast falsely changed thy name, hast thou?
Then surely I or thou must die. I will suffer no man to love my lady,
save myself alone. For I am Palamon, thy mortal foe. I have no weapon
in this place, for only last night did I escape from prison. Yet I
fear thee not. Thou shalt die, or thou shalt cease to love my lady.
Choose as thou wilt!"
Then Arcite rose up in his wrath and drew his sword. He said, "Were it
not that thou art ill and mad with grief, and that thou hast no
weapon here, thou shouldest never step from where thou standest. I
deny the bond thou claimest! Fool! how can I help thee to win the lady
I fain would wed myself? But because thou art a worthy knight and a
gentle, and art ready to fight for thy lady, accept my promise.
To-morrow I will not fail to wait for thee here without the knowledge
of any other. Also I will bring armor and weapons for thee and me, and
thou shalt choose of them what thou wilt, ere I arm myself! Food and
drink will I bring to thee this night into the grove. If so be that
thou slay me here to-morrow, then indeed thou mayest win thy lady if
thou canst!"
Then Palamon answered, "Let it be so."
Next morning Arcite rode to the wood alone. He met Palamon on the
woodland path where the flowers he had gathered the day before lay
withered on the ground. No word nor greeting passed between them, but
each helped to arm the other in silence. As the buckles were tightened
and the armor slipped into its place, the color came and went in the
faces of the two princes. They deemed that this would be the last of
all fights to one of them.
When they were ready they fenced together for a little, and then the
real fight began. So fierce was it that the men seemed like wild
animals in their rage. Palamon sprang at Arcite like a strong lion,
and Arcite glanced aside and darted at him again like a cruel tiger.
In the midst of this they heard a sound of the galloping of horses
that brought the royal hunters to the spot. In a moment the sword of
Theseus flashed between the fighters, and his voice thundered out,
"Ho! no more, on pain of death. Who are ye who dare to fight here
alone, with none to see justice done?"
The princes turned and saw Theseus, Duke of Athens. Behind him rode
Hippolyta with her sister, Emelia the Radiant, and many knights and
ladies.
Palamon answered the Duke's question swiftly, before Arcite had time
to speak. "Sire, what need of words? Both of us deserve death. Two
wretches are we, burdened with our lives. As thou art a just judge,
give to us neither mercy nor refuge, but slay us both. Thou knowrest
not that this knight, Philostrate, is thy mortal foe, whom thou hast
banished. He is Arcite, who hath deceived thee for that he loveth
Emelia. And I too love her. I too am thy mortal foe, for I am Palamon,
and I have broken from my prison. Slay us then, here before fair
Emelia."
"That is easily granted," said Theseus. "Ye judge yourselves. Ye shall
die."
Then the queen began to weep, and Emelia too. They were sad to think
that these two princes should die so young, and all for the service
they wished to do to the queen's sister.
The other ladies of the court begged the Duke to forgive the fighters.
"Have mercy, sire," they urged, "on us women, and save the princes!"
At first Theseus was too angry to listen to them, but soon he thought
that he would have done as the princes had done, if he had been in
their place, so he said, "Arcite and Palamon, ye could both have lived
in peace and safety in Thebes, yet love has brought you here to Athens
into my power, who am your deadly foe. Here then for the sake of
Hippolyta, my queen, and of Emelia the Radiant, our dear sister, I
forgive you both. Promise never to make war on my land, but to yield
me your friendship evermore." Joyfully the princes promised this, and
thanked the Duke for his grace.
Then Theseus said, "Both of you are noble. Either might wed Emelia the
Radiant, but she cannot wed you both. Therefore I appoint a tournament
in this place a year hence. Come here then, ye Princes of Thebes, each
of you, with a hundred knights of the bravest, and that one of you,
who shall slay or capture the other, he shall wed Emelia."
Whose face could be brighter than was Palamon's when he heard those
words, and who could step more lightly than did Arcite? Every one
thanked the Duke for his kindness to the princes, while they rode off
to Thebes with high hopes and light hearts.
When the day of the tournament came, great buildings stood in a circle
on the plain beside the grove. Within them stretched an immense arena
in which the knights must fight. Great marble gates opened on to the
space at either side.
Palamon and Arcite found it easy to bring a hundred knights to Athens.
So splendid were the preparations for the tournament that every one
was eager to fight in it.
Emelia alone was sad as the day of the fighting came nearer. Her
maidens heard her say, "Oh that I might not wed at all! I love the
free life of the woods. I love to hunt, and to ride, and to roam. Why
cannot Palamon and Arcite love each other as they used to do long ago,
and leave me free?"