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When the Athenian heralds examined their coats of arms they declared that these two young men were cousins of royal blood and true aristocrats of Thebes. So the soldiers carefully extracted them from the morass of the dead, and carried them gently to the tent of Theseus. The noble duke then pronounced that they should be consigned to an Athenian prison, where they would remain for the rest of their lives without the possibility of freedom. No ransom would be sought or accepted. Now that Theseus had finished his glorious work, he led his army from the scene of battle and rode home to Athens bearing the laurel wreath of victory. There he still lives, in honour and in comfort. Happy ever after. What is left to say? Yet turn your eyes towards a dark tower. There, in anguish and in woe, lie Palamon and Arcite. They will suffer there for the rest of their lives. However large the ransom offered, they will never be released.
So the world whirled on, day by day and year by year, until on one May morning everything changed. On that spring morning Emily left her bed – Emily, the sister of the queen, lovelier than the lily on its stalk of green, fresher than the new flowers of May, prettier than the rose whose hue is not so fair as hers – I say that Emily left her bed before dawn and was prepared for the day before the sun ever rose. The month of May will brook no sluggishness at night. The season stirs every noble heart and awakes the spirit with the words, ‘Arise. And do homage to spring.’ So Emily paid her obeisance to the season of rebirth. She dressed in yellow and in green. Her blonde hair, waist length, was braided in tresses behind her back. At the rising of the sun she strolled through the garden of the castle, gathering red and white and particoloured flowers to make an intricate garland for her head. She was singing like an angel as she picked the lilac and the violet. Yet beside this garden, separated by the garden wall, was the dark tower where Palamon and Arcite were confined. It was the principal dungeon of the castle, as thick and strong as any prison in the world. So, with Emily singing and the two knights languishing, heaven and hell were close together.
Bright was the sun, and the air most clear, when Palamon had risen from his pallet bed. By permission of his gaoler this woeful prisoner had the use of an upper cell, from which he could see the city of Athens. He could also see the garden beneath him, clad in the green vesture of spring, where radiant Emily was still walking. Palamon, however, had not yet seen her. He was pacing to and fro, measuring the strict confines of his chamber and lamenting his fate. ‘Alas,’ he whispered to himself, ‘I wish that I had never been born!’ But then just by chance he happened to look through the thick iron bars covering his window. He cast a glance upon Emily sauntering below. Then immediately he turned pale and cried out, ‘Ah!’, as if some barb had caught at his heart. At the sound of his cry Arcite started up from sleep and asked what had upset him. ‘Cousin,’ he said, ‘you have gone as pale as the dead. What troubles you now? You look so ill suddenly. Why did you cry out? Who has offended you? For God’s sake do not rail so much against our imprisonment. We must have patience. This is our fate. We have no choice in the matter. We are subject to the bad aspects of Saturn, in the turning of the spheres, and ca
Palamon answered him, shaking his head. ‘Cousin, you have received the wrong impression of my woe. It was not our confinement that made me cry out. My new torment entered my heart through my eye, where very likely it will kill me. I am woeful because of her. With the flowers. Below us.’ He went over to the window again, and looked down at Emily. ‘The fairness of this lady that I see, walking to and fro through the castle garden, is the cause of all my pain and lamentation. I ca
When Palamon heard his complaint, he became angry. ‘Are you serious? Or is this a joke?’
‘I am in deadly earnest. God help me, I have no reason to play.’
‘It does not reflect well on your honour, you know, to be false and treacherous to your cousin.’ He was frowning at Arcite as he spoke. ‘We have both sworn deep oaths that we would never cross each other in love, and would each seek our common good. We have both sworn that we would rather die under torture than oppose or hinder one another. We would remain true till death do us part. That was my oath. I presume that it was yours. I don’t think you will deny it. But now what has happened? You are aware of my love for the lady in the garden, but you have decided that you also wish to be her lover. No chance. I will love and serve this lady until the day of my death. That will not be your fate, Arcite, I swear it! I loved her first. I took you into my confidence, and told you all my woe. As my sworn brother, you are bound by oath to help me. Otherwise you will be judged a false and perjured knight.’
Arcite, in pride of spirit, answered him with disdain. ‘You will be judged the faithless knight, Palamon. I was the one who loved her first.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Look at you. You still do not know whether she is a goddess or a woman! You are touched by love for a deity, while I am consumed by love for a mortal woman. That is why I confessed my feelings to you, as my cousin and brother. Put the case that you loved her first. What do all the learned clerks tell us? When love is strong, love knows no law. Love itself has greater dominion. Earthly rules are of no account. Lovers break them every day. A man must love, even if he strives against it; he ca
If I had more time, I would tell you more about the continual strife and enmity between them. But let me be brief and to the point. It happened one day that the worthy duke Perotheus, king of the Lapiths, arrived in Athens. He had been the intimate of Theseus since earliest childhood, and had come to the city to resume their happy companionship; he loved no one in the world so much as his friend, and Theseus returned that love. Anyone who reads the old books will learn of it. The story is that when Theseus died, Perotheus went down to hell in order to rescue him. What was Theseus doing in hell? I do not know that part of the story. To resume my own tale, if I may, I should inform you that Perotheus had been the lover of Arcite. So at his friend’s earnest desire and entreaty, Theseus decreed that Arcite should be released from prison without any ransom. Arcite would be free to go wherever he wished, but there was one condition to his liberty. It was agreed that, if Arcite were ever found and caught in Athenian territory, he would be instantly beheaded. Whatever the pretext and whatever the time of his incursion, he would die. What did Arcite do? What else but leave Athens at once and return to Thebes? There was no safer course. But he had best beware. He had left his head as his pledge.