setting out; but no one had eyes so wide open or such good
hearing as to be able to perceive for a certainty from hearing or
sight, that there was love between the twain. Cliges, grievous
though it be to him, departs as soon as it is allowed him. He
goes away lost in thought; lost in thought remains the emperor
and many another; but Fenice is the most pensive of all: she
discovers neither bottom nor bound to the thought with which she
is filled, so greatly does it overflow and multiply in her. Full
of thought she has come to Greece: there was she held in great
honour as lady and empress; but her heart and spirit are with
Cliges wherever he turns, nor ever seeks she that her heart may
return to her unless he bring it back to her, he who is dying of
the malady with which he has slain her. And if he recovers, she
will recover; never will he pay dear for it unless she too pay
dear. Her malady appears in her complexion; for much has she
changed and pale has she grown. The fresh, clear, pure hue that
Nature had bestowed has wholly deserted her face. Often she
weeps, often sighs: little recks she of her empire and of the
wealth she has. She has always in her memory the hour that Cliges
departed, the farewell that he took of her, how he changed
countenance, how he blanched, his tears and his mien, for he came
to weep before her, humble, lowly, and on his knees, as if he
must needs worship her. All this is pleasant and sweet for her to
recall and to retrace. Then to provide herself with a luscious
morsel, she takes on her tongue in lieu of spice a sweet word;
and for all Greece she would not wish that he who said that word
should, in the sense in which she took it, have intended deceit;
for she lives on no other dainty nor does aught else please her.
This word alone sustains and feeds her and soothes for her all
her suffering. She seeks not to feed herself or quench her thirst