nted, thinking to
avenge his shame. But many a man only falls into deeper disgrace who
thinks to avenge his shame when he has the chance. The young man rushes
at Cliges, who lowers his lance to meet him, and thrusts at him with
such force that he carries him to earth again. Now his shame is doubled,
and all his followers are in dismay, seeing that they can never leave
the field with honour; for not one of them is so valiant that he can
keep his seat in the saddle when Cliges thrust reaches him. But those of
Germany and the Greeks are overjoyed when they see their party drive off
the Saxons, who retreat discomfited. With mockery they pursue them until
they come up with them at a stream, into which they drive them for
a plunge. In the deepest part of the ford Cliges unhorsed the duke's
nephew and so many of his men that they escaped grieving and sad in
their shame and confusion. But Cliges, twice victor, returned in glee,
and entered a gate which was near the apartment where the maiden was;
and as he passed through the gate she exacted as toll a tender glance,
which he paid her as their eyes met. Thus was the maiden subdued by the
man. But there is not a German of the lowland or highland, possessing
the power of speech who does not cry: "God! who is this in whom such
beauty is radiant? God! how has it happened that so suddenly he has
attained such great success?" Thus one man and another asks: "Who is
this youth, who is he, I say?" Thus, soon throughout the city it is
known what his name is, and who is his father, and what pledge that was
which had been made to him by the emperor. So much was said and noised
about that the news reached the ears of her who in her heart rejoiced
because she could no more say that Love had made sport of her, nor had
she any ground for complaint. For Love has made her give her heart to
the fairest, most courteous, and valiant man that could anywhere be
found. But some force must be employed, if she would gain possession of
him who is not free do her will. This makes her anxious and distraught.
For she has no one with whom to take counsel concerning him for whom
she pines, but must waste herself in thought and vigils. She becomes so
affected by these cares that she loses her colour and grows wan, and
it becomes plain to all that her loss of colour betokens an unfulfilled
desire. She plays less now than she used to do, and laughs less and
loses her gaiety. But she conceals her trouble and passes