The Romance of Astrea and Celadon
In 1610, Honore d'Urfe wrote
of a band of shepherds living in 5th-century Gaul,
far from Roman civilization. B82
We portray these Gauls as 17th-century readers imagined them.
Sadly, we have had to move their story from the Forez plain,
now disfigured by urban blight and conifer plantations,
to another part of France whose scenery has retained
its wild poetry and bucolic charm.
Fair Astrea, what keeps you away from the feast?
The fear of vexing my beloved Celadon's parents,
who hate my own.
Celadon isn't afraid to be there.
He's there to honour his parents.
To please Amyntha, even more!
He's only pretending to like her.
I ordered him to.
In that case, he's obeying you well.
Come.
If his parents see you with me,
they'll think you no longer love him.
It's what he wants.
Celadon is making merry!
For his parents.
Let's be seen dancing.
I've seen enough. I'm off.
Wait.
Let's follow them.
Enough. Let's go back.
If we were really lovers,
we would dally longer.
Let's go.
Come, my love.
What are they up to?
God, no!
You've seen enough.
The next day
Astrea!
Astrea! Can't you hear me?
Can't you hear? Look at me.
Answer me.
It's bold of you to face me after wronging me.
Go cheat some other girl.
Find one who does not know about your trickery.
My trickery?
Are you trying to test me?
Or drive me to despair?
Neither.
It's the truth!
It's common knowledge.
It is false.
Be quiet. I can prove it.
I saw you myself!
At the feast?
With Amyntha?
You know it was a sham.
A sham?
You two, behind a tree?
You told me to...
Be quiet!
It was Amyntha's idea.
Don't lie. I saw you.
Listen.
Be gone, deceiver.
Stay out of my sight forever.
Do you hear? Forever.
Unless I bid you otherwise.
Shepherdess!
Listen! Let me speak.
Do as I say.
You want me dead.
Listen! Look at me!
Let me go!
I'll drown myself at once.
Celadon! Celadon!
Celadon!
Where's Celadon?
I saw him jump in.
He was swept away towards the gorge.
Should I tell his brother?
Go get him.
Downstream, below the gorge...
Did you see anything?
No.
Let us move on.
This is the spot.
See how the river bends,
exactly as the druid showed us in his mirror.
There he is!
Is he asleep?
Is he dead?
He's still warm.
How handsome he is!
He's the one the druid told me of.
Take him to the castle.
We'll slip in by a back door, unseen.
No sign of him.
We searched both banks, down to the plain.
He must have drowned.
Fair shepherdess,
what misery!
For both of us,
for I have lost a brother
and you have lost a selfless lover.
Do you not speak?
Have you not wept?
Can it be
that his death has not moved you to even one tear?
It hurts, believe me,
to see you unmoved by the loss of a devoted lover,
as if he were a stranger.
Yes, Lycidas.
I grieve for your brother
but not his love.
It was shared by so many other girls,
they must be as sad as I.
You astound me.
Did he offend you?
Everyone knows but you.
Ask any shepherdess. Celadon loved far and wide.
Suffice it to say
that I myself saw him yesterday,
fondling Amyntha at the feast.
I know. I was there.
It was a pretence!
He was forcing himself.
He said he would rather die!
False words.
Be quiet!
Now I know what killed my brother.
Yourjealousy.
You doubted his word
so he killed himself.
Am I wrong?
Say something!
Yes, I doubted him.
Can I help it?
Believe what you like
but I'm in no doubt.
Yesterday, after the dance,
he carved a poem
on a tree beyond the great meadow.
If you condescend to look,
you will recognize his writing.
You know it well.
See for yourself.
Shall I come too?
I'll go alone.
Well, Phyllis.
How does she strike you?
My brother loved her faithfully
but she, on a whim of groundless hate and jealousy,
drove him away
in such despair
that he wanted to die.
Good God!
What are you saying, Lycidas?
Can she have done such a terrible wrong?
Definitely. She admitted only part,
but the rest
is easily deduced.
You should know
that from now on,
as my brother loved her, so I shall abhor her.
'I could against myself conspire,
deny my heart's desire,
and score a victory
by claiming to love nobody...
But to pretend that I adore
another woman's conquering eye
as I truly do love yours,
would be too great a lie.
If I must,
then let me die
and let my death be nigh. '
Celadon!
Forgive me.
Forgive me for doubting you.
How your words stab into my soul!
How great the cost of doubting your fidelity!
Gods in heaven,
give me the courage to join him in death!
Who is this?
Astrea, Madame. And he is Celadon,
a shepherd, but of high birth.
His parents are Alcippus and Amaryllis.
The same Alcippus
who smote the mighty Visigoths?
He is a shepherd, not by force of need,
but to earn his rest by honest work.
God, he is handsome!
Let him recover his strength.
Sylvia, look after him.
What say you, Leonida?
By showing me the shepherd in his mirror,
was the druid not extremely wise?
True, he showed you the very spot
where you found the shepherd
but not the shepherd himself.
He said only that you would find
a priceless object there.
What else could it be but him?
The druid also said, remember,
'The first to see the other
will be the first to love. '
I saw him first
and I seem to feel
a twinkle of love for him.
Madame,
would you love a shepherd?
Have you forgotten who you are?
I remember, Leonida.
But shepherds are men,
just as much as druids and knights,
and every inch as noble
since they all share the same lineage.
So, if this shepherd is well-born,
why shouldn't he be as worthy of me as any man?
But he is still a shepherd, clothe him as you will.
He is honourable, call him what you will!
But Madame,
you are such a great nymph. Lady of all these lands.
Have you the courage to love a shepherd?
A commoner? A rustic?
A pauper?
Enough insults, my dear.
Celadon is awake!
I heard him sigh behind the curtain.
Let us go.
The sun shone so full upon his bed
that he was bedazzled
and knew not where he was.
Where am I?
Am I dead?
Remembering his fall
and believing he was dead,
he could only guess
that Cupid had lifted him to heaven
to reward his fidelity.
His misperception grew
when his eyesight recovered
and he saw two paintings on the walls.
One showed Saturn half-lying
on a wall with a scythein his right hand.
Hope, robed in green, and Cupid
tried to pull off his wings
while a garlanded Venus tugged at his hair.
The other showed Psyche
dripping hot oil
onto a sleeping Cupid.
I'm with the gods!
Are you the three graces?
We brought you here to nurse you back to health.
We found you in the river
and carried you here.
Do you remember we met in your village
at the feast of Venus?
Fair nymph, I may be
too weak to recall it.
Has your ordeal made you forget
that after you won the footrace,
I, Sylvia, awarded you the garland,
which you placed on Astrea's head?
Everyone was amazed,
knowing your kin have been at odds
ever since your mother
was courted by both your father and Astrea's.
That's very true.
But how can I be with such great nymphs?
I, a humble shepherd,
and you, divine offspring.
The Romans say that when this plain was underwater,
Diana lived here with her naiads.
When the waters withdrew,
the naiads retired to the ocean.
Diana replaced them with the daughters of druids and knights.
She named them 'nymphs'
and left them in charge of these lands.
They may even marry,
as long as no man ever succeeds them.
Do not be surprised that I tend you.
Wherever virtue is found,
it deserves to be loved and honoured,
be it clothed in rustic drab or royal purple.
You are doing justice to your food.
I feel better.
I hope to take my leave within two days.
How so?
Do I nurse you so poorly that you would leave
before you have recovered?
I'm afraid to incommode you.
I must go home to reassure my family and frends.
I am not incommoded,
as long as you are accommodated.
As for your family and friends,
without me, you would be lost forever.
Forget your village and sheep
and raise your eyes to me in future.
Did you hear me?
Yes, Madame.
But my wits are still confused.
In that case,
I shall wait.
What's the matter?
No more appetite?
This place spoils it.
But we care only for your welfare.
Fair nymph...
I am as wretched as can be.
People in pain have the comfort of pity.
I cannot expect pity
since my misery hides behind its opposite.
If you and Galatea knew
how bitter is the cup that feeds me,
though any other man would find it sweet,
I warrant you would pity me.
What would comfort you?
To be allowed to leave.
Shall I speak to Galatea?
I wish you would.
Has he finished his meal?
I left him eating hungrily.
You spoiled his appetite.
I told him he was better off here than anywhere.
He has not the wit to know it.
What can you expect from a rustic?
Our difference in rank awes him, I suppose.
It is idiocy, not awe.
Your perfection uplifts him
but his lowliness
drags him down.
It's no surprise.
Apple trees bear apples, oaks bear acorns.
Nature reproduces itself.
He seems pledged to this Astrea.
He loves her.
But if he had any wits, would he not prefer you?
You deserve it so much more.
Whenever I mention you,
he says how much he misses Astrea.
Earlier, I heard him sigh
and asked him why.
His answer would have moved a rock to pity.
In short,
he asked me to beg you to release him.
Admit it, Leonida.
He moved you.
Yes, he moved me
to pity.
It seems to me,
since he craves to leave,
you should not hold him back.
You can't whip love into a heart.
He made you feel more than pity.
Enough of this.
He will leave
when I want him to!
But Madame... Enough, Leonida!
My mind is made up!
You were right.
This house seems free and open
but it is a prison.
She said you will not leave
until she says so.
I'd rather die.
I wish I had drowned!
I shall try again.
Sylvia!
Go tell Galatea.
Think of your grief if he dies in your care!
He won't. He is young.
We'll take good care of him.
All is well! He was too weak to stand up.
But once he is up, how can we stop him drowning himself?
We're three. He's weak.
Not for much longer.
If you would care
to leave it to me,
I'll smuggle him to my Uncle Adamas,
the chief druid.
I told you. He stays!
Meanwhile...
I could against myself conspire,
deny my heart's desire,
and score a victory
by claiming to love nobody...
But to pretend that I adore
another woman's conquering eye
as I truly do love yours,
would be too great a lie.
If I must, then let me die
and let my death be nigh.
Cruel shepherdess!
Still weeping?
How long must you shun us young shepherds
for one who is gone?
Learn to love the living, not the dead.
Let them rest. Don't mix their ashes with tears.
Be quiet!
Would you have Celadon die twice?
Since his death,
he lives on in my affections.
I will carry his memory to my grave.
I swear it by the gods!
Go, if that's all you can say!
I'm glad you no longer blame Celadon.
Before, I said you wept too little
but now I fear you weep too much.
Too much?
I'll never cry enough
to wash away my deadly error.
Semyrus is to blame for making Celadon jealou.
Was he bothering you just now?
I want to weep alone.
Who is that singing?
Is it Hylas?
It's him.
Let's go see.
Come with us.
No, let me weep.
... Stifling all manly qualms
Weeping like a babe in arms
Over some lost apple?
Surely we should call this sad man
Not a perfect lover, but a madman
If I am scorned, I simply leave
The heartless one to her devices
And before a new sun rises
I find myself another Eve
Only a fool ever strove
To force the hand of love
Look at faithful paramours!
They are always groaning
Tears, regrets and moaning
Are the best their love procures
It seems that, to be a lover,
All you need to do is blubber!
If I had to weep
For every mistress I have lost
I would have to weep for longer
Than my whole lifetime!
If you did as I do,
you'd weep for only one.
If you did as I do,
you'd never weep at all!
There speaks a heart incapable of love.
How so?
Love desires nothing but itself.
It is its own centre.
Therefore,
it seeks contentment in itself,
inside its own circle
that begins and ends everywhere,
starting where it stops.
A fine speech!
But as for me, I think your words
are like the fables
that women use to lull the unwary.
Love desires only itself, you say.
Not true!
The opposite is obvious.
We desire what we do not have.
If you understood how the infinite power of love
makes two people one,
and one two...
you'd know that a lover desires what is part of him.
If you understood how lover and beloved, reciprocally,
become one person,
while still being lover and beloved
and therefore two,
then you would grasp
what is beyond you.
You would admit that
loving his beloved and being loved,
the lover loves himself.
You have just proved
that two wrongs don't make a right!
In trying to convince me,
you propose even wilder ideas.
A lover becomes his beloved?
Are you then Phyllis?
By loving her, yes, I become her.
You're Phyllis!
Why aren't you wearing her dress?
A well-behaved shepherdess
shouldn't dress up as a man.
Let me enlighten you.
When we are in love,
what loves is the soul, not the body.
The soul changes into the beloved.
But I love the body!
As well as the soul!
The soul is the part I care least about.
The body is only an instrument.
If Phyllis's body is only an instrument,
take Phyllis
and leave me the rest.
We'll see who is happier, you or I.
Far from me the idiocy
That leads only to sorrow
Learning much from others' woe
I am always fancy-free
And I could not care less
If they call me faithless.
Days went by...
Tell me, shepherd.
Of all grave offences,
is not ingratitude the worst?
It is.
Certainly.
And yet you repay all my affection
with coldness and disdain.
Madame,
what you call ingratitude,
my heart calls duty.
If you wish, I will tell you why.
No doubt you love another
and feel bound by loyalty.
But nature's law has primacy.
It commands you to seek your own good.
What is better for you than my affection?
Only fools are swayed by notions of fidelity.
Nature's laws
would never have us gain by shameful means.
Is any act more shameful, more fickle,
than to flit like a bee
from flower to flower?
Madame...
If fidelity is no more,
what can I expect from your affection?
Won't my flat chest show?
You'll be wearing a shawl.
Have you dressed as a girl before?
No.
Well, Celadon.
I've kept my promise to get you out.
Don't you feel obliged to do
what you promised me?
What was that?
Didn't you promise
that anything you could do for me,
you would do?
I did.
Go on.
Love the lucky Astrea
as sincerely as you ever did
before she wronged you.
I intend to, as you know.
But also...
My help to you deserves some sort of thanks.
And given the fact
that love can only be repaid with love,
you will have to repay me in kind.
What do you mean?
Don't worry.
A heart loves truly only once.
I'll settle for what's left.
Since your amorous love is all taken,
give me your brotherly friendship.
Dear Leonida,
I swear I'll always be your brother.
It will sustain me through my misery.
I must get back,
and you to your village.
I won't go there.
Where, then?
I don't know.
Don't you want to see Astrea?
She forbade me to.
Forever?
Forever... or until she tells me.
How can she? She's not here
and thinks you're dead.
I don't know.
Go to her.
In herjoy, she'll forgive you.
No, I'll wait.
For what?
I don't know.
- You're mad. - Love is mad.
- Where will you sleep? - Anywhere.
- Under trees. - Eating what?
Herbs.
Roots.
I can take you to a hut
and bring you food tomorrow
but I hope you'll soon see sense.
See? It's sturdy.
Make a bed of ferns.
See you tomorrow.
Fair nymph!
What is this?
The food I promised you.
Enough for several days.
For longer.
I'm not hungry.
You must eat to live.
Live for what?
Astrea will take you back.
That hope keeps me alive.
Hope nourishes.
It's spring. I'll find herbs, soft roots
and berries.
I saw a spring full of watercress nearby.
As a gift, I would rather...
you brought me a flute
to play my song of sorrow.
If you eat my food.
Uncle...
I beg your help for Celadon,
a shepherd we saved from drowning.
I let him out to join his loved ones
but he hid in the forest
and everyone thinks he is dead.
What made him do that?
I think his mind is sick.
He is loath to speak and would eat grass.
Did he tell you the cause of his malady?
He speaks only in snatches.
However,
I think it is his love of a shepherdess, Astrea,
who falsely accused him of being untrue
and refuses to see him.
So he jumped in the river.
I know Celadon.
He met Astrea at the feast of Venus
when he was 14 or 15
and she, 12 or 13.
Come.
At this feast,
they often act out this scene, here.
The Judgment of Paris.
Priam's son
judges three goddesses, Pallas, Venus and Juno,
for their beauty.
That year, Astrea played Venus.
The girls were to pose naked,
away from the men.
Paris was played by a girl.
But he is naked too!
In the picture,
but not at the feast.
The girl played him dressed as a boy.
However,
the village girls told my daughter
that Celadon, the little scamp,
decided, when the roles were cast,
to mix with the girls, wearing a frock,
To mix with the girls, wearing a frock,
and was picked to play Paris!
His girlish face took everyone in.
Did Astrea recognize him?
I don't know.
They say she blushed uncomfortably.
But then again, he was wearing a turban and beard.
She kept any doubts to herself,
for the sinner ran the risk of being stoned to death.
I hope they'd have spared him
because of his youth.
What ails you, boy?
Secluding yourself in the woods
away from human company?
Can it be reasonable at your age
to desert your flock, your kith and kin,
and live like a wild bear?
You say your love for Astrea drives you to it.
But child, reflect.
If you have wronged her,
you cannot make amends from afar.
And if you did her no wrong,
how can you prove your innocence?
Previously, I agree,
you had some reason to avoid her.
But now it is time
to come to your senses and show her
you are notjust a lover
but also a man.
Being a man
is the least of my concerns.
A man's memory is all I have left.
I have lost all wit and willpower.
My only defence is that I am in love.
If you are in love,
should you not strive to see your beloved?
If I'm in love,
how can I go against her wishes?
How can I disobey her?
Or rather,
how can I not love to obey her?
She ordered me to stay away.
But she is unaware of your obedience!
Lovers are amply satisfied
by knowing we have done our duty.
Celadon,
I see you are hard to convince.
My advice to you was dictated by kindness
and my duty as a druid. Don't take it amiss.
But I ask you one thing,
a favour you cannot refuse.
You see, my daughter,
whom I love,
lives with the druid girls, far away.
My fondness for you grows, the more I see your face
It reminds me of hers. You look so similar.
I hope you will not mind
if I disturb you now and then for the pleasure of seeing
my dearest treasure's likeness.
Thereafter, frequent visits from Leonida
and the druid lifted Celadon's spirits.
Use this to write down your poems.
Here my beauteous sun reposes
When the lazy sun retires
In the morning, when its fires
Glow afresh with pinks and roses
Banishing the night-time's fears
Long before the dawn appears
The sun which my heart embraces
Lights the firmament above Bestowing on the land its graces
And filling it with love
All along this riverside
It shows itself in different ways
Sometimes shining all ablaze
Sometimes covering its light
As if it suddenly were jealous
And tried to steal away from us
Just as, behind a sombre cloud,
The sun conceals its radiance
Although it knows a flimsy shroud
Can never hide its brilliance
My shepherdess, in days gone by
Clasped my hand and promised me
'Whatever blind fate may decree
To be our mortal destiny
To Celadon I pledge my troth
With this everlasting oath
By this hand I swear to adore you
If you live or if you die
Or, if I should die before you
In my grave our love will lie'
O secret, rocky places
Where we kept our trysts
Now, what more exists
Of those lost embraces?
Will the gods whom we entreated
Let their powers now be cheated
And allow our ardent prayers,
Hers and mine, to be in vain
Since she now our love forswears
And repays it with disdain?
This carefree idleness is bad for you.
I'll take you to a sacred grove.
You can build an arbour to embellish it.
The grove around this tree
is sacred to Teutates, Esus, Belenus and Taranis,
our God.
Father,
you said four names, one God?
Why not 'gods'?
Are these four gods
not the same as the gods we call
Jupiter, Mars, Mercury and Apollo?
No, child.
They were given those names
by the Roman invaders, who worship several gods.
But they are not gods to us.
So who are they?
That is one of our great mysteries.
There can be only one God.
He is almighty or nothing.
If there were two almighty gods,
their power would be split.
Also, they would be either identical or different.
If identical,
they would be one and the same thing.
If they were different,
then goodness must be different from goodness,
which is impossible.
I've always believed in a sovereign God above all others.
Butjust as mortal kings
have junior officers,
I thought there could be junior gods.
I saw Teutates as the chief
with Esus, Taranis and Belenus
worshipped below him.
They are all names of our great Teutates.
Then why,
in our temples and here,
are there statues of Hercules,
Venus,
Pallas,
Diana,
and Mars?
Aren't they gods?
Only to the Romans.
You should regard them, not as separate gods,
but as several virtues of one God.
In Jupiter, you worship
God's greatness and majesty,
in Mars, His power,
in Pallas, His wisdom,
and in Venus, His beauty.
So doing, you will relate them all
to our great Teutates.
The Romans forced their idols on us
but we do not revere them as gods
because our God is One.
If I dared to teach you our holy mysteries
and our religion's deepest secrets,
I would quote a wise druid, who said:
The names of Esus,
Taranis and Belenus
together signify a single God.
The Strong God,
the Man God,
and the Resurgent God.
The Strong God is the Father,
the Man God the Son,
and the Resurgent God is Love.
All three make one, Teutates.
To the Man God's mother,
the ancient druids raised an altar
with a statue of a virgin cradling a child,
inscribed 'To the virgin mother. '
But these mysteries are beyond you.
Some are even beyond me, a druid.
I'll say no more lest I profane them.
Let's change the subject.
You may build around this tree
a shrine devoted,
not to Teutates,
since we Celts are forbidden
to make images of God,
but to Astrea,
the Roman goddess and Celtic symbol
of virtue and justice.
We could give her the features of your fair shepherdess,
if you have the memory and artistry.
Father, I'm no artist.
As for her likeness,
I can lend you this
if you promise to return it.
Your folly is beautiful indeed.
I never saw a fairer face
nor one that shows more modest love.
Lucky the father who begot her
and the mother who raised her.
Luckier still, the man
who wins her love, and her.
In late spring, the shepherd folk
travelled to the Mistletoe Feast
at Adamas's castle.
'Unbelievers, venture slowly If your love is less than holy
Come not near
In this sacred grove A heart fed on love
Reveres divine Astrea'
Is this ourjourney's end?
By no means.
I do not know this place.
These poles are obviously new.
See?
The knots are still fresh.
The boughs have not yet taken root.
The leaves will grow again next spring.
Let's enter with respect.
Not I.
It is no place for me.
I believe my love is true
although you, Lycidas, disagree.
I know that I'm in love with love
but I cannot vouch for its holiness.
I was always told
never to trifle with the gods.
So you're deserting us?
Aren't you ashamed of your impure love?
Far from it.
If you understood me, you'd praise me.
I'm staying outside
because I respect this temple's deity
while you brazenly walk in and desecrate it,
knowing in your heart, despite your protestations,
that your love is not properly holy.
Great goddess of this place,
behold me.
I enter your sacred grove
respectful of your will.
I know my love is fit and pure.
If it is not,
punish my effrontery.
Two Cupids signify the lover and beloved
competing to see
whose love is the greater.
Their bows, inextricably entwined,
teach us that they share all things.
One's strength is the other's.
Their wills are utterly combined.
As wise men say,
lover and beloved are one.
The Twelve Rules of Love.
Rule One.
'The perfect lover
must love infinitely.
Only extreme love is worthy.
Mediocrity is closer to betrayal
than to fidelity. '
Rule Two.
He must love in a single place and revere its every aspect.
All the happiness he seeks must be for that one subject. '
I don't believe that a single word you said
is written on that tablet!
Others here can read.
Show it to me.
The perfect lover must #not #love infinitely.
He must love in #many #places
and #always #have eyes for #new #places!
The happiness he seeks must be for #many #objects. '
For that one object!
Shame on your sacrilege.
I didn't go in.
Stay outside and be quiet.
Does that portrait remind you of anyone?
It's our Astrea!
Who could have painted it here?
Is it not you?
Nobody here knows me.
How strange.
Yes, I don't understand.
And what about this?
'Bereft of my true good, this false good comforts me.
Traveller, if you wonder
who gave me this portrait,
the answer is that Love,
bereft of its true good,
with this false good comforts me. '
Sister, this place amazes me!
Me too.
I can't tell if I'm asleep or awake.
I even remember him writing that line,
'Bereft of my true good,
this false good comforts me'
on the back of a portrait he wore around his neck.
Did someone steal it from his body
or find it on the riverbank?
Don't cry!
This is a reason to be glad,
not sad.
See? He wrote it himself,
as sure as I am Phyllis.
It could be forged.
Not that well.
If he wrote it, he can't have died
by drowning, as you thought.
If so, what could be better news?
Sister, please, do not talk like that.
Celadon is dead.
The shepherds saw him washed away.
I won't say he's alive, but still...
if he wrote this, he cannot be dead.
Haven't you heard our druids say
the soul lives on after the body dies?
I've heard it.
Don't you remember
they constantly teach us
to bury our dead
and place coins in their mouths to pay the ferryman to Pluto's realm?
And do you not know
that Celadon's body, being unfound,
forwent that final act of mercy?
His soul is probably drifting
up and down that wretched river!
Possibly.
But I'm saying he's alive
because I hope he is, for your sake.
I know that, sister.
But if I believed he were alive
and found out he was dead,
nothing could keep me alive.
I would have lost him twice.
If he is dead, as you think
and I do not,
you must feel comforted
to know that death could not efface his love.
Which adds to my loss.
If he is dead,
he can see quite clearly
that your love is pure and true
and the jealousy that made you angry
came from that great love.
They say thatjust as we have eyes,
so our souls can see and recognize each other.
That's my only consolation.
I think we're lost.
Any ideas?
No.
You're supposed to know best.
I admit I'm a blind man leading the blind.
The trouble is, our blindness arose from trusting your eyes!
If you weren't here,
we wouldn't be blind.
Why not? Did I steal your eyes?
My eyes, no,
but our vision.
You waxed on about your infidelities
and fooled with the rules of love
until the night was upon us.
You sound like those people who praise the wine
and then blame it for making them drunk.
'Friends,'
we should answer,
'why drink so much? '
Friend Lycidas,
why did you listen to me?
Did I capture your ears?
In any case, we're lost.
We need daylight to pick our way out of here.
We'll rest under those trees until dawn.
Walking deep in thought,
Celadon was suddenly astounded
to come across Astrea.
She had a kerchief over her eyes,
a hand behind her head and the other on her thigh.
Her smock, raised inadvertently,
revealed her lovely leg.
What a sight for Celadon!
Surprise rooted him there,
bereft of pulse and breath,
gazing insatiably at these delights
and wishing he had, like Argus,
eyes all over his body.
As he feasted his eyes,
he said to himself,
'Away!
Remember her prohibition! '
But he could not help approaching.
What is it?
Hold still.
Am I hurting you?
What makes you so pale?
Alas, sister! What did I see?
What was it?
I saw Celadon.
His mortal coil.
You dreamed him.
Don't be afraid.
Only fools believe in dreams.
In our sleep, our mind replays the things we saw and thought by day.
Dreams don't predict the future.
They reflect the past.
It wasn't a dream. I saw him!
When he saw me looking at him,
he melted away!
Perhaps you dreamed you were awake.
It often happens.
I was awake.
I opened my eyes
and saw my shepherd's soul.
God, it was so beautiful and bright!
Only the sun shines brighter.
It dazzled me
but vanished in a flash.
Do you believe me?
Unlike you, I can't believe he's dead.
This apparition
seems to prove he is alive.
But I agree, don't raise your hopes.
If it really is his soul, all we can do
is give him the mercy of a grave.
I think you should raise a tomb to him.
An empty tomb.
A cenotaph.
It is our custom for warriors
and victims of fire and flood.
Come on.
It's time to go.
She's truly beautiful.
Did you know?
She says she saw Celadon's soul.
Souls are invisible. Silly girl!
She saw the man himself.
She thinks he's dead.
I can't dissuade her of it.
But it seems like a good opportunity
to rescue the shepherd from his misery.
When he hears how she misses him,
he will resolve to see her.
Let us find him.
I'm delighted to find you so cheerful.
What happened?
I saw Astrea.
I gazed on her asleep.
Did she see you?
I left before her eyes opened.
She saw you run away.
She thinks it was your soul.
She came to the castle.
She wants to build a tomb.
She loves and mourns you.
If you do not see her now, you have no courage or love.
Courage, I lack.
Not love.
I can't believe you love her
if, knowing she loves you you persist in avoiding her.
Love commands me to obey her.
She ordered me to stay away.
You say I lack love by obeying her?
She hated you then.
Now she loves you!
Even so, she ordered me.
Even so, I will obey her!
You already disobeyed by looking at her.
She didn't forbid me to see her,
only to be seen by her.
She was asleep.
If that is so,
you can see her, unseen, every day.
Must she be asleep?
Must I hide?
No, you may even talk to her.
In the dark?
In broad daylight.
Do you remember
I said you resemble my daughter, Alexia?
I'll announce she is ill
and coming home to recover.
You can pass for a girl
with your delicate face and fair skin.
Father, my beard is only light
but if I shave it off, it shows.
I will give you a herb
to make it vanish completely.
Your rumoured sickness
will let you speak softly.
No need. I can falsify my voice
when I sing... but also when I speak.
Adamas wants to see you.
This is the daughter I told you of.
I hope your company will revive her.
How may I mark this day that brings the joy of meeting you?
The joy is mine for being here
at the Mistletoe Feast.
My father spoke of a newly built shrine.
Did he take you there?
Not yet.
It's nearby.
If you come to the window,
I'll show you the oak tree
where it is built.
See, on the right, a prominent tree?
I see it.
To which deity is it devoted?
In fact, she bears my name.
The goddess Astrea,
dressed as a shepherdess.
Strangely, those who have seen her
including myself,
agree she looks like me.
It was a wise choice.
Astrea, the goddess ofjustice,
is best portrayed as a shepherdess with her sheep
since justice brings peace and plenty to mankind.
But it was wiser still to give her your face.
Astrea has deserted us for the newcomer.
She pays us no more heed
than if we were strangers!
Doesn't she look like someone we know?
Like who?
I don't know.
Her father?
No, a shepherdess.
A shepherd, rather.
Celadon.
No wonder she is eager to be with her!
Here is your room.
It was my daughter's.
Coming back to it
may bring back her health.
But tell me, Alexia.
How does Celadon feel?
I haven't heard from him.
Speaking for Alexia,
she swears she was never happier.
But you, Celadon.
Do you regret believing me?
No one could regret taking your advice.
Dangerous though it is.
I see your ailment is not yet ready for the cure
that I prescribed.
I bid you good night.
The long-awaited day
broke too slowly for the sleepless Celadon.
Berating the sun's laziness,
he begged the dawn to open heaven's gates.
Tell me,
what offence
or sin of mine
Has made you slow your gradual traverse?
Minutes, you are days
Days, you are years
Creeping towards an end that never nears
Century after century
you rehearse
Penelope's daily work
that nightly disappears
I think the sun is moving in reverse...
Who's there?
It's us!
See what pretty girls I've brought to help you rise?
Good morning!
And to you, fair shepherdesses.
How was your night?
Should I answer for her?
I warrant she slept here beside you.
Beside me?
In mind, if not in body.
It is quite possible.
I pondered our conversation all night.
What's this, my girl?
Still in bed?
What will these maidens
think of your idleness?
Father,
it's her fault for bursting in with them.
It is your fault
for lying abed.
They should give you a hiding
to get you up sooner!
Come, shepherdesses.
Alexia can get dressed without you.
If you will, let's spend today together.
And tomorrow.
I am bewildered
to be granted the joy of your company.
Fair shepherdess, the joy is mine.
In truth, I've had no greater pleasure
since I left home
than the joy of seeing you.
I could never doubt your word
but I hardly see how a poor wretched girl like me
could possibly deserve such favour.
Fair shepherdess,
I never lie but if I did,
I'd rather die than lie to you.
Promise you'll agree
to let me spend my life with you.
Astrea.
I'm afraid...
you may soon change your mind.
If you knew me well,
you would know that is impossible.
I never go back on my decisions.
Celadon fell silent
and stepped back
with the same look in his eye
as when she ordered him out of her sight.
What is it?
You suddenly seem different.
I hope it's not because of me.
Have I displeased you?
Fair shepherdess,
it's not your fault.
My heart reacted too keenly
to the words you spoke.
You see, among the druid girls
I chose a bosom friend.
I took to her so dearly
because I thought she loved me.
I could not live without her.
She felt the same for me, she said.
But then, after several years,
my fair beloved left me.
She refuses to see me
without saying why.
The shock of her reversal threw me
into my present illness.
How could someone so beautiful
and perfect as you
have met such a foolish girl?
Do not blame her.
Blame the dark star I was born under.
The shepherdesses are waiting.
Your long discussions with that girl
make me think that our shepherdesses
please you more than the shepherds.
It is only natural to be fond of our own kind.
My heart has room for shepherds too.
Does not a druid maiden's education
teach you more about the laws of nature?
I should repair the omission.
Don't waste your time and trouble.
Unbelievers, venture slowly
If your love is less than holy
Come not near
In this sacred grove
A heart fed on love
Reveres the divine
Astrea.
Since we are lodging the local druids,
Alexia must share the girls' room.
Astrea, Phyllis and I can sleep here
and Alexia there.
Astrea will want to sleep with Alexia.
Tell Astrea
that she must sleep with me.
Tell her druid girls must sleep alone.
Girls, I have many guests
so you must share this room tonight.
Three in the large bed,
Leonida and the shepherdesses.
Alexia in the small one,
because druid maidens must always sleep alone.
Daughter, our festivities have tired you.
You deserve a longer sleep than usual.
Get up after the others.
Why look so sad?
Have no fear.
Be brave!
Girls,
good night to you.
Shepherdess, let's get undressed.
Alexia falls asleep as soon as she's in bed.
If we go to bed after her
and make a noise,
she'll never get back to sleep.
Sisters,
would you mind
letting your hair down here, to keep me awake?
Astrea, by now almost undressed,
casually let slip her gown
below her elbow, unveiling her breast.
Alexia sat up and helped her
to unfasten her bows and pins.
Whenever her hand came near her mouth,
she kissed it#
and Alexia kissed the place her lips had touched.
Fair druid girl,
Leonida spared you the pain
of preventing your gaze!
No breast was ever snowier,
no apple in Love's orchard ever lovelier.
Never did Cupid's arrow strike Celadon's heart
as deeply as it did Alexia's.
How nearly she dropped her girlish guise for that of a shepherd!
How close she came to recklessness!
Good morning, Phyllis.
You're up early.
Why, it's Alexia!
Is it not?
That's my dress.
It suits you perfectly.
Is it really Alexia under those clothes?
Let me kiss you,
the loveliest shepherdess in the land.
Lovelier than as a druidess.
Are those not Astrea's clothes?
What if Astrea dressed up as a druid girl?
Each would be mistaken for the other.
But what would my father say?
He will only laugh.
He knows gaiety is the best medicine for you.
Be careful, Alexia!
Astrea might be irked by your embrace.
Nothing can irk me
in Alexia's company.
I would be sorry to irk you.
But Leonida is only envious.
Indeed?
I have a lovely shepherdess right by me.
Unaware that her caresses were closer
than is usual between girls,
Astrea welcomed and returned her kisses
as though Alexia
were a living image of Celadon.
Who are you?
You're not Alexia!
I am Astrea.
Isn't this her dress?
You're Celadon!
Celadon is dead.
Yes. I'm dreaming.
Almighty God, let this not be a dream!
Let him be alive!
I am alive.
Live, live, Celadon!
I order you!