PART TWO
When Arcite eventually returned to Thebes, he grew faint and sick. His one word, endlessly repeated, was ‘Alas!’ We know the reason. I will add only that no other creature upon the earth has ever suffered, or will ever suffer, so painfully. He could not sleep. He did not eat or drink. He became lean and emaciated, as dry and brittle as a stick; his eyes were hollow, and his complexion turned a sickly yellow as if he had the jaundice. He looked truly frightful. And he was alone. He sought out solitude like a wounded animal. He spent his nights in tears and, if ever he heard the music of a lyre or lute, he wept openly and without pause. His spirits were so feeble, and his demeanour so changed, that no one recognized him or knew his voice. He behaved madly, wildly. He did not seem to be suffering from lovesickness, but rather from despair engendered by the melancholy humour; he had been touched in the foremost ventricle of the brain, which is the proper home of the imagination. So, in the fantasy of Arcite, everything was turned upside down. All was on a totter. There is no point in recalling every detail of his despair.
After two years of sorrow, while he lived and suffered in Thebes, as he lay sleeping one night, he had a vision or dream of Mercury. The winged god stood by his bedside, holding his wand of sleep, and bid him to be of good cheer. Now this great god wore a silver helmet, ornamented with wings, upon his golden hair. In just such a guise he had lulled Argos of the hundred eyes, when he came to steal Io. He spoke, or seemed to speak, to Arcite. ‘You must journey now to Athens,’ he said. ‘In that city there will be an end of all your woe.’ At that, Arcite woke up with a start. ‘Whatever the consequences,’ he said, ‘even on pain of death itself, I will follow my dream and travel to Athens. Right away. I will not be deterred by anything or anyone. I will see my lady again. I will be with her, even if I have to die in her sight. Death then will be delightful.’ Then he took up a great mirror, and saw the reflection of his altered looks. He was so wan and ravaged that he was scarcely recognizable even to himself. And then inspiration came to him. Whether he was inspired by Mercury, I cannot say. He realized that he was so disfigured, by suffering and sickness, that he could remain quite unknown in Athens. If he was cautious and prudent he could live there for the rest of his life without being discovered by the authorities. And then he could see Emily every day. What a wonderful prospect! So he threw himself into joyful activity. He changed his clothes, and dressed himself in the garb of a poor labouring man. His only companion was his squire. This young man knew everything, from first to last. But he was happy to follow Arcite. He, too, dressed in the garb of a poor man.
On the following day the two of them set off for Athens. As soon as Arcite arrived he went to the court of Theseus, and at the great gate there he offered his services to those who passed him. He offered to drudge, to draw water, to carry goods – anything that might help him to get closer to Emily. Eventually, and by great good fortune, he was offered a job in the household of the chamberlain who looked after the fair lady. He watched and waited, taking advantage of any opening to gain access to her. He was expert at cutting wood, and tireless at carrying barrels of water. He was strong, with fine sinews and big bones. He did any kind of work that was required. He was zealous and indefatigable. So by degrees he became a personal servant to fair Emily herself. What name did he give himself? He was known to everyone as Philostratus.
There never was a more well-respected man. He was so gentlemanly, so modest in demeanour, that his reputation spread throughout the royal court. Everyone said that it would be an act of charity on the part of Theseus to give him more honourable employment, in a post where his particular virtues might be nourished and displayed. So his good deeds and eloquence were spread abroad. Theseus himself came to hear of them. What was his response? He made him squire of the chamber, and gave him enough gold to maintain his new position. But Arcite also had another source of gold. He received rental income from his lands in Thebes. It was brought to him privately and secretly, by agents from his home city, and they were so discreet that no one in Athens ever guessed the truth. He spent it wisely, too, and avoided gossip. In this manner he spent the next three years of his life. He worked so well, both in peace and war, that Theseus held no man in higher regard. Now I will leave Arcite for a little while, and turn my attention to Palamon.
Oh dear. What a difference. While Arcite dwelled in bliss, Palamon lived in hell. For seven years he had lain in darkness and despair, fettered in the dark tower, wasted by suffering and suffused with woe. He endured double distress, with his unfulfilled love for Emily increasing his burden of imprisonment. He would never leave his cell. He would never kneel before her or address her. He was close to madness. Who could describe, in plain English, his suffering? I am not the man. So, if you don’t mind, I will pass on.
‘Take your time,’ our Host told him, ‘for this day has been a green day. It will stay fresh in our imaginations.’
‘I thank you. But I must move on.’
In the seventh year of his imprisonment – on 3 May, to be exact – the wheel turned for Palamon. That is the date given in the old books, at least, which are more to be trusted than I am. I have no skill at narration. Whether by fortune or by destiny – if there is any difference, actually – when something is meant to be it is meant to be – at least that is what I think. It was fated, anyway, that soon after midnight on 3 May Palamon escaped from his prison cell with the assistance of a friend. This is how he did it. He had given his gaoler a glass of sweet, spiced wine in which he had mingled some narcotics and the best Theban opium; they had the required effect, and the gaoler slept so soundly that no one could wake him. And so Palamon fled the city. Full speed ahead. Yet the spring night was short, and at break of day he decided to conceal himself in a neighbouring wood; he crept there, fearful of discovery. It was his plan to spend the rest of the day in hiding, shaded by the dark trees, and then to resume his flight to Thebes that night. Once he had arrived there, he planned to ask his friends to join him in making war upon Theseus. He would either die in combat or win Emily to be his wife. There was no third course.
Now, if I may, I will turn back to Arcite. The poor man little knew what was in store for him. Fortune was his foe. Fortune set a trap. And we all know that an hour’s cold can suck out seven years of heat.
The busy lark, the messenger of day, saluted in her song the break of day. The mighty sun rose up, with beams so bright that all the east was laughing in the light; his welcome rays the land receives, and all the dewdrops perish on the leaves. This is the poetry of the morning that greeted Arcite, the squire of the royal chamber, as he rose up from his bed. He decided to pay homage to May, inspired by his desire for Emily; so forth he went upon his fiery steed, and rode some two or three miles beyond the city. Here were the open fields where he could find exercise and recreation. Quite by chance he had ridden towards the wood where Palamon lay concealed. Here he wove for himself a garland of branches, made from the leaves of the woodbine and the hawthorn, and thus crowned he sang out in the sunlight this happy greeting. ‘May, with all your flowers and your green livery, welcome to you! Welcome to the fairest and freshest month! May I deserve this green garland!’ He dismounted from his horse and in lively mood explored a path that led into the wood itself. Where did the path take him? It led him directly to the thicket of trees where Palamon, in fear of his life, had taken refuge. He had no idea that Arcite was close to him. God knows it would have seemed an unlikely coincidence. But there is an old saying, proven many times, that ‘Fields have eyes and woods have ears.’ It behoves all of you to behave wisely, because you never know whom you are going to meet. The course of life is unexpected. So Palamon little knew that the voice he heard was that of Arcite. He just lay very still in the obscure grove.