Chaucer
Troilus and Criseyde II

BkI BkII BkIII BkIV BkV

Book II

Out of these black waves, let us at last make sail;

O wind, O wind, the day begins to clear!

In such a sea my boat is like to fail,

It is in travail and 1 scarce can steer.

This sea is the tempestuous career

Of black despair that Troilus was in;

But now the calends of his hope begin.

O lady mine, Clio,' be thou the one

Henceforth to speed me; O be thou my Muse !

Rhyme this book well for me till I have done;

Here there's no other art for me to use.

And so I ask all lovers to excuse

My story, not of my own feeling sung,

But taken from Latin' into my own tongue.

Therefore I wish for neither thanks nor blame

In all this work; meekly, I beg you try

To overlook it if a word be lame,

For just as said my author, so say I.

And though 1 speak of love unfeelingly

That's nothing new; no wonder I am duller

Than he; a blind man is no judge of colour.

And then, you know, the forms of language change

Within a thousand years, and long ago

Some words were valued that will now seem strange,

Affected, even; yet they spoke them so,

And fared as well in love, for all I know,

As we do now; in various lands and ages

Various are the ways to win love's wages.

And therefore, should it happen by some chance

That one of you, some lover, listening here

To what I tell you of the slow advance

Troilus made to gain his lady's ear,

Thinks "I would never buy my love so dear!"

Or marvels at this phrase, or at that blunder

I do not know; to me it is no wonder.

Not all who find their way to Rome will trace

The self‑same path, or wear the self‑same gear,

And in some lands they'd count it a disgrace

Were they to act in love as we do here,

With open doings, looks that make all clear,

Visits, formalities and tricks of phrase;

To every land its own peculiar ways.

For there are scarcely three among you all

Who have said alike in love, or done the same;

What pleases one of you (it may befall)

Won't suit another; but on goes the game.

Some choose a tree on which to carve a name,

And some a stone; and I, as I began,

Will follow on my author, if I can.

Now in that mother of happy months, in May,

When the fresh flowers, blue and white and red,

Quicken again and every meadow‑way

Is full of balm, that winter left for dead,

When blazing Phoebus with his beams outspread

Stands in the milk‑white Bull, it so occurred –

As I shall sing ‑ I say, on May the third,

This Pandarus, for all his crafty speech,

Felt in himself the shafts of love so keenly

That, notwithstanding all his gift to preach,

His colour came and went a little greenly;

For love, that day, had treated him so meanly

He went in woe to bed, and there he lay

Tossing and turning till the break of day.

The swallow Progne, with her mournful song,

When morning came, began on that embittering

Tale of her change of shape, while Pandar long

Lay half asleep in bed. When dawn was glittering,

She, close beside him, started on her twittering

About her sister, Philomela, taken

And raped by Tereus; Pandar began to waken;

He called his servants and began to rise,

Remembering his errand and the boon

Promised to Troilus ‑ his enterprise.

He made a calculation by the moon,

And found her favourable for journeys. Soon

He reached his niece's palace, close beside;

Now Janus, god of entry, be his guide!

When, as I say, he reached his niece's place,

He knocked: `Where is her ladyship?' said he;

And when they told him, in he strode apace,

And found two ladies in her company.

They sat in a paved parlour, and all three

Were listening to a girl reading a measure

Out of The Siege of Thebes, to give them pleasure.

`Madam,' said Pandar, `Blessings on your head,

And on the book, and all the company !’

'Ey, uncle, welcome! Welcome indeed !' she said,

And up she rose at once and cordially

Captured his hand; `Three times last night,' said she,

`I dreamt of you; good fortune come of it !'

She showed him to a bench and made him sit.

`You'll be the better of it all this year,

Dear niece, if God is good,' said Pandarus,

`But I have interrupted you, I fear;

What book is it that you are praising thus?

For God's love, what does it say? Impart to us;

Is it of love? Give me good news, my dear !’

'Uncle !' she said, `Your mistress isn't here.'

And they all laughed; and after that she said

`It is The Siege of Thebes that we are reading;

I think we just had left King Laius dead,

Murdered by Oedipus, that sad proceeding;

We stopped at the next chapter; it is leading

On to Amphiarauss, how he fell –

He was the Bishop ‑ through the ground, to Hell.'

`I know all that' said Pandarus `myself,

And all the siege of Thebes, unhappy place;

There are twelve books about it on my shelf,

But let's forget it. Let me see your face,

Come on, take off that wimple and uncase !

Down with that book, get up and let us dance

And give the month of May some countenance !’

`I? God forbid!' she answered, `Are you mad?

Heavens! Is that how widows are behaving?

You frighten me ! It really is too bad

To say such crazy things; you must be raving !

I should be sitting in a cave, and saving

My soul by reading holy martyrs' lives;

Let girls go out to dances, or young wives.'

`As ever I hope to thrive,' said Pandarus,

` I know a reason why you should be gay.'

`Now, uncle dear,' she answered, `tell it us,

Is the siege over? Have they gone away?

Those Greeks! They frighten me to death, I say:

`No, no,' said he, `and I can tell you flat,

My secret is a thing worth five of that!'

`Heavenly gods!' said she, `What can you have got?

Worth five of that? No, no, it can't be so.

But for the world I can't imagine what

It could be; it's some joke of yours, I know,

You'll have to tell us; we are all too slow;

And my poor wit in any case is lean,

For, by the Lord, I don't know what you mean.'

`And never shall,' he said, `depend on that !

Secrets there are I may not bring to birth.'

`But why not, uncle? What are you hinting at?'

`By God, I'll tell you this, for what it's worth;

There'd be no prouder woman on the earth

If you but knew, or in the town of Troy;

No, I'm not joking, as I may have joy !'

And she began to wonder more than ever

A thousand times, and lowered her eyes a touch,

For since the day she had been born, she never

Had wanted to know anything so much;

She sighed and answered, `If your news is such,

Dear Uncle, I will promise not to tease you,

And ask no more about it than will please you.'

So after that, with many happy rallies,

Gay looks and gossip, talk began to range;

They joked on this and that, and there were sallies

On many matters, pleasant, deep, and strange,

Such as good friends together will exchange,

When newly met; and then she asked of Hector,

Scourge of the Greeks, the town's wall and protector.

`He's very well, thank God,' said Pandarus,

`Save for a slight arm‑wound ‑ not to be reckoned

As serious; and then there's Troilus,

His fresh young brother, Hector, indeed, the Second;

There's one who has followed virtue where she beckoned,

A man all truth, as noble as his birth,

Wise, honoured, generous ‑ a man of worth.'

`O I'm so glad I And Hector's better since?

God save them both and keep them from all harms !

How nice it is, how fitting to a Prince

To be so valiant in the field of arms!

And to be so well‑natured ! That's what charms

Me most; such goodness and such strength,

I mean, So royally combined are seldom seen.'

`That's true, that's very true,' said Pandarus,

`My word! The King has two such sons today –

Hector, I mean, of course, and Troilus –

And I would stake my life on it that they

Are free of vices, freer, I dare say,

Than any man alive under the sun;

Their strength and worth are known to everyone.

`Of Hector there is nothing need be said;

In all the world there is no better knight;

Indeed he is the very fountainhead

Of valour, and more in virtue than in might;

Experienced soldiers say so, and they're right.

I'll say the same of Troilus, but then

I don't know any two such fighting men.'

`By God,' she said, `of Hector that is true,

And it is true of Troilus, I agree

Everyone talks of what they've seen him do

In arms, day after day ‑ so gallantly!

And then at home he is all courtesy

And gentleness, in fact he wins attention

From everyone whose praise is worth a mention.'

`You certainly are right in what you say,'

Said Pandar, `anybody's heart would warm

To see him as I saw him yesterday!

Never fled bees in such a mighty swarm

As fled the Greeks; he was in fighting form,

And through the battlefield, in every ear,

There ran no cry but " Troilus is here ! "

`Now here, now there, he hunted them and coursed them;

Nothing but Greek blood ! There was Troilus

Dealing out doom; he wounded and unhorsed them

And everywhere he went it happened thus;

He was their death, but shield and life to us;

That was a day ! Not one dared make a stand

Against him, with his bloody sword in hand.

`Added to that, he is the friendliest fellow,

Considering his rank, I ever knew,

And, if he chooses, can be warm and mellow

To anybody that he thinks will do.'

And then, abruptly, Pandarus withdrew,

Taking his leave and saying `I must fly!'

`Uncle ! I hope I'm not to blame, am I?

`What's wrong with you to weary of our chatter?

Especially a woman's ! Must you go?

Now do sit down, I have a business matter

Which needs your wisdom, Uncle; don't say no:

And those who were about her were not slow

To move away, so that she might discuss

The run of her affairs with Pandarus.

When they had finished all they had to say

About her household and its maintenance,

He said `Well now I really must away;

But still I say stand up and let us dance,

Throw off your widow's habit, now's your chance !

Why make yourself look ugly? I'll prevent you

When such a glad adventure has been sent you.'

`Ah, well remembered ! Now, for heaven's sake,

May I not know the meaning of all this?'

`No, for it asks some leisure; it would make

Me most unhappy, if some prejudice

Should lead you into taking it amiss;

It's better I should hold my tongue in patience

Than tell a truth against your inclinations.

`For, by divine Minerva, dearest niece,

And Jupiter who thunders from afar,

And blissful Venus ‑ whom I never cease

To serve ‑ you, of all earthly women, are

The one I love the best ‑ I'll go so far,

(Not counting mistresses); I will not grieve you,

As well you know yourself; and so I leave you.'

` I know,' she said, `dear Uncle, all my thanks !

You've always been a friend, I must admit.

And there is nobody I know who ranks

So high with me ‑ and so ill‑paid for it!

But by the grace of God and by my wit,

You shall be one I never will offend;

And if I did before, I will amend.

`But I beseech you, for the love of God,

You that I trust,' she said with emphasis,

`To drop your distant speech that sounds so odd,

And tell your niece whatever is amiss.'

On hearing that, her uncle, with a kiss,

Said to her `Gladly, little niece, I will;

And what I say ‑ try not to take it ill.'

She lowered her eyelids, ready to attend,

And Pandarus began to cough a bit And said

`Well, dearest, always, in the end,

Though story‑tellers like to show their wit

By adding on embellishments to fit,

Yet in reality they all intend,

For all their artifice, to reach an end.

`And since the end is every story's strength,

And this one so befitting, and so fine,

Why should I paint or draw it out in length

For you, who are so true a friend of mine?'

Speaking, he sought some answering inward sign,

And long beheld her, gazing in her face,

And said `In such a mirror, be there grace!'

Thinking ` To make a business of my tale

And tease it out, will make it none the fresher;

She'd take no pleasure in it, and could not fail

To think it was my purpose to enmesh her;

Sensitive minds distrust a form of pressure

They do not understand; I'll have to sense

Some way of touching her intelligence.'

He went on staring in his busy way,

And she, aware that he beheld her so,

Said `Did you never see me till today?

Lord, how you stare I Answer me, yes or no !’

'Yes, yes, I'm staring, and before I go

I shall stare more; I'm wondering,' said he

`If you are lucky; well, we soon shall see.

`For every creature there is shaped a time

Of high adventure, if he can receive it;

Should he be careless of it, then his crime

Is wilfulness, disdaining to achieve it;

It is not accident, you may believe it,

Nor fortune that's to blame, but his demerit,

His very sloth and wretchedness of spirit.

`A fair adventure into happiness,

My lovely niece, is yours if you can take it;

And for the love of God, for mine no less,

Catch hold of it at once, lest luck forsake it;

What need of along speech? I will not make it;

Give me your hand; no one, if you but knew –

And if you cared ‑ has had such luck as you !

`And since what I shall say you must put down

To good intentions, as I said before,

And since I love your honour and renown

As much as any one, and maybe more,

I swear by all the oaths I ever swore

That if it angers you, I tell you plain,

I never will set eyes on you again.

`Why, look! You're all a‑tremble! Don't be frightened!

You've changed your colour; fear has made you pale !

The worst is over ! There, the skies have brightened !

Of course it's a surprise; my little tale

Is new to you. But you won't find me fail.

Always trust me ! Would I be one to shame you

With tales of anything that misbecame you?'

`Good Uncle, for the love of heaven, pray

Come off it, tell me what it's all about !

I'm terrified of what you're going to say,

And, at the same time, longing to find out.

O do say on! Don't leave me in this doubt,

Do tell me, whether it be good or ill!'

`Well, listen, then,' he said, `for so I will.

`Now, little niece of mine, the King's dear son,

Good, wise, and open‑hearted, fresh and true,

Who bears himself so well to everyone,

Prince Troilus, is so in love with you

That you must help; he'll die unless you do.

Well, there it is. What more am I to say?

Do what you like; but you can save or slay.

`But if you let him die, I'll take my life –

And that's the truth, I'm telling you no lies –

I'll cut my throat, ay with this very knife !'

At that the tears came bursting from his eyes;

`And when you've killed us both, you'll realize

Just what a fine day's fishing you've enjoyed;

What good is it to you if we're destroyed?

`Alas that he, who is my own dear lord,

That true man, ay, that gentle, noble knight,

Who asks for nothing but your friendly word . . .

I see him dying as he walks upright,

And hurrying desperately out to fight

Seeking his death, seeking his fate, on duty.

Alas that God has sent you so much beauty !

`But if indeed you prove yourself so cruel,

So careless of his death, that you would fetch

No deeper sigh in losing such a jewel

Of honour than a trickster or a wretch,

If you are such, your beauty cannot stretch

To justifying such a cruel deed;

So, with a choice before you, take good heed.

`Woe to the gem that has no native force !

Woe to the herb that has no healing shoot!

Woe to the beauty that knows no remorse

Or pity, but treads others underfoot !

And you, the crop of beauty and its root,

If, in such beauty, pity cannot thrive,

Then it is pity you should be alive.

`You may be sure this is no trick or fraud;

For I would rather you and I and he

Were hanged than I should live to be his bawd,

Hanged high enough for everyone to see;

I am your uncle; it were shame to me

As well as to yourself, if I should let him

Despoil you of your honour, or abet him !

`Now understand, my dear; I do not ask you

To bind yourself to him in any way;

No pledge is wanted, but I gently task you

To smile at him, to be more kind, more gay,

Friendlier than before; and so you may

To save his life, and that's my whole intent;

God help me, that is all I ever meant.

`Look, this request is purely reasonable,

There is no reason to distrust it, none.

And what you fear ‑ the worst you would be able

To say against it ‑ is that everyone

Would think his visits rather overdone;

But I reply none but a fool would find

More in it than pure friendship of the mind.

'Who would suppose, were he to see a man

Going to church, that he was on his way

To desecrate the images? He can

Govern himself; reflect, and you will say

He's wise and forgets nothing; every day

His praises mount; besides, he'll come so seldom,

What would it matter if all the town beheld him?

`Such friendly loves are quite the rule in Troy;

So wrap that cloak well round you; it's a cover.

And surely, as the Lord may give me joy,

It's best to do so, as you will discover.

And, niece, to ease the anguish of a lover,

Sugar your cold aloofness with a breath

Of kindness; don't be guilty of his death!'

Criseyde, who heard him broach this enterprise

Thought `Well, I'll feel for what he's leading to:

And said, `Now, Uncle, what would you advise?

What would you think it best for me to do?'

`That is well said,' he answered; `best for you

Would be to love him of your own accord,

Since love for love's a reasonable reward.

`Think that in each of you, from hour to hour,

There is some part of beauty laid to waste

By the advance of age; ere Time devour

You, love ! When you are old, there's none will haste

To love you; there's a proverb to my taste:

"`Aware too late,' said Beauty, as she passed"

And age will cure disdain in you at last.

`The King's Fool has a trick, to cry aloud

On seeing a woman hold herself too high,

"May you live long enough, and all the proud,

To see the crow's foot walk about your eye;

Send for a mirror then, in which to pry

Into the face that you will bear tomorrow !

I cannot wish you any greater sorrow."'

With that he ceased to speak, and hung his head,

And she burst out in tears as she replied

`Alas, for grief ! O why am I not dead,

Since all good faith on earth has surely died?

What would a stranger do to me,' she cried,

`When one I thought my friend, the best of them,

Bids me to seek a love he should condemn?

`I could have trusted you to play your part

If I had fallen, by some calamity,

In love with him, or Hector, lost my heart

To fierce Achilles, or some other he;

You would have shown no mercy then to me.

Imagine the rebukes you would have hurled !

But O, there's no believing this false world.

`What ! Is this all the joy, is this the pleasure?

This your advice? And this my blissful case?

Is this the true reward and promised treasure?

Is all your painted argument in place?

Was this your object? Pallas, Queen of Grace,

Provide for me, protect me from on high !

For I am so astonished, I could die !'

She sighed in sorrow and she ceased to speak.

`Is that the best that you can do?' said he,

`By God, I shan't come here again this week,

Since I am so mistrusted; I can see

That you make light enough of him and me

And of our death, alas. O wretched pair !

If only he might live I would not care.

`O cruel god, O Mars the merciless!

O Furies Three of Hell, to you I call !

Let me not leave this house if I profess

The slightest villainy or harm at all!

But as I see my lord is doomed to fall,

And I with him, I wash my hands and say

Your wickedness has slain us both today.

`And since you would be glad to see me dead,

By Neptune, that is god of the salt sea,

From this time forth I never will eat bread

Until my own heart's blood flows out of me;

Certainly I can die as soon as he.'

And up he jumped and made as if to leave,

But she was quick, and caught him by the sleeve.

Criseyde indeed was almost dead with fear,

Being the timidest, most shrinking creature

That ever was; not only could she hear,'

But see his earnestness in every feature;

And she sensed nothing evil in the nature

Of what he asked her for; there might be harm

If she refused; she melted in alarm.

She thought `Misfortunes happen thick and fast

All the day long for love; in such a case

Men can be cruel, of a wicked cast,

And if this man, here, in this very place,

Should kill himself, it's more than I could face.

What would they say? Should I not be to blame?

I'll need to play a very subtle game.'

Three times she murmured with a sorrowful sigh

`O heaven, how unfortunate for me!

For my good name and my position lie

In danger ‑ and my Uncle's life, maybe.

But, by God's guidance, I shall presently

Think how to keep my honour, and to keep

My Uncle too !' and then she ceased to weep.

`Well, of two evils one should choose the less;

I'd rather show him some encouragement

Than risk my Uncle's life, I must confess.

There's nothing more to which I must consent?

`No, dearest niece.' `O well, I am content;

I'll do my utmost in the situation,

And force my heart against my inclination.

`But do not think I mean to lead him on,

For love a man I neither can nor may

Against my will; be certain thereupon.

But pleasant I will be, from day to day;

"No" is a thing that I would never say

(My honour safe) ‑ save from timidity.

But "kill the cause and cure the malady".

`And here I make a solemn protestation:

Go any deeper into this affair,

And certainly no thought of your salvation

– Though both of you should die in your despair,

And though the world should hate me then and there –

Will get him any pity out of me.'

`Of course, of course,' said Pandar, `I agree,

`But may I really trust you on this head?

And to the promise you have given here,

That you will truly keep to what you said?'

`Why, certainly,' she answered `Uncle dear.'

`And I shall have no reason ‑ is this clear? –

To scold or lecture you on any score?’

'Why no indeed,' she promised, `say no more.'

And then they fell to other pleasant chatter,

Till, at the last `Good Uncle,' she said, wheeling

Back to his news, `do tell me, in this matter,

How did you come to know what he was feeling?

Does anyone know of it?" No.' `Is he appealing?

Can he speak well of love? As if he cared?

Do tell me that I may be well prepared.'

Pandar began to smile a little then

And answered `Well, it happened, truth to tell,

The other day ‑ I can't remember when –

Down in the palace garden, by a well,

We spent the day together, so it fell;

We met to talk about a stratagem

Against the Greeks, that should embarrass them.

`And not long after, we began to leap

About and try our javelins for a throw

Or two; at last he said he wished to sleep

And down he lay upon the grass; and so

I wandered off, and, roaming to and fro,

I overheard him, as I walked alone,

Give utterance to a miserable groan.

`And so I stalked him softly from behind,

And this, to tell you truly, was the main

- As far as I can call it now to mind –

Of what he said. He started to complain

To the god of love; "Have pity on my pain,

Lord, though I have rebelled in my intent

Against thee; Mea culpa! I repent!

"` O God, that leadest, at thy disposition,

Thy creatures, each to his appointed end,

Justly foreseen by thee, my true contrition

Accept with favour, and, as may please thee, send

My penance, Lord; yet shield me and defend

Me from despair, dividing me from thee;

Be thou my shield for thy benignity!

"` So sorely she that stood in black, apart,

Has wounded me ‑ the beauty in her eye

Has sounded to the bottom of my heart;

By which I know that I must surely die

And, worst of all, I may tell no one why;

And hotter grow the embers when they're spread

With covering ashes that are pale and dead."

`With that he smote his head to earth and lay

Muttering there ‑ I really don't know what.

And I, in turn, went tiptoeing away

From his distress, as if I knew it not;

Then I came back; "Wake up, you sleep a lot !"

I said, gazing upon him from above,

"It's obvious you cannot be in love,

"` If you can sleep so that there's no awaking

You! Was there ever such a dull young man?"

"Go on," he said, "enjoy your own head‑aching

For love, and let me live as best I can."

And though his griefs had left him pale and wan,

He gave himself as fresh a countenance

As if he had been leading a new dance.

`Well, this passed over, till, the other day,

It happened that I wandered all alone

Into his bed‑chamber; and there he lay

Flat on his bed; I never heard man groan

More sorrowfully; the reason for this moan

I did not know; as I came in, and went

Towards him, he abandoned his lament.

`As that gave rise in me to some suspicion,

I neared and found him in a flood of tears;

And, as the Lord may save me from perdition,

I felt more pity than I've felt for years;

My ingenuity, my tricks and fleers

Could barely keep him from his death!

I vow My heart is weeping for him even now.

`And never, heaven knows, since I was born

Have I so preached! I preached with might and main;

Never to secrecy have been so sworn

Before he told me who could cure his pain;

Don't ask me to rehearse his speech again,

His woeful words, his melancholy tune,

Or not unless you want to see me swoon.

`It is indeed to save his life ‑ no less –

And do no harm to you, I am thus driven;

That we may live, show him some friendliness;

Be gentle with him, for the love of heaven!

Now I have told you flat; my heart is shriven;

And since you know that my intention's clean,

Take heed of it; no evil do I mean.

`And now good luck; dear God, that's all I care;

You who have caught your fish without a net,

(And such a fish!) be wise as you are fair;

The ruby in the ring will then be set.

Never were two so fortunately met

As you, when you are wholly his, will be;

Almighty God! May I be there to see!'

`No, I said nothing about that!' she cried,

`Aha ! God help me, you will spoil it all !'

`Dear niece, forgive me,' he at once replied,

` I meant it well whatever I let fall

By Mars, his helmet and his battle‑call!

Do not be angry, we are one blood, dear niece.'

`Well, all's forgiven,' she answered, `and at peace.'

With that he took his leave and, well content,

Went home in high good humour on his own;

Criseyde arose and, never pausing, went

Straight to her private chamber, all alone,

And there she sat, as still as any stone,

And every word he had said began to wind

And echo up and down within her mind.

And there was some amazement in her thought,

At this new situation; but when she

Had taken stock, she did not find it fraught

With danger ‑ not as far as she could see;

A man ‑ it is a possibility –

May love a woman till his heart will crack;

But she is not obliged to love him back.

But as she sat and meditated thus,

The clamour of a skirmish rose without,

Men in the street were shouting 'Troilus!

He has just put a horde of Greeks to rout!'

At that her servants all began to shout

`Ha! Come and see! Open the lattice wide!

This is the street through which he'll have to ride

`To reach the palace ‑ the only way, of course,

From Dardanus Gate, that's where the chain is down.'

With that he came, leading his little force

In file, at ease; and so they entered town.

It was his lucky day, without a frown

On Fortune's face; nothing, they say, can be

Hindered that happens by necessity.

This Troilus sat high on his bay steed,

Fully and richly armed, showing his face.

His horse, being wounded, had begun to bleed;

He rode him homeward at a gentle pace,

And truly such a sight of knightly grace,

As seen in him, was never seen before,

Even in Mars, who is the god of war.

So like a man of arms, so like a knight

He seemed, so full of high courageousness,

For he had both the body and the might

For gallantry, as well as hardiness;

And then to see him in his fighting dress,

So fresh, so young, so thoroughbred, so trim,

It was a very heaven to look at him.

His helmet, which was hewn in twenty places,

Hung by a tissue down behind his back;

His shield was battered in by swords and maces,

With arrows lodged in it in many a crack

That had pierced horn and rind and sinewy pack;

And still the shout went up `Here comes our joy,

And, next his brother, holder up of Troy !'

This made him blush a little, out of shame,

To hear his praises sung with such a din,

And it was sport to notice, as he came,

How modestly he dropped his eyes and chin.

Criseyde could take his whole appearance in;

Down to her heart she let it softly sink,

Saying to herself `O who has given me drink?"

For her own thoughts she started to blush red,

As she remembered `Heavens! This is he,

The man my uncle swears may soon be dead,

If he should get no mercy out of me.'

And in pure shame at such a notion, she

Pulled in her head and made the window fast,

While he and all the shouting crowd went past.

She began casting, rolling up and down

Within her thought, his excellence in war,

His royal state, his widely‑spread renown,

His wit, his shape, his reputation for

Nobility; and yet what moved her more

Was that he pined for her, that such a youth

Should die for her ‑ if he intended truth!

Now envious souls might quarrel with me thus

`This was a sudden love! For how could she

So lightly give her love to Troilus,

And at first sight of him! Can such things be?'

Those who say that will get no good of me.

For everything must needs have a beginning

Ere all is done, and when it comes to winning

Her love, I do not say she suddenly

Gave it to him; but she began to incline

To like him first, and I have told you why.

His manhood and the thought that he would pine

On her account invited love to mine

Within her; but long service and devotion

Got him her love; it was no sudden motion.

And also blissful Venus, well arrayed,

Sat in her seventh house in heaven", and so

Was well disposed, with other stars in aid,

To cure the foolish Troilus of his woe;

And, to tell truth, she was not wholly foe

To Troilus in his nativity,

But somewhat favoured him, the luckier he.

And now no more of Troilus, let him go

Riding along, and let us turn as fast

Back to Criseyde, who sat with head hung low

All by herself, beginning to forecast

What course to set her mind upon at last,

If it should happen that her uncle's voice

Continued to press Troilus on her choice.

100

Lord! In her mind what arguments deployed

About this matter of which you have been told!

What it was best to do, and what avoid,

She turned them back and forth in fold on fold;

And now her heart was warm and now was cold,

And I shall write some part of this debate,

Which it has pleased my author to relate.

101

Prince Troilus in person well she knew

By sight, and also knew his gentle birth;

And so she thought `Though it would never do

To grant him love, yet, seeing his great worth,

To be on terms of friendliness and mirth

With him would be an honour, and might be

Some ease to him and a support to me.

102

`I know, moreover, he is my King's son;

Since he now looks on me with such delight,

To flee him utterly would be to run

The risk, perhaps, of rousing him to spite,

And then I should be standing in worse plight;

Would it be wise for me, in such a case,

To purchase hate where I may stand in grace?

103

`Measure and temperance lie in all endeavour,

I know; if one prohibits drunkenness,

That does not mean that everyone for ever

Is doomed to drinklessness, or so I guess !

Knowing myself the cause of his distress,

Can I despise him? I don't think I should,

Since it seems certain that he means my good.

104

`And more than that, I've known for many a day

That he's no fool, his character is good;

Certainly, he's no boaster, so they say,

He's too intelligent, that's understood.

Nor will I cherish him, suppose I could,

Enough for him to boast, or have good cause

To boast; for I will sign to no such clause.

105

`Let us suppose the worst that could befall:

People might know he was in love with me.

Would that dishonour me? Why, not at all!

Can I prevent him? Not that I can see.

One hears about such cases constantly;

A man will love a woman without permission

From her; is she the worse for that condition?

106

`Think, too, that he is able to pick out –

Out of the whole of Troy ‑ the loveliest

To be his love (her honour not in doubt);

For he is out and out the worthiest

Except for Hector, who is still the best;

And yet, to save his life now lies in me !

But such is love, and such my destiny.

107

`It is no wonder if he love me, though;

Heaven help me, well I know it ‑ by the bye,

This is a thought I must let no one know –

I am among the loveliest, it's no lie,

For anyone, at least, that has an eye;

And so they say through all the town of Troy;

What wonder then if I should give him joy?

108

` I'm my own mistress, happily at ease,

Thank God for it, according to my state,

Young and untethered, where the pastures please,

I fear no jealousy, have no debate;

I have no husband now to say " Checkmate !

" Husbands are always full of jealousy,

Or masterful, or hunting novelty.

109

`What shall I do? What have I ever done?

Shall I not love ‑ were I to think that best?

What! Heaven knows I could not be a nun.

And if I were to set my heart to rest

Upon this knight, who is the worthiest,

Keeping my honour safe and my good name,

By rights it should not do me any shame.'

110

But just as when the sun is shining bright

In March, a month which often changes face,

A gust of wind will set a cloud in flight

To overspread him in the blue of space,

A sudden, cloudy thought began to chase

Across her soul and overspread them all,

Those happy thoughts; fear almost made her fall.

111

The fear was this: `Alas, since I am free,

Am I to love and put myself in danger?

Am I to lose my darling liberty?

Am I not mad to trust it to a stranger?

For look at others and their dog‑in‑manger

Loves, and their anxious joys, constraints and fears !

She who loves none has little cause for tears.

112

`For love is still the stormiest way of life,

In its own kind, that ever was begun;

There's always some mistrust, some silly strife

In love, some cloud that covers up the sun;

We wretched women! What is to be done

In all our grief? We sit and weep and think;

Our grief is this, that it's our grief we drink.

113

`And then there are these wicked tongues whose fashion

Is to speak harm; and men are so untrue;

Immediately they cease to feel their passion,

They cease to love; they're off to love anew;

But harm that's done is done, that's certain too:

Those are the very ones that passion rends;

But violent delights have violent ends.

114

`How many are the times when we must own

That treachery to woman has been done!

Can any purpose in such love be shown?

And what becomes of it when it is gone?

No one can say, the answer is not known;

It has no substance, nothing solid in it;

Nothing to end with, nothing to begin it.

115

`How busy, if I love, I'll have to be,

Wooing the gossips! What a time I'll spend

Cajoling them, lest they speak harm of me!

For, without reason for it, they pretend

That it is very wrong to please one's friend.

But who can silence every wicked tongue,

Or stop the sound of bells while they are rung?'

116

But after that her thought began to clear;

She said `Well, nothing venture, nothing win,

Like it or not!' Then a return to fear

Came with some other thought to hem her in;

Fear set her quaking, hope turned pale and thin,

Now hot, now cold; with these two to confuse her,

She rose and looked for something to amuse her.

117

And down the stairs immediately she went,

Into the garden with her nieces three,

And up and down they wandered in content,

Flexippe, Tarba and Antigone,

In play together there, a joy to see,

And other of her women, a great rout

Followed her round the garden and about.

118

It was a wide, walled garden of pleached alleys,

And shadowy with blossom and with green,

All newly benched and sanded; little valleys

And little hills there were, and in between

They walked enlaced; Antigone, serene,

Antigone the Bright, began to sing

A Trojan song. It was a heavenly thing.

119 The Song of Antigone

O love, to whom I am, and ever shall

Be humble subject, and of purpose true,

To Thee, as best I may, I offer all

My heart's desire for ever, in revenue!

For never did thy heavenly grace endue

Any with blessedness so much as me;

I live secure in joy, from all fear free.

120

O blissful god, thou hast me sweetly fettered

In love; there surely is no creature living

Who could imagine how it might be bettered!

For, Lord, with neither quarrel nor misgiving,

The one I love is wholly bent on giving

Me tireless service true; a more unfeigned

There never was, nor less by evil stained.

121

He is the well of honour, and the ground

Of truth, the mirror of all goodliness,

Apollo‑thoughted, Lord of new pleasures found,

Rock of my safety, very rootedness

Of virtue, and the slayer of distress;

And, sure, I love him best, as he loves me;

Good fortune follow him, where'er he bet

122

Whom should I thank but Thee O god above,

For all this bliss in which I now begin

To bathe? Ah, Lord, I give Thee thanks for love!

This is the life, the right life, to be in,

To banish every form of vice and sin;

This turns me so to virtue, I intend

In heart and spirit daily to amend.

123

And whosoever says that love is vice,

Or servitude, through feeling its distress,

Is either envious or overnice,

Or is unable out of brutishness

To love at all; such are the folk, I guess,

Who defame love; nothing of him they know;

They talk, but never yet have bent his bow.

124

What, is the sun, which nature made so bright,

The worse because mere man has not the power

To look upon it with his feeble sight?

Is love the worse, because some wretch is sour?

No happiness that cannot face an hour

Of sorrow has any worth; let those whose bones

Are made of glass, beware of throwing stonest !

125

But I, with all my heart and all my might,

As I have said, will love, unto my last,

My dearest heart, my own beloved knight,

In whom my soul has verily grown fast

As his in me, and shall till Time is past.

I feared love once, and dreaded to begin it;

Now I know well there is no peril in it.

126

The song was over and she ceased to sing;

After a moment, `Niece,' inquired Criseyde,

`Who made that song? It is a charming thing,

And well‑intentioned.' And her niece replied

`Madam, the loveliest girl, and best allied,

Of highest rank in all the town of Troy;

She leads her life in greatest honour and joy.'

127

`It certainly would seem so, by her song.'

Criseyde replied, and sighed in her delight

`Lords And can so much happiness belong To lovers?

Can they love as they can write??’

'Yes, truly,' said Antigone the White,

`And better; none that ever lived can tell

The bliss of loving, or describe it well.

128

`But never think that every wretch and sot

Knows the true bliss of love; it is not so.

They think it's love if one of them feels hot;

But not at all ! It is their ignorance, though.

You have to ask the saints if you would know

If it is fair in Heaven; they can tell.

And ask a fiend if it is foul in Hell.'

129

Criseyde said nothing; then, from a world away,

She answered `Yes . . . Evening has come at last'

But every word that she had heard her say

She printed in her heart. The daylight passed.

Her fear of love lessened and faded fast;

Love sank into her heart and, terror fleeing,

Began on the conversion of her being.

130

The day's bright honour, and the eye of heaven,

Night's enemy ‑ all this I call the sun –

Was westering swiftly as his car was driven

Downwards to earth; his daily course was run,

And all things white were growing dim and dun

For lack of light; the stars began to show;

She and her folk went in; and time to go.

131

And later when she wished to go to rest,

Being inclined to sleep, or so she said,

When gone were every visitor and guest,

Her womenfolk attended her to bed.

When all was hushed, she lay there still; her head

Was filled with everything she could recall

Of the day's doings; you have heard them all.

132

A nightingale upon a cedar green

Under the chamber window where she lay

Sang loudly out against the moony sheen,

And it may well have been, in its bird's way,

A lay of love; her heart grew light and gay.

And long she listened, but at last could keep

Awake no longer, and fell dead asleep.

133

At once a dream descended on her rest;

There came an eagle, feathered white as bone,

Who set his curving talons to her breast

And tore her heart out, giving her his own

Into her body, left her there alone –

And yet she suffered neither fear nor smart –

And flew away, leaving her heart for heart.

134

So let her sleep, and let us turn once more

To Troilus riding back in bravery,

After the skirmish I described before;

There in his room he sits, while two or three

Messengers he had sent ran off to see

If Pandar could be found; and in the end

They came on him, and brought him to his friend.

135

This Pandarus came leaping in at once

And said `Who's this that's taken such a beating

With swords and slings today? Is it that dunce

Young Troilus, who has a fever heating?'

And he began to joke, after this greeting,

`Lord how you sweat! Jump up, let's have a dish

Of dinner, and so to bed." Well, as you wish.'

136

And off they went in haste, for they were bent

On supper and a quick return to bed;

Then their attendants closed the doors and went

Wherever private inclination led;

And Troilus, whose heart till then had bled

For woe, not knowing what news his friend would bring,

At last could say `Well, do I weep or sing?'

137

Said Pandarus `Lie still, and let me sleep;

It's all arranged;'you can put on your hat;

And please yourself whether you sing or weep.

You'll have to trust me, but I tell you flat

She will do well by you, be sure of that,

And love you best, by God and on my oath,

Unless you fail in the pursuit, from sloth.

138

`I've got thus far in handling your affair –

From day to day, up to this happy morrow –

I've won her love ‑ her friendship ‑ for you; there!

For she has pledged herself; and you can borrow

On my security; I've lamed your sorrow,

I've cut its legs away.' As you have heard

It all, I needn't say another word.

139

And just as flowers in the chill of night,

Closed in themselves, will stoop upon their stalk,

Then hold their heads up to the morning's light

And spread their natural beauty where we walk,

So Troilus, on hearing Pandar talk,

Threw up his eyes, and cried with upturned face,

`O Venus, blessed be thy power and gravel'

140

To Pandar then he held up both his hands;

`Dear Lord, all that I have is yours!' said he,

`I'm free 1 You've burst my cruel iron bands;

A thousand Troys, though they were given me

One at a time, by God, could never be

So welcome or so gladdening to my heart;

It spreads for joy, O it will burst apart !

141

`Lord, what am I to do? How live? O when

Shall I next see her? Sweetest heart! My dear!

How drive away the long, long time till then?

How soon will you be going again to see her?

You will say "Wait, be patient, there's no fear",

But felons hanging, fighting for their breath,

Wait in the greatest agony for death.'

142

`Now, take it easy, for the love of Mars!

There is a time for everything, just wait

At least till night is over and the stars

Have disappeared, for it's as sure as

Fate I shall be there a little after eight;

Do as I tell you, then, as I implore you;

Or get some other man to do it for you.

143

`And God's my judge that always up till now

I've served you readily until tonight;

And this is no pretence, as you'll allow;

I've always done my best for your delight.

Do as I say, and you will be all right;

And if you won't, then seek your own relief,

And don't blame me if you should come to grief.

144

`I know you are a wiser man than I,

A thousand times; but still, if I were you

(God help me so 1), the thing for you to try

Would be to write to her, this moment too,

In your own hand; a letter. That should do,

Begging her pity, saying you were ill;

Now don't give in to sloth, but show your will.

145

` I'll take it to her early in the day

And when you know that I am with her there,

Ride past upon a courser right away

In your best armour ‑ but as if there were

Nothing particular happening. I'll take care

That she and I are in a window‑seat;

We shall be looking down into the street.

146

`Salute us, if you like, but make it plain,

However, that your look is aimed at me;

And on your life be careful to refrain

From lingering there; God save us,

that would be Disaster! Just ride on with dignity;

We shall be talking of you, and I know

That when you have gone by, your ears will glow.

147

`As to your letter, you have sense enough

Not to be formal, or to show your wit

By being argumentative or tough;

Your handwriting should not be exquisite

Or clerkly; blot it with your tears a bit;

And if you hit on something good to soften

Her heart, avoid repeating it too often.

148

`For if the greatest harpist now alive,

Having the finest‑toned, most glorious harp

That ever was, with all his fingers five,

And finger‑nails that never were so sharp,

Kept warbling on one string, we all would carp

At his performance, for we should be bored

By those full strokes on that repeated chord.

149

`Don't jumble up discordant things together,

Medical terms, for instance, do not strike

The proper note in love; and take care whether

Your matter fits your form; they should be like;

For if a painter were to paint a pike

With donkey feet and headed like an ape,

It Would not do; it would be just a jape.'

150

Now this advice appealed to Troilug

But still, he answered with a lover's sense

Of apprehension `O, but Pandarus,

I'd be ashamed to write ‑ it's no pretence –

For I might innocently give offence,

Or she refuse the letter, or resent it,

Then I should die and nothing could prevent it.'

151

Pandar replied `You do as I suggest,

And let me take it to her, as I say;

For, by the Lord that made the east and west,

I hope to bring an answer right away,

Straight from her hand; and if you won't obey,

Well, let it go, and bitter be his pill

Who tries to give you help against your will'

152

Said Troilus `All right, then; I agree,

Since it's your wish; I will get up and write;

And I pray God in all sincerity

To speed the letter which I shall indite,

And your delivery of it. O White Minerva,

send me wit to write it well!'

And he sat down and wrote as I shall tell.

153

He called her his true lady, life and joy,

His sorrow's cure, his bliss, his heart's desire.

And all the other phrases they employ,

These lovers, as their cases may require;

Humbly at first he wrote, and, taking fire,

He tried to earn his way into her grace;

To tell it all would ask no little space.

154

And next he begged her with all lowliness,

Because he wrote in madness, not to chide

The audacity; he wrote under duress;

Love made him do it, or he would have died;

He begged her piteously to take his side,

And after that he said (and lied like thunder)

He was worth nothing, he was no great wonder,

155

And she must make allowance for his skill,

Which was but little; and he feared her so,

And argued his unworthiness until

He turned from that to dwell upon his woe,

But that was endless, it would never go;

His truth was sworn to her and he would hold it.

He read it over and began to fold it.

156

And as he did his tears fell salt and wet

Upon the ruby signet which he wore;

He set it nearly to the wax, and yet

He kissed the letter a thousand times before

He made an end, and, folding it once more,

Said `Letter, what a blissful destiny

Awaits they now, since she will look on thee!'

157

On the next day this Pandar took the letter

Off to his niece; he made an early start.

He swore it must be nine o'clock, or better,

And joked away and said `Oh my poor heard

How fresh it is! But how I feel it smart!

I never can sleep in May, I shan't tomorrow!

I have a jolly woe, a lusty sorrow!'

158

Now when she heard her uncle's voice, Criseyde,

With breathless heart, all eagerness to hear

The reason for his coming, thus replied

`Now tell me, on your honour, Uncle dear,

Whatever kind of wind has blown you here?

Tell us about your "lusty sorrow", do!

Where in love's dance can they have fitted you?'

159

`By God,' he said, `I hop along behind!'

She laughed so much she thought her heart would burst.

`Mock on,' said Pandarus, `that's right, be kind!

But I've some news for you, so listen first;

A stranger's come to town, and I conversed

With him, a Grecian spy, with something new

To say; I've come to pass it on to you.

160

`Let's go into the garden ‑ lovely weather –

And be in private, it's a long affair.'

So off they sauntered, arm in arm together,

Down from her room and out into the air,

Far enough off for none to hear and stare;

And then he stopped, turned round and looked about,

And said to her, drawing the letter out,

161

`Look, he that is all yours, and at your free

Disposal, recommends himself to you,

Humbly, and sends this letter here by me;

When you have time, think it well over, do,

And try to find a kindly answer too,

For otherwise, God help me, to speak plain,

He cannot live much longer in such pain.'

162

She stood stock still at this, in sudden dread,

Not taking it; the meekness in her face

Began to change. `Letters and notes !' she said

`Bring none of them to me, for heaven's grace;

And, dearest Uncle, in the present case,

I beg you put my interests before

His needs and pleasures. What can I say more?

163

`Consider now if it is reasonable –

And do not spare from favour or from sloth

To tell the truth ‑ would it be suitable

To my condition ‑ tell me on your oath –

To take it, or to pity him, or both,

Laying myself so open to attack,

Harming myself? For heaven's sake, take it back!'

164

On hearing this, Pandar began to stare

And answered `Well! This is the greatest wonder

That ever I saw ! Stop putting on this air

Of affectation; strike me dead with thunder

If I would stoop, to save the city yonder,

To bringing you a letter that could harm you,

Or one to him! What is there to alarm you?

165

`That's how you all behave, or almost all;

He who most longs to serve you, in your eyes,

Is least to be considered, let him fall !

It doesn't matter if he lives or dies.

By all I may deserve of you, be wise,

Take it, and don't refuse !' He caught her gown,

And in her bosom thrust the letter down.

166

`Throw it away, or tear it up, I say,

Let them all stare,' he said, `we're in full view !’

`Well, I can wait till they have gone away.'

She answered, smiling, `Uncle, I beg you, do

Take him whatever answer pleases you;

I will write nothing to him, let me state.'

`No? Well, I will,' he said, `if you'll dictate.'

167

At that she laughed and said `Let's go to dinner.'

He fell to jesting at himself, and passed

To other matters: `Niece, I'm getting thinner;

It's love; and every other day I fast,

I suffer so 1' All his best jokes at last _

Came tumbling out, until his crazy chaffing

Made her afraid that she would die of laughing.

168

And when they had returned into the hall

She said `Let us have dinner right away,

Uncle.’ Her women answered to her call,

And to her room she went without delay;

But of her business there I have to say

That one thing which, for sure, she went to do

Was privately to feed this letter through.

169

She conned it word by word, and line by line,

And found no lack of it; she thought it good,

Put it away and then went down to dine,

And came unseen on Pandarus, who stood

In a brown study, and caught him by the hood;

`Aha! You're caught!' she said, `You didn't see!

`Yes, I surrender! What's the penalty?'

170

They washed their hands and then sat down to eat,

And, about noontime, Pander had the wit

To draw towards the window next the street,

And said `Whose is that house just opposite?

The one out there, who decorated it ?’

'Which house?' she said, and moved across to see,

And told him whose it happened then to be.

171

They fell in converse upon slender themes,

Both sitting by the window, in the splay,

Till Pander saw the moment for his schemes

Had come, her servants having gone away.

`Now niece,' said he, `Come out with it, I say !

That letter that you wot of, did he show

Up well in it ? Of course, I wouldn't know.'

172

She didn't answer but began to hum,

But in the end she murmured ` So I think.'

`Well, for God's love, repay him for it, come !'

Her cheeks began to flame a rosy pink.

`I'll do the sealing, you shall do the ink!'

He knelt to her, `A small reward, maybe,

But leave the sealing of it, do, to me!'

173

`Yes, I could write, of course,' she said, `but then

The trouble is, I don't know what to say.'

`Now, niece,' said Pandar, `don't say that again;

At least you're bound to thank him, anyway,

For his goodwill ‑ unless you wish to slay!

And so, my little niece, for love of me,

On this occasion, don't refuse,' said he.

174

`Kind heaven, may all be well when all is done.'

She said, `God help me, this is the first letter

That ever I wrote, or any part of one.'

And to her room she went alone, the better

To commune with herself and to unfetter

Her heart a little from its prison‑plight

In her disdain, and set herself to write.

175

Of what she wrote him I shall only mention

The substance (if my grasp of it is sound);

She gave him thanks for every good intention

Towards her, but declined to give him ground

For greater hope; she never would be bound

In love, save as a sister; this, to please him,

She gladly would allow, if that could ease him.

176

She folded it, returned to where, alone,

Pandarus sat and stared into the street,

And on a golden cushion, on a stone

Of jasper, next to him she took her seat,

And said ` I never had a harder feat

As God's my witness, to accomplish.

You Have made me write it; you constrained me to.'

177

She gave it him; he thanked her and replied

`God knows that things unwillingly begun

Can often turn out well, dear niece Criseyde;

That you have been with difficulty won

Should gladden him, by God and yonder sun !

Because they say "Impressions lightly made

Are commonly among the first to fade."

178

`But you have played the tyrant far too long,

Your hard heart has resisted the engraver;

Now hesitate no longer, but be strong,

And though you still may wish to keep the flavour

Of cold formality, O give him savour

Of joy, and soon! Too studied a disdain

Can breed an answering scorn, to ease the pain.'

179

And just as they were arguing, just then,

Troilus turned the corner of the street

On horseback, with a company of ten,

Quietly riding like a little fleet,

Beneath his lady at her window‑seat,

Towards the palace. Pandar, first aware,

Said `Look at that! You see who's riding there?'

180

`Now don't run in, he's seen us, I suppose

And he may think you're trying to avoid him.'

`No, no,' she answered, turning red as rose;

And he saluted her (though fear destroyed him)

With humble looks; and yet it overjoyed him.

His colour came and went, and up he cast

A nod at Pandarus, and on he passed.

181

God knows whether he sat his horse aright,

Or looked his best on that eventful day!

God knows if he was like a manly knight!

Why should I drudge to tell you his array?

Criseyde, who saw it, I will briefly say,

Liked what she saw thus gathered in a glance,

His person, his array, his countenance,

182

His goodly manner and his gentle breed,

So much that never yet since she was born

Had she felt such compassion in his need

Of her, for all the hardness of her scorn.

I hope to God she now can feel the thorn;

She shall not pull it out this week, or next.

God send her more such thorns would be my text !

183

Now Pandar, standing close beside her there,

Sensing the iron hot, began to smite.

`Niece, let me ask you, if the question's fair,

Would you suppose a girl was doing right

If, for a lack of pity in her, in spite

Of innocence in him, she gave no heed

And brought his death upon him?" No, indeed !

184

`God knows that's true, if ever truth there was !

You feel I am not lying, that is plain;

Look, there he goes a‑riding !' `So he does !’

'Well, as I've told you over and again,

Give up this foolishness of mad disdain

And speak to him ‑ if but to ease his heart;

Don't let a scruple keep you so apart.'

185

He had to heave to make her grant the boon;

All things considered, it was not to be;

Why not? From shame. Besides it was too soon

To offer him so great a liberty.

It was her whole intention, argued she,

To love him unbeknown, if she so might,

And only gratify his sense of sight.

186

Pandar was thinking `That will never do,

Not if I know it! Fantasies like these

Must not be entertained a year or two.'

Why make a sermon of his niceties?

He saw he must agree as one agrees

For the time being; and when evening fell

He rose and took his leave, and all was well.

187

He hurried homeward then, and as he sped

Upon his way, his heart was in a dance.

And Troilus he found alone in bed,

Like all these lovers, in a kind of trance;

Between dark desperation and the chance

Of hope he lay, and Pandar came in singing,

As if to say `Just look at what I'm bringing!'

188

And said `Who's taken to his bed so soon

And buried himself?' `Friend, it is I,' said he.

`Why, if it isn't Troilus, by the moon!

You must get up at once; and you shall see

A charm that has been sent to you, through me,

To cure your ecstasy of sigh and sob,

If you've the strength to finish off the job.'

189

yes, with the help of God,' said Troilus,

And took the letter of Griseyde's inditing.

Said Pandar, laughing, `God is good to us;

Here, take a light, and look at all this writing!'

Racing with joy, quaking with fear, a fighting

Rose in the heart of Troilus as he read,

And every word inspired hope or dread.

190

But in the end he took it for the best,

This letter of hers; for his attention lit

Upon a passage where his heart could rest;

Though she had veiled her meaning quite a bit,

He held to the more hopeful part of it;

So what with hope and Pandar's promised care,

He freed himself at least from sheer despair.

191

But, as we all can notice every day,

The more the wood and coal, the more die fire;

Increase of hope, be it for what it may,

Will very often bring increased desire,

Or, as an oak springs from a little spire,

So this same letter that she had returned him

Served to increase the passion that so burned him.

192

Therefore I have to say that day and night

This Troilus now hankered for her more

Than at the first, through hope; with all his might

He pressed ahead, and, helped by Pandar's lore,

He wrote to her of what he suffered for

Her sake, and, not to let the matter cool,

Sent word, by Paadar, daily as a rule.

193

All the observances that in these cases

A lover must perform, he also kept;

And, as the chance of fortune threw him aces

Or not, so he exulted or he wept;

Such throws as he received he must accept.

According to such answers as he had

His day was miserable, or was glad.

194

But it was always Pandarus to whom

He turned, in his complaining, for relief,

Begging advice and succour in his gloom,

And Pandarus, who saw his crazy grief,

Would nearly die of pity, and, in brief,

Busily searched his wits for what to do

To put an end to it, and quickly too,

195

And said `Dear lord and brother, and dear friend,

God knows that when you suffer I feel woe,

If you could bring yourself to make an end

Of these sad faces! I can shape things, though,

With God's good help, within a day or so,

So as to bring you to a certain place

Where you can speak to her and beg for grace

196

`And certainly ‑ perhaps you mayn't have heard –

The experts in the arts of love do say

One of the things that makes a man preferred

Is if he finds the leisure time to pray

For grace, and some safe corner where he may.

Given a kindly heart, it must impress,

To see and hear the guiltless in distress,

197

`Perhaps you're thinking "Even were it so,

Supposing Nature move her to begin

To have some sort of pity on my woe,

Disdain would answer "You can never win

The spirit in her heart that rules within;

Though she may bend, she stands upon her stem."

Alas, my griefs ! What help is that to them?

198

`But then remember that the sturdy oak,

When all the heavy hacking has been done,

Receives at last the happy felling‑stroke;

There's a great rush and down it comes in one,

As do these rocks or mill‑stones, at a run;

For heave things will fall with greater force

And speed than will a lighter thing, of course.

199

`Now take a reed that bends to every blast

Quite easily; lull wind, and it will rise;

Not so an oak, which lies when it is rust

To ground; perhaps I need not moralize.

People are glad when a great enterprise

Is well achieved, stands firm, and none can doubt it;

And all the more if they took long about it.

200

`But, Troilus, putting these thoughts away,

I have a question for you, a request

Which, of your many brothers, would you say

In your heart's privacy you loved the best?'

`Deiphebus, of course, above the rest.'

`Deiphebus? Well, in a day or so,

He'll ease your heart for you, and yet not know.

201

`Leave all to me; I'll work it if I can.

And off he went to see Deiphebus,

Whom he had always loved as Prince and man,

And was his best friend, next to Troilus.

And, to be brief, Pandar addressed him thus:

`Sir, let me beg of you to take my part

In a small matter which I have at heart,'

202

`Why, certainly! Whatever I can do,

God willing, shall be done without delay;

There's no one I would rather help than you,

Except my brother Troilus. In what way?

How can I help? You only have to say.

I don't remember ever taking part

Against a project that you had at heart.'

203

Pandarus thanked him, and in turn replied,

`Well, sir, there is a lady in this town

Who is my niece, and she is called Criseyde;

Now there are some who want to drag her down,

To steal her property and good renown,

And this is what has led me to beseech

Your help and friendship, Sir, without more speech.'

204

`O, is she not ‑ this lady in distress,

Of whom you speak in such a distant way –

My friend Criseyde?' Pandarus answered:

`Yes' `Why, then, there's nothing more you need to say,'

Deiphebus said, `believe it ‑ and you may –

I'll be her champion too with spur and spear,

And if they hear of it, well let them hear.

205

`But, tell me, since you know what has occurred,

How should we act?’ ‘My Lord, if I may borrow

On your good nature, deign to send her word

To come and see you, say, some time tomorrow,

When she can privately unfold her sorrow.

Were she to bring her griefs to you, why then,

It would strike fear into these wicked men.

206

`And if I might make bolder still with you,

And burden you with something more than this,

Could you invite your brothers ‑ one or two

To give her case a certain emphasis?

Then, I am sure, nothing could go amiss

In helping her, what with your interest

And that of other friends, as I suggest:

207

Deiphebus, whose breed was of a kind

To do as honour and as bounty bade,

Replied `It shall be done, and I can find

Still greater help; you need not be afraid.

Suppose for instance that I could persuade

Helen herself to minister to her needs?

Paris will follow too when Helen leads.

208

`For Hector, my Commander and my brother,

There is no need to beg for his support;

For I have heard him, one time and another,

Speak of Criseyde with praise of every sort

- He couldn't have spoken better; and, in short,

She has his good opinion. It's no task,

Getting his help; it's ours before we ask.

209

`And speak yourself, will you, to Troilus

On my behalf? Ask him to come and dine.'

`Sir, this shall all be done,' said Pandarus;

He took his leave, intent on the design,

And to his niece's house, in a straight line,

He went and found her rising from her table,

And down he sat himself, and spoke, when able:

210

`O blessed Lord, O God, how I have run!

Look, little niece! You see how I am sweating?

I doubt if you will thank me when I've done;

That wretched Poliphetes ‑ you're forgetting?

Aren't you aware? ‑ is at this moment setting

About new means to have you put on trial:

`I? No 1' she said, and paled in her denial.

211

`What is he after? Why does he so hound me?

It's very wrong. O what am I to do?

He's not alone in trying to confound me,

For there is Antenor, Aeneas too,

Who are his friends in this ‑ they make a crew.

But, for God's love, dear uncle, let it go;

If they take everything, well, be it so !

212

`Without all that, I have enough for us.'

`No!' answered Pandarus, `it shall not be !

I've just been talking to Deiphebus,

Hector, and other lords, some two or three,

And made each one of them his enemy.

If I can help it he shall never win,

Whatever he does, whenever he may begin.'

213

And as they cast about for what was best

To do, Deiphebus in courtesy

Carne personally to make it his request

To have the pleasure of her company

At dinner the next day, and willingly

She told him she was happy to obey;

He thanked her then, and went upon his way.

214

Then (to be brief) Pandar went off alone

To Troilus, to tell him what had passed,

And found him sitting, still as any stone.

He told him everything from first to last

And of the subtle dust that he had cast

In his brother's eyes; `And now,' he said, `it's done.

Behave yourself tomorrow and she's won !

215

` Speak, beg, implore her, piteously bewail,

Have no compunction, slackness, shame or fear,

Sooner or later one must tell the tale,

Believe it, and she'll lend a kindly ear;

You will in fact be saved by faith, my dear.

I know you feel afraid and in distress,

And what it is I bet you I can guess.

216

`You're thinking: "How am I to do all this?

From my sad face people are bound to see

I'm sick for love of her; they could not miss;

I'd rather die unknown in misery."

Don't think like that, it's imbecility.

I know you are afraid; if you look sick

We can make use of that; I have a trick.

217

` Go overnight, and sooner if you may,

Stay with your brother ‑ as a relaxation,

As if to drive your malady away;

You do look ill, it's no exaggeration.

And then go off to bed in desperation

And say you can't endure a moment more;

Then lie right there and wait for what's in store.

218

`Say that your fevers usually take

A regular course and last until the morrow;

And let me see how nicely you can fake.

God knows that "sick is he that is in sorrow".

Now, off with you! Farewell I If I can borrow

The help of Venus, and you stay the pace,

She shall confirm you fully in her grace.'

219

`Alas,' said Troilus, `there is no need

To counsel me to feign that I am sick,

For I am sick in earnest, sick indeed,

Sick unto death. I'm wounded to the quick.'

`All the less need,' said Pandar, `for a trick;

The more you sweat, the less you're a deceiver;

People expect a man to sweat in fever.

220

`Keep close beside the trysting‑place, and see

How well I drive the deer towards your bow.'

Then Pandarus departed equably,

And Troilus went homeward in a glow

Of joy, for never had he gloried so

In all his life; giving his whole assent

To Pandar, to his brother's house he went.

221

What need to tell you of the care and fuss

Of welcome that Deiphebus displayed,

Or of the fevered looks of Troilus,

Or of the pile of blankets that they laid

Upon him, or the entertainment made

To cheer him up? But it was all for naught;

He played his part as Pandarus had taught.

222

Before he slept (it cannot be denied)

Deiphebus had begged of him that night

To be a friend and helper to Criseyde.

God knows he granted this without a fight.

To be her friend entire, with all his might;

This was indeed no more to beg of him

Than if you were to ask a duck to swim.

223

The morning came, and time was drawing near

For dinner; fair Queen Helen took the street

Towards Deiphebus; her thoughts were clear;

This was a homely visit, just to meet

And gossip with her brother, and then eat

A quiet meal; and that was why she went;

God alone knew ‑ and Pandar ‑ what it meant.

224

Criseyde came too, as innocent as she.

Antigone and Tarba came as well.

But it is best to shun prolixity;

Let us speed on, for heaven's sake, to dwell

Upon the main effect; I have to tell

Why all these folk assembled for this meeting;

Let us pass over what they said in greeting.

225

Deiphebus did them honour, filled their glasses,

And fed them well with what could please; but still

He interjected plentiful `alases',

Saying `Dear brother Troilus is ill, He's still in bed.'

And, having sighed his fill,

He took great pains to gladden them again,

As best he could, happy to entertain.

226

Helen commiserated in his sickness

So faithfully, her pity seemed to flow,

And everyone with a surprising quickness

Became a doctor: `This is how to go About a cure . . ."

There is a charm I know . . .’

But there sat one, silent among the rest,

And she was thinking `I could cure him best.'

227

And after pitying, they began to praise him,

As folk still do; when someone has begun

To praise a man, others will quickly raise him

A thousand times yet higher than the sun:

`He is . . . he can . . . he'll do what few have done.'

Pandar gave ear to all their approbation

And did not fail to add his confirmation.

228

Criseyde heard every word of this and gave

It deep attention, not without delight;

Her heart was laughing, though her looks were grave,

For who would not feel glory if she might

Command the life or death of such a knight?

But I'll pass on without delaying you;

All that I tell has but one end in view.

229

The moment came to rise from where they sat

At dinner; so they did, and everyone

Talked for a little while of this and that

Till Pandar, breaking in upon their fun

Said to Deiphebus, `May it be done

As I requested? Would you, if you please,

Say something of Criseyde's necessities?'

230

Helen, who held her hand, took up the phrase

And said `We are all eager, if you would.'

Looked at Criseyde and, with a friendly gaze,

Added `Jove never let him come to good

Who does you harm ! We'll help you as we should;

Sorrow on us, and all true folk, I say,

If we don't make this fellow rue the day!'

231

`You know the story,' said Deiphebus

To Pandarus, `you be the one to tell.'

`My lords and ladies, then, the case stands thus;

Why should I keep you waiting? Very well . . .’

He rang out the indictment like a bell,

And made this Poliphetes sound so grim

And heinous that they would have spat at him.

232

And each more violently than the other

On Poliphetes heaped his bitterest curse;

`He deserves hanging, though he were my brother,

And hanged he certainly shall be, or worse!'

Why drag the story out another verse?

Plainly at once all swore to be her friend

In all they could; on that she might depend.

233

Helen remarked to Pandar presently

`Touching this matter, does my brother know,

Hector, I mean? And Troilus, does he?

Yes; and now listen: shouldn't we make her go –

Since he is here ‑ to Troilus, and show

Her troubles to him now? If you consent,

She could explain them all before she went.

234

`For he would have her grief the more at heart,

Because she is a lady in distress;

And, by your leave, I'll pop in for a start,

And tell you in a minute, even less,

If he's asleep; it might be a success.'

And in he leapt and whispered in his ear

`The Lord receive thy soup I've brought the bier.'

235

This sally won a smile from Troilus,

And Pandar, with no more manoeuvring,

Went out to Helen and Deiphebus

And said `So long as there's no lingering,

And not too many people, you may bring

Criseyde to see him, and he gives assurance

He'll hear her to the best of his endurance.

236

`But, as you know, the room is very small,

Even a few would make it rather warm;

I won't be answerable ‑ listen, all ! –

If you come thronging in you'll do him harm

And injure him; I'd rather lose my arm !

Whether it's better to postpone her visit

Let those decide who know; not easy, is it?

237

` I think it best, as far as I can tell,

For no one to go in but just you two,

Or me, perhaps; that would be just as well,

She doesn't know the details as I do;

I can present them quickly, she renew

Her plea for patronage, and slip away.

That cannot much disturb him, I dare say.

238

`And then, as she's a stranger, he'll forgo

His rest a little, as he never would

For you; another thing: I chance to know

He wants to tell you something for the good

Of Troy ‑ a secret, so I understood.'

Neither of them suspecting his intent,

There was no further parley; in they went.

239

And Helen, in her soft and lovely way,

Saluted him, with all her womanly charm

Saying playfully `You must get up, I say,

My handsome brother must not come to harm !’

And round his shoulders then she slipped an arm

And tried with all her wit to do him good,

Amuse and comfort him, as best she could.

240

And after that she said `We beg of you,

I, and your brother, who is here with me,

Deiphebus ‑ and Pandar begs you too –

Be friend and patron, give your sympathy

To poor Criseyde, for she is certainly

The victim of great wrongs, as Pandar knows;

He'll tell you how the case against her goes.'

241

This Pandarus began to file his tongue

To state her case; it slipped into the groove.

After a little, when his song was sung,

Troilus said `As soon as I can move,

I gladly will be one of you, to prove

The justice of her cause with all my might.'

Queen Helen said `And fortune speed the right !'

242

Pandarus asked him `Would you mind if she

Took leave of you before she has to go?’

'Why, God forbid that she should not,' said he,

`If she will honour me by doing so.'

And after saying this, he added

`Oh Deiphebus, and you, my sister dear,

I have to talk to you ‑ I've something here,

243

`In which I certainly should be the better

For your advice,' and found beside his bed

(It happened so) a document or letter

Hector had sent him, asking advice, he said,

Whether some man deserved to lose his head,

I don't know who. And with the gravest air,

He begged of them to study it with care.

244

Deiphebus began unfolding it

In serious thought with Helena the Queen,

And out they roamed to read it, bit by bit,

Down the great stairway to an arbour green,

Studying it to see what they could glean;

And, roughly speaking, for about an hour

They read and pored upon it in their bower.

245

Now let them read; turn we to the event

And Pandar, prying like a man in haste,

To see if all was well; and out he went

Into the larger room, indeed, he raced;

`God bless this company!' he said, `Make haste,

Dear niece, Queen Helen is awaiting you

Outside, my lady and their lordships too.

246

`Come, rise and bring your niece Antigone,

Or whom you will, no matter. I would say

The fewer of you the better; come with me

And see you thank them humbly for today,

All three of them, before you go away;

Seize the right moment for departure, lest

We stay too long and rob him of his rest'

247

All innocent of Pandarus' intent,

Criseyde gave answer, in her ignorance,

`Let's go, dear Uncle.' Arm in arm they went,

And while she framed her words and countenance,

Pandarus, with a very earnest glance,

Said `For God's love, you others, keep away,

Amuse yourselves; think of some game to play.

248

`Think where you are and who we have within

And in what state he is ‑ God send a cure!'

Then, in an undertone, `Come on, begin,

Go softly, little niece; and I adjure

You in the name of God to make all sure,

And by the Crown of Love to ease the pain

That you have caused; don't kill him with disdain.

249

`Shame on the devil ! Think of who he is,

Think of him lying there in pain! have done!

Time lingered is Time lost, remember this;

You both will find that true, when two are one.

Secondly, all is safe; for there are none

Who yet have guessed; come off it, if you can,

While they are hoodwinked; on, and win your man!

250

`Titterings and pursuings and delays

Are feathers in the wind for folk to see;

Though you may later wish for happy days,

You will not dare, and why? For she and she

Exchanged a certain word, or he and he

A look. Lest I lose time, I dare not deal

With this at length; come, bring your man to heel !'

251

Now all you lovers that are listening here,

Think what a terrible predicament

For Troilus, who heard them drawing near !

He thought `O Lord . . . O what has Fortune sent?

Am I to die, or shall I have content?'

He was to sue for love ‑ his first assay!

Great God Almighty, what is he to say?