Then John goes and opens a door,
constructed in a fashion which I cannot properly describe. No
one but John could have made it, and no one could have asserted
that there was any door or window there--so perfectly was it
concealed.
(Vv. 6393-6424.) When Fenice saw the door open, and the sun come
streaming in, as she had not seen it for many a day, her heart
beat high with joy; she said that now there was nothing lacking,
since she could leave her dungeon-tower, and that she wished for
no other lodging-place. She passed out through the door into the
garden, with its pleasures and delights. In the middle of the
garden stood a grafted tree loaded with blooming flowers and
leaves, and with a wide-spreading top. The branches of it were
so trained that they all hung downwards until they almost touched
the ground; the main trunk, however, from which they sprang, rose
straight into the air. Fenice desires no other place. Beneath
the tree the turf is very pleasant and fine, and at noon, when it
is hot, the sun will never be high enough for its rays to
penetrate there. John had shown his skill in arranging and
training the branches thus. There Fenice goes to enjoy herself,
where they set up a bed for her by day. There they taste of joy
and delight.
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