Lancelot to my Guinevere

To the worthy Paolo, son of Malatesta, Francesca daughter of Guido, greetings and the unbreakable bond of love.

I long for thy return, my beloved. I pray that the battle's business is well and soon ended and thou art quickly restored to my welcoming arms.

May God in His graciousness guard thee from harm and the wick'd darts and deadly steel of our enemies. Rob me not of all my joy by taking thy death in foreign and unfriendly lands.

Do not in thy absence wound me further. Write to me! Thou knowest I hang upon every word from thy faire lips. Especially now when the danger is mortal. Fall not on the honorable field of arms I thee beg.

I fear I am a poor and foolish figure when thou art away, my thoughts weighing heavily upon my lonely heart. How I wander about from room to room looking for what I know not! At night I lay a tremble with passion in my bed and wish my head reclined upon thy manly breast, thy hand lost in the tangle of my hair.

Forget me not, love me ever, Pyramus to my Thisbe.

Only remembering the smile on thy handsome face when it I first beheld can stem the tide of my tears. I have told thee how I feared taking the marriage vows to a stranger ever since my father arranged them to make peace between our great families, Polenta and Rimini.

But once I beheld thy noble visage, I felt such unheralded joy when joining thee at the altar, wiping away all memory of my once querulous heart! I was the happiest creature who ever lived when thou tookest my hands in thine and we swore our sacred vows before Christ our redeemer.

But my father wickedly deceived his poor daughter. In the morning, I awoke not to thee but to your brother Giovanni, lo Sciancato, Hephaestus to thy Apollo.

I quail to remember the passion I felt within thy brother's naked embrace when I believed it was thee. It was too cruel, Paolo. Such a hateful deed! Oh, the bitter tears I wept for thee upon our defiled marriage bed. I both loathed and loved thee, Paolo my betrayer, my absent lover!

Forget me not, love me ever, Erec to my Enide.

Fear not, my heart is not hardened to thee by thy deception. You know I will always forgive thee once my ardor returns within your welcoming arms. But when thou art away its harsh sting is too easily remembered.

I meditate too on my wifely duty to my husband and to God the Father who judges all things upon high. But it was I who first was deceived. When we took our vows before the alter, I vowed to obey and love thee not thy unworthy brother!

Am I some prize tossed carelessly into the hazard by my father, or strumpet who beggars reproval? No! I am a woman in love and who's loved in return. I command thee, return anon that I might shower thy face with kisses of forgiveness even whilst flogging thy chest in my rage.

My desire for thee is a whirling cyclone. It buffets and blazes, like a fire that cannot be quenched, an obsession which can never die. I burn for thee, Paolo, every thought bent upon memories of the majesty of thy godlike brow, and the divinity in thy touch awakening my ceaseless longing againe and againe!

Forget me not, love me ever, Tristan to my Iseult.

Do you remember when we were yet chaste in the eyes of God, and thy melodious voice read to me The Knight of the Cart? Oh, how I my cheeks flushed with desire when Lancelot crept into Guinevere's room and lay with her, and I imagined thy alabastrine flesh joined with mine -

Their play was so sweet to them, with kissing and touching, that in fact a joy and a wonder befell them such as never been heard or told.

No further words did thou speakest, the book falling to the floor from thine hands. Just as love had mastered Lancelot thy lips found mine and mine tasted the sugar'd sweetness within thine. Running to my bed we soon knew such pleasure that not even Lancelot might boast!

Never again did we return to the werk nor learn its ending whether amiable or o'er flowing with tears. For I had found my gallante knight and thou thy faire queen. Our love is native and pure and dare I speak it aloud? freely given without marital obedience or compulsion. I love thee, Paolo, and wish to confess it to all the world!

Forget me not, love me ever, Lancelot to my Guinevere.

Irresolute though I be, I will always love thee and yet how can I hope for more? How can I not fear a violent ending to our passions? I hate meeting with thee in the shadows and the ceaseless dread of discovery, though, alas! I ought not to be.

Giovanni is a jealous lover. Such imagined terrors awaken me in the dread midnight hour. Fear of him should govern my ardor, but my desire knows no master, nor bows to any faire convention.

But if he were to discover, I think on it and tremble with fear for thee, sweet Paolo. I'd sooner die than we two parted by death and sorrow eternal.

A surety I give, an oath I swear. That our love wilt be one for the ages. No more shalt lovers remember the romantic tales of imagined couples like Tristan and Iseult or Pyramus and Thisbe. They shalt remember our names, my love.

Forget me not, love me ever, Paolo to my loving Francesca.

I hide a lock of thy hair close to my breast, which I remove from time to time to remind myself of thee. Return to me anon, my love, and restore my former joy.

Fare thee as well as I fare.