arts and ideas chaucer troilus and criseyde 2a

Chaucer
Troilus and Criseyde V

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Book V

And there approached that fatal destiny

Which lies in the disposal of Jove's frown

And to you angry Furies, sisters three,

Is, for its execution, handed down;

Because of which Criseyde must leave the town

And Troilus live on in pain and dread

Till Lachesis no longer spin his thread.

Now golden‑headed Phoebus, high aloft,

Had three times melted in his sunny sheen

The winter snows, and Zephyrus as oft

Had brought the leaves again in tender green

Since Troilus, son of Hecuba the Queen,

First fell in love with her, for whom his sorrow

Was all for this: she was to leave that morrow.

At prime of day the sturdy Diomede

Stood ready at the gates; he was to lead

Criseyde to join the Greeks, but she indeed

Was at a loss, she felt her spirit bleed.

And, truly, not in all the books we read

Can there be found a woman so cast down

Nor ever one so loth to leave a town.

And Troilus with neither plan of war,

Nor counsel, lost to joy for ever more,

Now waited desolate at his lady's door,

She that had been the root and flower before

Of all his happiness and joys of yore.

Now, Troilus, farewell to all your joy,

For you will never see her back in Troy !

It's true that while he waited in this trance

He laboured, in a manly way, to hide

His grief; it barely changed his countenance;

But at the gate whence she was due to ride

With certain folk, he hovered on the side;

He was so woebegone, (although of course

He did not speak), he scarce could sit his horse.

He shook with rage, his heart began to gnaw

Within, when Diomede prepared to mount;

He muttered to himself at what he saw

`O baseness, shame, to suffer this affront!

Why not redress or bring it to account?

Were it not better die in the endeavour

Than to endure this misery for ever?

`Why don't I fall on them, give rich and poor

Something to do before I let her go?

Why don't I bring all Troy into a roar?

Why don't I kill this Diomede, and show

Some courage? Why not, with a man or so,

Steal her away? What more must I endure?

Why don't I help myself to my own cure?'

But why he would not do so fell a deed

I have to tell you, why he chose and willed

It not to be; he feared that it would breed

A battle, and Criseyde might well be killed;

And that is why his wish was unfulfilled,

Otherwise certainly, as you have heard,

It had been done without another word

At last Criseyde was ready for the ride

Sighing `Alas!' with sorrow in her face;

But go she must, whatever might betide;

There is no remedy in such a case.

She rode out at a melancholy pace;

What wonder if she felt a bitter smart

Forgoing Troilus, her own dear heart !

And he, by way of showing courtesy,

With hawk on hand, and with a splendid rout

Of knights, rode forth and kept her company.

They passed the distant valley far without

And would have ridden further yet, no doubt,

Most gladly; it was grief to turn so soon,

But turn he had to, that unhappy noon.

Just at that moment Antenor appeared

Out of the Grecian host, and every knight

Was glad and gave him welcome as he neared;

And Troilus, though very far from light

Of heart, obliged himself, as best he might,

At least to hold his tears; his eyes were dim

As he kissed Antenor and welcomed him.

And here at last he had to take his leave;

He cast his eyes upon her piteously

And, riding closer, took her by the sleeve

To plead his cause, and touched her soberly;

Ah, Lord! She started weeping tenderly.

Softly and slyly he contrived to say

`Now do not kill me, darling, keep your day.'

With that he turned his courser round about;

His face was very pale. To Diomede

He spoke not, nor to any of his rout;

This Greek, the son of Tideus, took good heed;

Here was a craft in which he knew his Creed,

And more than that; he took her leading‑rein,

And Troilus to Troy rode home again.

This Diomede who led her by the bridle,

Now that the Trojans could no longer stay,

Thought `Well, this is no moment to be idle;

I have the work, so I should get the pay;

I'll talk to her; it will beguile the way.

As I was taught a dozen times at school

"He who forgets to help himself's a fool."'

Nevertheless he understood enough

To think ` It will for certain come to naught

If I should speak of love, or make it tough,

For doubtless, if she treasures in her thought

Him I suspect, she cannot well be brought

To let him go so soon; I'll try to find

A means, and yet not let her know my mind.'

This Diomede, who knew his way about,

Chose the right moment when to fall in speech

With her of this and that, and ask right out

Why she was in distress, and to beseech

Her to command him ‑ were it in his reach

To put her at her ease; if she but knew it,

She only had to ask and he would do it.

For truly, and he swore it as a knight,

There was not anything to give her pleasure

He would not do with all his heart and might,

If it could ease her heart in any measure;

He begged her to allay and not to treasure

Her grief, and said `We Grecians will take joy

In honouring you, as much as folk in Troy.'

He also said `I know you find it strange –

No wonder either, it is new to you –

To drop these Trojan friendships in exchange

For ours of Greece, people you never knew.

But God forbid there should not be a few

Among the Grecian hosts that you will find

As true as any Trojan, and as kind.

`And as, a moment since, I made a vow

To be your friend, helpfully if I might,

Since I have more acquaintance with you now

Than other strangers, I will claim a right;

From this time on, command me, day or night;

And though it should be painful, I will do

Whatever may delight your heart and you.

`And I would have you treat me as your brother

And do not hold my friendship in disdain;

And though you grieve for some great thing or other

- I know not what ‑ I know my heart would fain

Relieve you, had we leisure, of your pain;

If it be more than I can well redress,

I am right sorry for your heaviness.

`You Trojans and we Greeks have long been lot

To love each other, and many a day will be;

Yet there's one god of love we worship both;

So, for the love of God, my lady free,

Hate whom you will, but have no hate for me;

No one could serve you, trust me this is true,

That would be half so loth to anger you.

`And were it not that we are near the tent

Of Calkas (who can see us, by the way)

I would go on to tell you all I meant;

This must be sealed up for another day.

Give me your hand; I am and shall be aye,

God helping me, while life shall last, alone

Above all other men, your very own.

`And that's a thing I never said before

To any woman born; and I can vow

I never yet have had a paramour

And never loved a woman, up till now;

So do not be my enemy ! Allow

For lack of eloquence in me, and spurn

Me not for it, for I have much to learn.

`Though it may seem a wonder, lady bright,

To hear me speak of love so quickly, yet

I have heard tell that many at first sight

Have loved, who up till then had never met;

Nor do I have in me the power to set

Myself against the god, whom I obey,

And ever will; have mercy, then, I say.

`Such admirable knights are in this place

And you so beautiful ‑ that one and all

Will strain in rivalry to stand in grace

With you; but should such happiness befall

Me as to be the one that you will call

Your servant, there's not one of them so true

As I shall be, till death, in serving you.'

Criseyde made slight rejoinder, though she heard,

Oppressed with grief and wondering what to do,

But in effect she hardly caught a word,

A sentence here and there, a phrase or two.

She thought her sorrowing heart would burst right through

Her breast; and when she saw her father there

She sank upon her saddle in despair.

Nevertheless, to Diomede she proffered

Her thanks for all his pains, and his display

Of welcome, and the friendship he had offered,

Which she accepted in a civil way;

She would be glad to do what he would say

And she would trust him, as indeed she might,

Or so she said, beginning to alight.

Her father took her in his arms and cried,

As twenty times he kissed her on the cheek,

`Welcome, my own dear daughter !' She replied

That she was glad to see him, ceased to speak

And stood before him, mute and mild and meek.

And here I leave her with her father thus,

And I turn back to tell of Troilus.

To Troy this woeful Troilus returned

In sorrow, above all other sorrows' force,

With felon look, a face where fury burned.

Abruptly he dismounted from his horse

And through his palace took his angry course,

Heedless of everything, to seek his room,

And no one dared break in upon his gloom.

There to the griefs till then within him pent

He gave large issue; `Death !' he cried at first,

Then, in the frantic throes he underwent,

Cursed Jove, Apollo, Cupid, said his worst

Of Ceres, Bacchus, Cypris, and he cursed

His birth, himself, his fortune and his nature

And, save his lady, every earthly creature.

To bed he went and wallowed, turned and lay

In fury, as Igion does in Hell,

And so continued until nearly day;

His heart began a little to unswell

Relieved by tears that issued from their well;

And piteously he called upon Criseyde,

Crying aloud, and this is what he cried

`Where is my own, my lady loved and dear?

And where is her white breast? Where is it? Where?

Where are her arms? And where her eyes so clear,

That this time yesternight were with me here?

Now I may weep alone, full many a tear !

And wildly grasp about, but in her place

I only find a pillow to embrace.

`How shall I do? When will she come again?

Alas, I know not! Why did I let her go?

Ah I would to God that I had then been slain !

My sweetest heart, Criseyde, my darling foe,

My lady, only love and only woe,

To whom I give my heart for ever !

See, See, I am dying, will you not rescue me?

`Who gazes on you now, my guiding star?

Who in your presence sits? Or who stands near?

Who now can comfort you in your heart's war?

Since I am gone, to whom do you give ear?

Who speaks for me, for me in absence here?

No one, alas ! I grieve and that is why;

I know you fare as evilly as I

`How am I to endure for ten whole days,

When, the first night, I suffer so much pain?

How will she do, sad creature? In what ways,

Seeing her tenderness, will she sustain

Her grief for me? O, ere you come again,

Piteous and pale and green your face will be

With longing hither to return, to me.'

And when he fell in fitful slumberings,

After a little he began to groan,

For dreams would visit him of dreadful things

That well might be: dreaming he was alone

In some appalling place and making moan,

Or dreaming he was prisoner to bands

Of enemies; his life was in their hands.

His body thereupon would give a start

And with that start be found himself awake

With such a tremor felt about his heart

The terror of it made his body quake;

And there were sudden noises he would make

And he imagined he had fallen deep

From a great height; and then he had to weep,

And spend such pity on his misery;

Wonder it was to hear his fantasies;

Then, in a moment, he would mightily

Console himself ‑ a madness, a disease,

He said it was, to have such fears as these;

Again his bitter sorrows overbore him,

And any man would have felt sorry for him.

Who could have told, or fully have unfurled

His torment, his lament, his flow of brine?

No one alive or dead in all the world!

I leave you, gentle reader, to divine

That grief like his, for such a wit as mine,

Is far too great, and I should work in vain;

To think about it cuts me to the brain.

In heaven still the stars were to be seen,

Although the moon was paling, quickly too,

As the horizon whitened with a sheen

Far to the east, as it. is wont to do

When Phoebus with his rosy car is due;

He was preparing for his journey thus

When Troilus sent word for Pandarus.

This Pandarus, who all the previous day

Had been unable, even for an hour,

To see him, though he'd sworn to get away

- For he was with King Priam in the Tower,

And so it simply wasn't in his power

To make a move ‑ now, with the morning, went

To Troilus, who, as I say, had sent.

He found it easy in his heart to guess

That Troilus had lain awake in woe

And needed now to talk of his distress;

He did not need a book to tell him so.

And to his chamber he made haste to go

The shortest way, greeted and gravely eyed him,

And then sat down upon the bed beside him.

`My Pandarus,' said Troilus, `the sorrow

I undergo I cannot long endure.

I feel I shall not live until tomorrow,

So I would lay my plans, to make all sure,

And fix my funeral and sepulchre.

As for my property and all the rest,

Dispose of it for me as you think best.

`But for the fire and for the burial flame

In which my body shall be burned and freed,

And for the feasting and the funeral

To grace my wake, I beg of you, take

See that all's well; and offer Mars my steed,

My sword and helmet; also, brother dear,

My shield to Pallas, she that shines so clear.

`The powdery ash to which my heart will burn

I beg of you to gather and preserve

In such a vessel as they call an urn,

A golden one; give it to her I serve,

For love of whom I die; I did not swerve.

So give it her; do me this courtesy

And beg her keep it in my memory.

`I know it from my malady, and by

My present dreams and some from long ago,

That I am certainly about to die.

Besides, the owl they call Escaphilo

These two nights past has shrieked for me, and so

I pray for Mercury, if he please, to fetch

This soul of mine and guide a sorrowful wretch I'

Pandarus answered `Listen, Troilus;

Dear friend, as I have often said before,

It is mere madness in you, sorrowing thus

Without a reason; I can say no more.

He that to all advice will close the door

Is one for whom I know no remedy;

Leave him to stew in his own fantasy.

`But, Troilus, I beg you; tell me, do,

Whether you think that ever anyone

Loved with so passionate a love as you?

God knows they have, and many so have done;

Many have had~to let a fortnight run

Without their ladies, and have made no fuss;

What need is there? It's quite ridiculous.

`For, day by day, as you yourself can see,

A man may part from lover or from wife,

When they are sundered by necessity,

Aye, though he loves her better than his life;

But all the same he will not be at strife

Within himself; for, as you know, dear brother,

Friends cannot always be with one another.

`What do they do who see their lovers wedded

Because of powerful friends, as happens oft,

And in their spouses' bed behold them bedded?

God knows they take it wisely ‑ fair and soft,

Because good hope will keep their hearts aloft;

And if they can endure a time of grief,

As time has hurt them, time will bring relief.

`That is the way to take it; let it slide !

Try to enjoy yourself, have no concern;

Ten days are not so long for you to bide;

For since she gave her promise to return,

o one will make her break it; she will learn

Some way of coming back, so fear no ill;

I'll lay my life upon it that she will.

`As for those dreams of yours and all such folly,

To Hell with them I Imagination teems

With stuff like that; it's from your melancholy

That troubles you in sleep, or so it seems.

A straw for the significance of dreams !

I wouldn't give a bean for them, not I !

No one can tell you what they signify.

`The temple priests incline to tell you this,

That dreams are sent as Heaven's revelations;

They also tell you, and with emphasis,

They're diabolical hallucinations;

The doctors say that glandular liquations

Engender them, by fast ‑ or gluttony;

How can the truth be contradictory?

`Others will say they come from an obsession;

Some fixed idea a fellow has, a theme;

And this will cause a vision‑like impression.

Others report from books that it would seem

A thing quite natural for men to dream

At certain times of year, according to

The moon; believe no dream. It will not do.

`All very well, these dreams, for poor old wives,

Who trust in birds and auguries and howls

That send them all in terror of their lives !

- Ravens foreboding death and screeching owls –

Belief in them is false and it befouls;

O that a creature with a noble mind

Like man, should trust in garbage of the kind !

`Let me beseech you, then, with all my heart,

Forgive yourself for all that's gone astray.

Let's talk no more; get up and make a start.

Let's think how we may drive the time away

And how our lives will freshen on the day

When she comes back ‑ and soon it will be too ! -

For that's the best, God help us, we can do.

`Rise up, recall the lusty life in Troy

That we have led ! And so we shall contrive

To fleet the time until our time for joy

Shall bring us back again our bliss alive;

The languors of a day or two ‑ twice five –

We shall forget about, or somehow stifle,

So that the whole affair shall seem a trifle.

`I've seen a lot of gentlefolk about,

And we are meanwhile in a state of truce.

Let's have some fun and join the lusty rout

At Sárpedoun's, a mile away; get loose,

And cheat the time by putting it to use !

Drive it along to meet that blissful morrow

When you will see her, cause of all your sorrow !

`Rise up, I say, dear brother Troilus;

It does no honour to you, don't you see,

To weep and linger in your bedroom thus.

One thing is absolutely sure, trust me,

If you lie here a day or two, or three,

People will say it is a coward's trick,

You daren't rise up and fight, you're feigning sick.'

And Troilus replied `O brother dear,

As anyone that ever suffered pain

Will know, it is no wonder to appear

In sorrow, or to weep, or to complain,

For one who feels the smart in every vein;

Though I complain and weep, I have the right,

Since I have lost my cause of all delight.

`Forced by necessity to make a start,

I will get up, as soon as ever I may,

And God, to whom I sacrifice my heart,

Send us in haste the tenth, the happy day !

There never was a bird so glad of May

As I shall be when she returns to Troy,

The cause of all my torment, and my joy.

`But what do you advise,' said Troilus,

`Where we can best amuse ourselves in town?'

`Well, my advice, by God,' said Pandarus,

`Is to ride out and see King Sddrpedoun.'

This for a while they argued up and down,

Till, in the end, Troilus gave consent

And rose; and off to Sirpedoun they went.

He was a man whose life had been a fable

Of honour, liberality and worth;

And all that could be offered on a table

And that was dainty, though it cost the earth,

He gave them day by day; there was no dearth,

So people said, the greatest and the least;

The like was never seen at any feast

Nor could you hope to find an instrument

Delicious by the use of wind or string

In all the world, however far you went,

That tongue can tell of or that heart can bring

To mind, but blended at their banqueting;

And never was a company so fair

To look on as the ladies dancing there.

Of what avail was this to Troilus

In his despondency? It went for nought.

For all the while his heart, so dolorous,

Sought for Criseyde; insistently it sought.

Ever and only she was all his thought,

Now this, now that, in his imagination;

What banqueting could bring him consolation?

Since, of these ladies at the feast, the gem

Was lacking for him, with Criseyde away,

It was a grief for him to look at them,

Or listen to the instruments in play;

She being absent in whose hand there lay

The key of his heart, it was his fantasy

That no one had a right to melody.

There was no hour of the day or night,

When there was nobody to overhear,

But that he said `My darling, my delight,

How has it been with you since you were here?

How I would welcome you again, my dear !'

Fortune had caught him in her maze, alas !

And fitted him a helmet made of glass.

The letters she had written him moreover,

In former days, that now were gone for good,

A hundred times a day he read them over,

Refiguring her lovely womanhood

Within his heart, and every word and mood

Out of the past, and thus he battled on

Till the fourth day; then said he must be gone.

`Is it a firm intention, this of yours,

Pandar, for us to linger, you and I,

Till Shpedoun has turned us out of doors?

Were it not better now to say good‑bye?

For heaven's sake this evening let us try

To take our leave of him and disappear

For home, for honestly I won't stay here.'

Said Pandarus : `What did we come here for?

To borrow a light and then run home again?

I don't know where we could have found a more

Delightful host, gladder to entertain

Than Sárpedoun; and isn't it quite plain

He likes us? Don't you see that if we fled

So suddenly, it would be most ill‑bred?

`We told him we were paying him a visit

For a whole week; so suddenly to change

And take our leave is hardly proper, is it?

After four days ! He'd think it very strange.

Let's stick by what we've chosen to arrange.

And since you've promised him that you would stay,

Stand by your word; we then can ride away.'

Thus Pandar, with much trouble and persuasion,

Forced him to stay awhile and show his face;

But when the week‑end came, they took occasion

To bid the King farewell and leave the place;

Said Troilus: `Now Heaven send me grace

That I may find, upon my homecoming,

Criseyde returned !' And he began to sing.

`Nuts I' muttered Pandar softly to himself,

Who, in his heart of hearts, was thinking thus:

`All this hot stuff will cool upon a shelf

Ere Calkas sends Criseyde to Troilus !'

But still he swore `She will come back to us,

What your heart says is right,' he japed away,

`She will come back as soon as ever she may !'

When they had reached the palace of his friend

There they dismounted in the evening light

And to his chamber took their way, to spend

The time in talking on into the night;

And all their talk was of Criseyde the Bright.

And, later, when it pleased them, having fed,

They rose from supper and they went to bed.

When morning came and day began to clear,

This Troilus stirred and awoke, and cried

To Pandarus `Dear brother, do you hear?

For heaven's sake let us get up and ride;

Let us go see the palace of Criseyde;

For since we are not yet to have the feast,

There is the palace to be seen at least.'

To lull suspicions in his followers,

He made pretence that he had work to do

In town, and to the house that still was hers

They started off ‑how sad he alone knew;

It seemed to him his heart would break in two;

And when he found the doors were sparred across

He almost fell to earth, so great the loss.

And taking in all that his eyes now told

- For barred was every window in the place –

He felt as if a frost had fallen cold

Upon his heart; the colour of his face

Changed to a deadly pallor; quickening pace,

Without a word, he rode ahead so fast

That no one saw his countenance as he passed.

Then said he thus: `O palace desolate,

O house of houses that was once so bright,

O palace, empty and disconsolate,

O lantern quenched, from which they stole the light,

Palace that once was day and now is night,

Ought not you to fall, and I to die,

Since she is gone that we were guided by?

`O palace, crown of houses, now forsaken,

But once illumined by the sun of bliss,

O ring from which the ruby has been taken,

Cause of a joy that now has come to this,

Since I may do no better, I would kiss

Your cold, cold doorway, but for all this rout

Of people; farewell shrine, whose saint is out!'

He turned and cast his eyes on Pandar then;

His face was changed and pitiful to see;

As he rode on with him he spoke again,

As far as he had opportunity

Of his old joys and his new misery,

So sadly, with a face so dead and grim

That anybody would have pitied him.

So he went onward, riding up and down,

And memories poured in at every glance,

Passing the very places in the town

That once had had such power to entrance:

`Look, it was there I saw my lady dance !

And in that temple with her shining eyes

She took me first, my darling, by surprise.

`And yonder, once, I heard her lovely laughter,

I heard her laughter and I saw her play,

And it was blissful; then, a little after,

Just there, she once came up to me to say

"O love me, sweetheart, love me well today."

And it was there she gazed at me so sweetly

That until death my heart was hers completely.

`And at that corner, in the house you see,

I heard my loveliest of ladies sing,

So womanly, and how melodiously !

How well, how clear, with what a pleasing ring !

Still in my soul I hear it echoing,

That blissful sound; and there's the very place

In which she first received me into grace !'

And then he thought: `Ah, Cupid, blessed Lord,

When I recall the past, the purgatory

I have endured, how fiercely thou hast warred

Against me, it would make a book, a story.

What need was there to add unto thy glory

By this poor victory on me and mine,

What joy in slaying what is wholly thine?

`Well hast thou wreaked upon me, Lord, thine ire,

Thou mighty god, so fearful to annoy !

Have mercy, Lord, thou knowest I desire

Thy favour more than any other joy,

And will profess Thy faith, in whose employ

I mean to live and die, and ask no boon

Save that Thou send me back Criseyde, and soon !

`Constrain her heart with longing to return,

As, to behold her, thou constrainest me !

Then it will surely be her whole concern,

And she'll not tarry ! Ah, Cupid, do not be

As cruel to our blood and monarchy

As Juno to the blood of Thebes, for whom,

And for her rage, the Thebans met their doom !'

And after this he visited the gate

Through which, at such a lively pace,

Criseyde Had ridden out, and he began to wait

In restless hope; and up and down he plied

His horse, and said `Alas, I saw her ride

Away from here; O God, in Heaven's joy,

Let me but see her riding into Troy !

`To think I guided her to yonder hill,

Alas I And it was there I took my leave.

I saw her ride away, I see her still;

The sorrow of it is enough to cleave

My heart I And hither I came home at eve,

And here must linger on, cast out from joy,

And shall, until I see her back in Troy.'

Often enough he thought himself undone,

Defeated, pale, shrunken to something less

Than what he was, imagined everyone

Was saying `What has happened? Who can guess

Why Troilus is in such deep distress?'

All this was nothing but his melancholy;

A fantasy about himself, a folly.

Another time he would imagine – weighing

What people whispered as they cast an eye

Upon him ‑ they were pitying him, saying

`I am right sorry Troilus will die.'

And in these thoughts a day or two went by

As you have heard; such was the life he led,

Like one who halted between hope and dread.

It gave him pleasure in his songs to show

The reason of his grief, as best he might;

He made a song of just a word or so,

To ease his heart and make his sorrow light,

And when he was alone and out of sight

He softly sang about his lady dear

In absence, and he sang as you shall hear:

`O star of love, since I have lost thy light,

Shall not my heart lament thee and bewail

In darkening torment, moving raght by night

Towards my death; the wind is in my sail.

If the tenth night should come, and if it fail,

Thy guiding beam, if only for an hour,

My ship and me Charybdis' will devour.'

But after singing it, he very soon

Fell once again to sighing, as of old,

And every night rose up to see the moon

As was his habit, and to her he told

His sorrows all, and yet he would make bold

To say 'Yet moon, the night your horns renew

I shall be happy ‑ if all the world is true !'

'Old were the horns I saw you wear that morning

When my dear lady rode away from here

Who is my cause of torment and of mourning

And therefore, O Lucma, bright and clear,

For love of God, run swiftly round thy sphere;

For when thy horns begin again to spring

Then she will come who has my bliss to bring.'

Longer the day and longer still the night

Than they were wont to be, or so he thought;

The course the sun was taking was not right,

It made a longer journey than it ought;

'Phaeton is not dead, as I was taught,'

Said Troilus,' I fear he is alive

And has his father's cart, but cannot drive.'

Fast up and down the walls he used to walk

Gazing towards the Grecian armaments,

And thus would commune with himself and talk

'Yonder my lady lies, at all events,

Or, maybe, yonder, where I see those tents !

And thence must come this air so sweet and soft,

Touching my soul and raising it aloft !

'Surely this breath of wind, that more and more,

Moment by moment, comes to fan my face,

Is of her sighing, for her heart is sore;

I prove it thus, that in no other place

In the whole city but this little space

Feel I a wind whose sound is like a pain,

And says "Alas ! When shall we meet again?" '

Through this long time of waiting drove he thus,

Till the ninth day and night had fully passed;

And always at his side was Pandarus,

Busily finding comfort to the last;

He did his best to lend a lighter cast

To all his thoughts, gave hope that on the morrow

She would return to him and end his sorrow.

Upon the other hand there was Criseyde

With her few women in the Grecian throng,

And many times a day 'Alas !' she cried,

'That ever I was born ! Well may I long

For death ! Alas that I have lived too long !

What can I do that things may turn to good?

All is far worse than I had understood.

100

'Nothing will bring my father to relent

Or let me go; I cannot find a way

To wheedle him; when the ten days are spent,

Deep in his heart my Troilus will say

That I am false to him ‑ and well he may.

No one will thank me for it, either side;

Alas that I was born ! Would I had died !

101

`And if I were to put myself in danger,

Stealing away by night, might I not fall

Into some sentrv's hand, and, as a stranger,

Be taken for a spy? But, worst of all,

Some ruffian Greek, fresh from a drunken braw !

Might come on me and, true as is my heart,

I should be lost. Dear Heaven, take my part !'

102

Now waxen‑pale her once so shining face,

Wasted her limbs, as one who day by day

Stood, when she dared, to gaze upon the place

Where she was born, where she had longed to stay,

All the night long in tears, alas, she lay;

Thus she despaired of comfort or relief,

And led her life, a creature full of grief.

103

Many a time she sighed in her distress,

In her imagination picturing Her

Troilus in all his worthiness,

And all his golden words remembering,

From when her love had first begun to spring;

And so she set her woeful heart on fire

By the remembrance of her lost desire.

104

In all the world there is no heart so cruel,

Had it but heard her thus lament her sorrow,

But would have also wept at the renewal

Of tender tears; she wept both eve and morrow;

Many her tears; she had no need to borrow.

And yet, sharper than any grief beside,

There was no soul in whom she dared confide.

105 ????

How ruefully she stood and stared at Troy,

Saw the tall towers and the lofty hall,

`Alas,' she said, `the happiness and joy,

That once I had beyond that very wall,

But now is turned to bitterness and gall ! Troilus !

What are you doing now?' she cried, `Lord!

Do you still give thought to your Criseyde?

`Alas, had I but trusted your advice

And run away with you ! If we had run,

I should not now be sighing bitter sighs.

And who is there could say that I had done

Amiss to steal away with such a one?

But all too late the medicine comes to save

The corpse that they are bearing to the grave.

107

`For it is now too late to speak of it;

Prudence, one of thine eyes ‑ for thou halt three –

I ever lacked, as now I must admit;

Time past I safely stored in memory,

Titre present also I had eyes to see;

Time future, till it caught me in the snare,

108 ?????

I could not see, and thence has come my care.

`Nevertheless, betide what may betide,

Tomorrow night, be it by east or west,

I'll steal away, on one or other side,

And go wherever Troilus thinks best,

And in this firm intention I will rest.

Who cares what scandal wicked tongues uncoveri

Wretches are always envious of a lover.

109

`He who takes heed of every uttered word,

Or will be ruled by others, in the end

Will never come to good, so I have heard.

For there are things which some will reprehend

That many other people will commend;

And various as may their reasons be,

My own felicity suffices me.

110

`So, without any further argument,

I'll make for Troy; let me conclude it thus.'

And yet, God knows, two whole months came and went

And still her purposes were dubious.

For both the town of Troy and Troilus

Shall knotless slide away out of her heart;

She never will take purpose to depart.

111

This Diomede of whom I have made mention

Now went about imagining a way,

With all the cunning of a swift invention,

How to enmesh Criseyde with least delay

And bring her heart into his net; by day

And night he worked, perfecting his design

For fishing her; he laid out hook and line.

112

Nevertheless he had the secret thought

That she was not without a love in Troy;

For never, since the moment he had brought

Her thence had he beheld her laugh for joy;

He knew not what might prove the subtlest ploy

To coax her heart, `But trying will be fun,'

He said, `nothing attempted, nothing won.'

113

And yet he argued with himself one night

`Now am I not a fool, well knowing how

Her grief is for another, to invite

Her fancies my way, and attempt her now?

It may not do me good, I must allow;

And grave authorities have held the view

"A time of woe is not a time to woo."

114

`Yet, if a man should win so sweet a flower

From him for whom she mourns so constantly,

Might he not say he was a man of power?'

So, ever bold, he thought `Well, as for me,

Happen what may, I'll try, and we shall see;

If I'm to die for it, I'll try to reach Her heart;

I shall lose nothing but my speech:

115

This Diomede, or so the books declare,

To serve his needs, kept ever in good fettle;

His voice was stern, his mighty limbs were square;

Chivalrous, hardy, headstrong, quick to settle

For action ‑ of his father Tideus' mettle.

He was a boaster, so the stories run,

And heir to Argos and to Caledon.

116

Criseyde herself was of a modest stature,

And as to shapeliness, and face, and air,

There never can have been a fairer creature;

Often enough it was her way to wear

The heavy tresses of her shining hair

Over her collar, down her back, behind.

These with a thread of gold she used to bind.

117

Save for the fact her eyebrows joined together,

There was no fault that I can recognize;

Her eyes, they say, were clear as summer weather,

For everyone who saw her testifies

That paradise was seated in her eyes;

Her love and her rich beauty ever strove

Which was the greater ‑ beauty in her, or love.

118

She was discreet and simple and demure,

And the most kindly‑nurtured there could be;

And she was pleasant‑spoken, to be sure,

Stately and generous and joyous; she

Had a free nature, having the quality

Of pity; but she had a sliding heart.

I cannot tell her age, I lack the art.

119

Troilus was well‑grown, for he was tall,

Shapely, and in proportion strong and fleet;

Nature could not have bettered it at all.

Young, fresh, a lion‑hardy man to meet,

He was as true as steel from head to feet,

Dowered with excellence of such a cast

As none will equal while the world will last.

120

And certainly historians have reckoned

That, in his time, no other was in sight

To whom he could have been considered second

In daring deeds, such as become a knight.

Although a giant may have greater might,

His heart, among the first, among the best,

Stood equal in its daring and in zest.

121

But, to go back again to Diomede,

It happened afterwards, on the tenth day

After she left the city as agreed,

That Diomede, as fresh as a branch in May,

Came visiting the tent where Calkas lay;

On a pretence of business in he went,

But I shall tell you of his true intent.

122

Now, to be brief, Criseyde on this occasion

Gave him a welcome and sat down beside him,

Nor did it seem he needed much persuasion

To make him stay; and presently she plied him

With wine and spices, seeking to provide him

Some entertainment with a dish or two,

And so they fell in speech, as old friends do.

123

And then he started speaking of the war

Between his people and the folk of Troy,

And he discussed the siege and begged her for

Her own opinion, which he would enjoy;

Descending thence, he then began to toy

With whether she had found the Grecian style

Of doing things quite foreign for a while,

124

And why her father had delayed so long

In marrying her off to a leading light.

Criseyde, who felt her suffering grow strong

For love of Troilus, her chosen knight,

Summoned her sorrowing thoughts as best she might,

And gave some answer; as to his intent,

She seemed to have no notion what he meant.

125

Nevertheless this fellow Diomede

Began to feel assured, and he replied

`If my impressions are not wrong, indeed,

It seems to me, dear lady, dear Criseyde,

That since I took your bridle on our ride From Troy

- do you recall that happy morrow? –

I never yet have seen you but in sorrow.

126

`I cannot guess at what the cause may be,

Unless it is the love of someone dear

To you in Troy; it would much trouble me

Were you to spill so much as half a tear

For any fancied Trojan cavalier.

Do not deceive yourself; it's not the style;

You may be sure it isn't worth your while.

127

`The Trojans, one and all, are, so to speak,

In prison; if you think, you must agree;

Not one among them shall escape the Greek

For all the gold between the sun and sea;

And you can count on that, believe you me.

No mercy will be shown, not one shall live,

Though he had twice five conquered worlds to give.

128

`Such vengeance will be taken by our legions

For Helen's ravishing before we go

That all the gods of the infernal regions

Will stand aghast, outdone by such a show,

And men on earth, to the world's end, will know

The bitter cost of ravishing a Queen,

So cruel the revenge that will be seen.

129

`Unless your father's doubling on his traces,

Using equivocations and those sly

Words that are sometimes said to have two faces,

You will discover that I do not lie,

Yes, you will see it with your very eye,

And soon enough; you won't believe the speed

At which it all will happen, so take heed.

130 ?????

`What! Do you think your reverend father could

Have given Antenor to ransom you,

Unless he knew full well the city would

Be utterly destroyed? Why, no ! He knew,

And knew for certain, no one would come through

Who was a Trojan; having that to fear, lie dared not leave you there, so brought you here.

131

`What would you have, my loveliest of creatures?

Let Troy and Trojan in your heart give place;

Drive out that bitter hope and cheer those features,

Call back the beauty to that saddened face,

On which salt tears have left so deep a trace.

Troy is in jeopardy and Troy will bow;

There is no remedy to save it now.

132

`Among the Greeks, believe me, you may find

A love more perfect, ere the fall of night,

Than any Trojan love, and one more kind,

Ready to serve you with a better might;

And if you would vouchsafe it, lady bright,

I would be happier to be your hover

Than to be King of Argos twelve times over.'

133

And on the word he turned a little red,

And in his speech his voice a little shook,

A little to one side he cast his head,

Then he fell silent. Presently he took

A glance at her and said, with sober look,

`I am ‑ although it be to you no joy –

As nobly born as any man in Troy.

134

`For if my father Tideus had not died,

I should by now be King of many a city

In Caledon, and Argos too, Criseyde !

Indeed I hope to be so yet, my pretty;

But he was killed at Thebes, and, more's the pity,

So Polynices was, and many more,

Too soon, unhappily. It was the war.

135

`But, sweetheart, since I am to be your man,

And since you are the very first to whom

I ever knelt, to serve as best I can,

And ever shall, whatever be my doom,

Let me have leave, before I quit the room,

To visit you tomorrow in this fashion,

And, at more leisure, to reveal my passion.'

136

Why should I tell you all the things he said?

He spoke enough, at least for the first day.

It proved successful, for Criseyde was led

To grant him his petition and to say

That she would see him, if he kept away

From certain subjects, which, as she made clear,

He must not touch, speaking, as you shall hear,

137

Like one whose heart was set on Troilus

As firmly as upon its very base;

She gave a distant answer, saying thus

To him `O Diomed, I love the place

Where I was born. Ah, Jove, in heavenly grace,

Soon, soon, dear Lord, deliver it from care,

For Thy great glory, keep it strong and fair !

138

` I know the Greeks would like to have their way

And wreak their wrath on Troy, our citadel;

But yet it will not happen as you say,

God willing; and I know my father well;

He's wise and has his plans; if, as you tell,

He bought me dearly, let me argue rather

hat I'm the more beholden to my father.

139

`And that the Greeks are men of high condition

I'm well aware; but certainly they'll find

Young men in Troy as worthy of position,

As able and as perfect and as kind,

As, East or West, a man may call to mind.

That you could serve your lady, I believe you,

To earn the thanks with which she would receive you.

140

`But ‑ if we are to speak of love ‑ ' she said,

`I had a wedded lord, to whom, I mean,

My heart was wholly given; he is dead.

No other love, so help me Heaven's Queen,

Was ever in my heart, nor since has been.

That you are noble, and of high descent,

I've often heard, and it is evident.

141

`And so it seems an even greater wonder

That one like you should scorn a woman so.

God knows that love and I are far asunder;

I am the more disposed, as you should know,

To grieve until my death and live in woe.

What I shall later do I cannot say;

As yet I have no fancy for such play.

142

`I am in tribulation and cast down;

You are in arms, busy day in day out.

Hereafter, should you ever win the town,

Then, peradventure, it may come about

That when I see what never was seen, no doubt

I then may do what I have never done;

And that should be enough for anyone.

143

`I'll talk to you tomorrow if it's plain

That you are not to speak of this affair.

And, when you care to, you may come again;

This much, before you go, I will declare,

As help me Pallas of the Golden Hair,

If ever I took pity on a Greek,

It would be you, and it's the truth I speak.

144

` I am not saying I will be your love,

Nor am I saying no; but, in conclusion,

I mean well, by the Lord that sits above.'

Then she let fall her eyelids in confusion,

And sighed `O God, let it be no illusion

That I shall see Troy quiet and at rest,

And if I see it not, then burst my breast !'

12781

145

But in effect ‑ let it be briefly spoken –

This Diomede, with freshened appetite,

Pressed on and begged her mercy, asked a token,

And after that, to tell the story right,

He took her glove, which gave him great delight.

And when the day was over and night fell,

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

146

Bright Venus, following her heavenly courses,

Showed the way down for Phoebus to alight,

And Cynthia laid about her chariot‑horses

To whirl her out of Leo, if they might;

The candles of the Zodiac shone bright,

And to her bed Criseyde that evening went,

Within her father's shapely, shining tent,

147

Ever in soul revolving up and down

The sayings of this sudden Diomede,

His high position and the sinking town,

Her loneliness; the greatness of her need

Of friends and helpers; thus began to breed

The reason why ‑ and I must make it plain –

She made it her intention to remain.

148

In sober truth, when morning came in glory,

This Diomede returned to see Criseyde,

And, shortly, lest you interrupt my story.

He spoke so ably and he justified

Himself so well that she no longer sighed;

At last, to tell the truth, I must confess

He took from her the weight of her distress.

149

And then ‑ so it is handed down to us –

She made him present of the fine bay steed

Which he had taken once from Troilus,

Also a brooch ‑ what can have been the need? –

That had been his, she gave to Diomede

And, to console his passion, they believe

She made him wear a pennon of her sleeve.

150

From other histories it would appear

That once, when Troilus gave Diomede

A body‑thrust that hurt him, many a tear

She wept upon his wound, to see it bleed,

And nursed him carefully with tender heed,

And, in the end, to ease the bitter smart,

They say ‑ I know not ‑ that she gave her heart.

151 ?????

But we have this assurance given us

That never woman was in greater woe

Than she, when she was false to Troilus;

`Alas !' she said `that I must now forgo

My name for truth in love, for ever ! Oh,

I have betrayed the gentlest and the best

That ever was, finest and worthiest.

152

`No good, alas, of me, to the world's end,

Will ever now be written, said, or sung.

Not one fair word! No book will be my friend,

I shall be rolled about on many a tongue;

Throughout the world my bell, and knell, is rung;

And womenfolk will hate me most of all;

Alas, that I should suffer such a fall !

153

`And they will say "As far as she was able,

She has dishonoured us." Alas the day!

Though I am not the first to be unstable,

What help is that to take my shame away?

Since there is nothing better I can say,

And grieving comes too late, what shall I do?

To Diomede at least I will be true !

154

`Since I can do no better, Troilus,

And since for ever you and I have parted,

Still I shall pray God's blessing on you, thus,

As the most truly noble, faithful‑hearted

Of all I ever saw, since first we started,

That ever had lady's honour in his keeping !'

And having spoken thus, she burst out weeping.

155

`Certainly I shall never hate you, never!

But a friend's love, that you shall have of me;

I'll speak your praise, though I should live for ever;

And O believe how sorry I should be

If I should see you in adversity.

And you are guiltless, as I well believe;

But all shall pass, and so I take my leave.'

156

But honestly, how long it was between

Forsaking him and taking Diomede

I cannot say; no author I have seen

Has told us; take the volumes down and read,

You'll find no dates, for none are given indeed.

Though he was quick to woo, before he won

He found there was still more that must be done.

157 ???

I cannot find it in my heart to chide

This hapless woman, more than the story will;

Her name, alas, is punished far and wide,

And that should be sufficient for the ill

She did; I would excuse her for it still

She was so sorry for her great untruth;

Indeed I would excuse her yet, for ruth.

158 ?????

This Troilus, as I've already told,

Went driving on and on, as best he might,

And many a time his heart went hot and cold,

And more especially upon the night

- The ninth ‑ before the day he had the right

To hope for her ‑ she had her word to keep.

That night he had no rest, nor thought of sleep.

159

Now laurel‑crowned Apollo, with his heat,

Began his course and up the sky he went

To warm the eastern waves, on which he beat

In brilliance; and the lark with fresh intent

Began to rise and sing. And Troilus sent

For Pandar, and they walked the city wall

Seeking Criseyde, or sign of her at all.

160

Till it was noon, they stood about to see

Any who came; whenever one appeared

From far away, they said that it was she,

Until a little later when he neared;

And now his heart was dull, and now it cleared,

Mocked at so often, they stood staring thus

At nothing, Troilus and Pandarus.

161

Then Troilus said to Pandar with a frown,

`For all I know, it will be noon for sure

Before Criseyde will come into the town;

She has enough to do and to endure

To win her father over, nothing truer.

For the old man will force her to have dinner

Before she goes ‑ God torture the old sinner !

162

Said Pandar `That may be, indeed, it's plain;

And therefore let us have our dinner too,

And after dinner you can come again.'

So they went homeward without more to‑do

And then returned. But long will they pursue

Before they find the thing they're gaping after;

Fortune had planned to dupe them, for her laughter.

163

Said Troilus: `I now can see she might

Be forced to stay with Calkas very late;

Before she comes it may be nearly night;

Come on I I'm going down to watch the gate.

These stupid porters get in such a state.

Make them keep open till she comes along;

I'll pass it off as if there's nothing wrong.'

164

Day dwindled fast, night fell, and the moon hove

Into the sky. Still there was no Criseyde.

Troilus peered at hedge and tree and grove,

He craned his head over the wall, he spied;

And in the end he turned about and cried

`By God, I get her meaning! It's quite plain.

Why, I was nearly in despair again.

165

`She knows what's good for her, and what she's at!

She means to ride back secretly, of course;

And I commend her wisdom too; my hat !

She can't have people gathered in a force

To stare at her! She'll quietly take horse

When it is dark. Then she can reach the gate.

Patience, dear friend; it can't be long to wait.

166 ?????

`We've nothing else to do, and anyhow ‑Look!

There she is, I see her ! Yes, it's she !

O Pandarus, will you believe me now?

Heave up your eyes, look there, man !

Can't you see?' Pandar replied: `It's not like that to me.

All wrong again. You gave me such a start;

The thing I see there is a travelling cart.'

167

`Alas, you're right again!' said Troilus,

`Yet it is not for nothing, certainly,

That I should feel my heart rejoicing thus;

My thought holds presage of some good to me;

I don't know how, but all my life,' said he

`I've never felt such comfort, such delight;

My life upon it, she will come tonight.'

168

Pandar replied `It may be, lice enough,'

Agreeing with his friend in all he said,

But, laughing softly at his foolish stuff,

He kept this sober thought inside his head

`It is as likely Robin Hood will tread

The path to Troy as she you wait for here;

Ah me ! Farewell the snows of yester‑year.'

169

The Warden of the Gates began to call

To those outside the city, left and right,

Bidding them drive their cattle, one and all,

Inside, or stay without till morning light.

With many a tear, far on into the night,

Troilus turned his horse; he understood,

And home he rode; waiting would do no good.

170

Nevertheless he cheered himself along,

Thinking he had miscounted to the day;

He said `I must have understood it wrong,

For, on the very night when last I lay

With her, she promised "Sweetheart, if I may,

I shall be here with you as now I am

Before the moon has passed out of the Ram."

171

`She still may keep her promise; she knows best.'

Early neat day he went back to the gate

And up and down he wandered, east and west

Upon the walls with many a weary wait,

But all for nothing ‑ he was blind to fate,

Blinded by hope; and sighing as before,

He went back home, for there was nothing more.

172

And clean out of his heart all hope had fled;

Nothing was left for him to hang upon;

Pain throbbed within his heart as if it bled

In sharp and violent throes ‑ for she was gone.

And when he saw that she stayed on and on,

He could not judge of what it might betoken,

Since she had given her word and it was broken.

173

The third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth ensued

After those ten long days of which I told;

His heart, between his fears and hope renewed,

Half trusted to her promises of old;

But when at last he saw they would not hold

And there was nothing left for him to try,

He knew he must prepare himself to die.

174

Then came that wicked spirit that we know

(God save us all l) as manic jealousy

And crept into his heart of heavy woe;

Because of which, since dead he wished to be,

He neither ate nor drank for misery,

And from all human company he fled;

During this time, that was the life he led.

175

For so defeated and so woebegone

He was, that those with whom he came in touch

Could scarcely know him; he was lean and wan,

As feeble as a beggar on a crutch,

His jealousy had punished him so much;

To those who asked him where he felt the smart

He said he had a pain about his heart.

176

Priam his father, and his Mother too,

His brothers and his sisters, asked in vain

Why he looked sorrowful, to what was due

So much unhappiness, what caused his pain?

But all for nothing, he would not explain,

But that his heart was injured by a blow

And if death came he would be glad to go.

177

And then, one evening, he lay down to sleep;

It happened so that in his sleep he thought

He had gone out into the woods to weep

For her and for the grief that she had brought,

And up and down the forest as he sought

His way, he came upon a tusky boar

sleep upon the sunny forest floor.

178

And close beside it, with her arms enfolding,

And ever kissing it, he saw Criseyde;

The grief he suffered as he stood beholding

Burst all the bonds of sleep, and at a stride

He was awake and in despair, and cried

`O Pandar, now I know it through and through,

I am but dead, there is no more to do.

179

`She has betrayed me, has not played me fair,

She that I trusted more than all creation,

For she has left me, given her heart elsewhere;

The blessed gods have made their revelation,

I saw it in a dream, a divination;

It was Criseyde, and I beheld her thus !'

He told the whole of it to Pandarus.

180

`O my Criseyde, alas, what subtle word,

What new desire, what beauty, or what art,

What anger justly caused, by me incurred,

What fell experience, what guilt of heart

Has torn me from you, set us far apart?

O trust, O faith, assurance deeply tried !

Who has bereft me of my joy, Criseyde?'

181

`Why did I let you leave me, when the pain

Of parting nearly drove me off my head?

O who will ever trust an oath again?

God knows, my brightest lady, I was led

To take for gospel every word you said !

But who is better able to deceive

Than one in whom we hunger to believe?

182

`What shall I do, my Pandarus? Alas !

So sharp, so new, so desperate the ache !

No remedy for what has come to pass !

Were it not better with these hands to take

My life than thus to suffer for her sake?

For death would end my grief and set me free,

While every day I live disgraces me.'

183

Pandarus answered him `Alas the day

That I was born ! have I not said ere this

Dreams can deceive a man in many a way?

Why? Their interpretation goes amiss.

How dare you speak so to her prejudice,

Calling her false because you dreamt of her

And are afraid? You're no interpreter !

184

`Perhaps this boar that figures in your story

(It well may be) is there to signify

Her father Calkas who is old and hoary;

He struggles out into the sun to die

And she in grief begins to weep and cry

And kiss him, as he wallows there confounded.

That is the way your dream should be expounded.'

185

`But what am I to do,' said Troilus,

`To know for certain, how am I to tell?'

`Ah, now you're talking!' answered Pandarus,

`Here's my advice; since you can write so well,

Sit down and write to her, and you can spell,

Or at least try to spell her answer out,

And know the truth where you are now in doubt.

186

`And now, see why; for this I dare maintain,

Supposing she is faithless; if she be,

I cannot think she will write back again,

And if she writes, you very soon will see,

If she has any sort of liberty

To come back here; some phrase of hers will show

Why she's prevented. She will let you know.

187

`You haven't written to her since she went.

Nor she to you; and I will take my oath

She may have reasons that would win consent

Even from you (though now you may be loth)

To say it would be better for you both

For her to stay; so make her write to you;

Feel for the truth, that's all there is to do.'

188

And so it was they came to a conclusion,

These same two lords, and that without delay;

And Troilus in haste and some confusion

Of heart sat down, revolving what to say

And how to tell her of his disarray

And misery; so to his lady dear,

His own Criseyde, he wrote as you shall hear:

189 Troilus' Letter

`Freshest of flowers, whose I am for ever,

Have been, and shall be, elsewhere never swerving,

Body and soul, life, thought, desire, endeavour

All being yours, in humble undeserving

More than my tongue can tell of, since, in serving,

My service fills my being, as matter space,

I recommend me to your noble grace.

190

`Please you, my love, to think; have you reflected

How long a time it is ‑ ah, well you know !

Since you departed, leaving me dejected

In bitter grief; and nothing yet to show

By way of remedy, but greater woe

From day to day? And so I must remain,

While it shall please my well of joy and pain.

191 ?????

`Humbly, and from a heart that's torn in pieces,

(As write he must when sorrow drives a man)

I write my grief, that every hour increases,

With such complaining as I dare, or can

Make in a letter, wet with tears that ran

Like rain, as you can see; and they would speak

Remonstrance, were there language on a cheek.

192

`First I beseech it of your clear, sweet eyes

Not to consider what is fouled in it;

But more than this, dear love, not to despise

But read it well; and if it be unfit,

Cold care in me, alas, has killed my wit;

And so if a wrong thought should seem to start

Out of my head, forgive me, sweetest heart.

193

`Could any lover dare, or have the right

To make a sad remonstrance, at the last,

Against his lady, it is I who might,

Considering this, that for these two months past

You have delayed, whereas you promised fast

Only to stay ten days among the Greeks;

Yet you have not returned, after eight weeks.

194

`But inasmuch as I must needs assent

To all that pleases you, I will complain

No more, but will sigh out my discontent

Humbly, and write to you in restless pain;

Day in, day out, and over and again

I long to hear from you and how you fare

And all that you have done since you were there,

195

`Whose happiness and welfare God increase

In honour; so that upward it may go

Ever and always; may it never cease;

And as your heart would have it, may it grow

And prosper; I pray God it may be so.

And grant that you may soon have pity on me

As I am true to you and true shall be.

196

`And if it please you hear of how I fare

Whose sorrow there is no one could contrive

To paint, I am a garner stored with care,

And, when I wrote this letter, was alive,

But hold my soul in readiness to drive

It sorrowing forth; I hold it in delay

In hope your messenger is on the way.

197

`And these two eyes, with which I see in vain,

Are turned by tears into a double well,

My song into adversity and pain,

My good to grief, my ease of heart to hell,

My joy to woe; what more is there to tell?

And every joy ‑ curse on my life for it! –

And every ease are now their opposite.

198

`Which with your coming back again to Troy

You can redress, and, more than ever I had

A thousand times, you can increase my joy;

For there was never yet a heart so glad

As mine will then be; if you are not sad

To think of me, and feel no kind of ruth

At what I suffer, think of keeping truth.

199

`If, for some fault of mine, I have deserved

To die, or if you care no more for me,

Still, to repay me, in that I have served

You faithfully, I beg of you be free

And generous, and write immediately;

Write, for God's love, my lode‑star in the night,

That death may make an end of my long fight.

200

`If any other reason makes you stay,

Write to console and bring me some relief;

Though it be Hell for me with you away,

I will be patient and endure my grief;

Of all my hopes a letter is the chief;

Now, sweetheart, write, don't leave me to complain;

With hope, or death, deliver me from pain.

201

`Indeed, indeed, my own dear heart and true,

I cannot think, when next you see my face,

Since I have lost all health and colour too,

Criseyde will know me, such is now my case.

My heart's dear daylight, lady full of grace,

The thirst to see your beauty, like a knife,

Cuts at my heart; I scarce hold on to life.

202 ?????

' I say no more, although I have to say

Many more things than I have power to tell;

Whether you give me life, or do away My life,

God give you many a happy spell !

My beautiful, my fresh‑as‑May, farewell !

You that alone command my life or death;

I count upon your truth at every breath.

203 ?????

` 1 wish you that well‑being which, unless

You wish it me, I shall have none.

You gave It once, and now it lies in you no less

To name the day to clothe me in my grave.

In you my life; in you the power to save

Me from all misery, all pain, all smart!

And now farewell, my own, my sweetest heart ! Your T.'

204

This letter was delivered to Criseyde

And in effect she answered as she should;

She wrote with greatest pity, and replied

That she would come as soon as ever she could

To mend what was amiss and make all good,

And so she finished it, but added then

That she would come for sure, but knew not when.

205

Her letter fawned on him and sang his praises

She swore she loved him best; but, to be brief,

He could find nothing there but empty phrases.

Now, Troilus, away and pipe your grief,

Be it east or west, upon an ivy leaf !

Thus goes the world; God shield us from mischance,

And all that mean true dealing, God advance !

206

So misery increased by night and day

For Troilus, his hopes began to sink,

His strength to lessen at her long delay;

He took to bed, but could not sleep a wink,

He did not speak, he did not eat or drink,

Imagining that she had proved unkind,

A thought that drove him almost out of his mind.

207

This dream of his I spoke about before

Haunted his soul, he could not drive it thence;

He felt for certain she was his no more,

And Jove, of his eternal providence,

Had shown him, sleeping, the significance,

Of her untruth and of his own sad story,

And that the boar contained an allegory.

208

And so to fetch his sister then he sent,

A Sibyl, called Cassandra' round about,

Told her his dream and asked her what it meant,

And he implored her to resolve his doubt

About this boar with tusks so strong and stout;

And finally, after a little while,

Cassandra gave her answer with a smile,

209

Saying, as she expounded, `Brother dear,

If it's the truth of this you wish to know,

There are a few old tales you'll have to hear,

Concerning Fortune and her overthrow

Of certain lords of old, and they will show

At once what boar this is, and whence he took

His origin; it's written in the book.'

210

`Diana being angry ‑ and her ire

Turned on the Greeks who would not sacrifice

To her, or at her altar set the fire

To the incense ‑ had recourse to this device

For her revenge; they paid a cruel price;

She sent a boar, large as an ox in stall,

To root their crops up, corn and vines and all.

211

`To kill this boar the countryside was raised;

Now, among those who came to see it slain,

There was a maiden, one of the best praised;

And Meleager, King of that domain,

Fell so in love with her he swore again

To show his manhood; so he plied the spur,

And killed the boar and sent the head to her.

212

`And out of this, as ancient books record,

Envy arose and the dispute ran high;

Tideus is descended from this lord

Directly, or those ancient volumes lie;

But how this Meleager came to die

(It was his mother's fault, she did the wrong)

I will not tell you; it would take too long.'

213

But of Tideus (ere she made an end)

She did not spare to tell, and how he came

To claim the city of Thebes and help his friend

Called Polynices; by a wrongful claim

It was defended in his brother's name,

Eteocles, who held the place in strength.

All this Cassandra told him at great length.

214

And how Haemonides had had the art

To get away when fifty knights were slain

By fierce Tideus; prophecies by heart

She told, of seven kings and all their train

That had encircled Thebes in this campaign,

And of the holy serpent, and the well,

And of the Furies; she went on to tell

215 ???

Of Archemorus and his funeral game

And of Amphiaraus swallowed down

Into the earth: the death that overcame

Tideus: how Hippomedon came to drown:

Parthenopaeus dead of wounds: renown

All shorn from Campaneus, called the Proud,

Slain by a thunderbolt; he cried aloud.

216

She told him how Eteocles, the brother

Of Polynices (celebrated pair)

Met in a skirmish and they slew each other,

And how the Greeks had wept in their despair,

And how the town was burnt and looted there.

So she descended from the days of old

To Diomed; and this is what she told:

217

`Now this same boar betokens Diomede,

Tideus' son, descended as he is

From Meleager, who had made it bleed;

Your lady, wheresoever now she is,

Diomede has her heart and she has his;

Weep if you will, or not, for out of doubt

This Diomede is in, and you are out.'

218

`You're telling lies,' he said `you sorceress,

You and your spirit of false prophecy !

You hope to be a famous prophetess;

Just look at her, this fool of fantasy!

One who takes pains in her malignity

To slander ladies! Off with you! God'.s sorrow

Light upon you! I'll prove you false tomorrow!

219

`You might as well lay slanders on Alceste,

Who, of all creatures ‑ if it be no lie –

That ever lived was kindliest and best;

She, when her husband was condemned to die

Unless she took his place, immediately

Made choice to die for him and go to Hell;

And die she did, as all the stories tell.'

220

Cassandra left; his rage at what she'd said

Made him forget the grief he had endured;

And suddenly he started out of bed

As though some doctor had completely cured

His illness; day by day, to be assured,

He sought to find the truth with all his force,

And thus endured his doomed adventure's course.

221

Fortune, to whom belongs the permutation

Of things under the moon, to her committed

By Jove's high foresight and adjudication,

When nations pass and kingdoms are uncitied

And peoples perish sullied and unpitied,

Fortune, I say, began despoiling Troy

Of her bright feathers, till she was bare of joy.

222

And, among all these things, the end and goal

Of Hector's life was now approaching fast,

When Fate, after unbodying his soul,

Would find a means to drive it forth at last;

And who can strive with Fate? His lot was cast.

So, going into battle, he was caught,

And death came down upon him as he fought.

223

It therefore seems to me that it is right

For all who follow arms and soldiering

To mourn the death of such a noble knight;

For, as he dragged the helmet from a king,

Achilles with an unexpected swing

Shore through his armour, and his body then;

And thus was killed the worthiest of men.

224

For whom, so it is handed down to us,

The general grief was more than tongue can tell,

And above all the grief of Troilus,

Who, next to him, was deemed to be the well

Of honour; so it was his spirit fell

What with his love, his sorrow and unrest;

He wished the heart would burst within his breast.

225

And yet, although beginning to despair,

And dreading that his lady was untrue,

His heart returned to her and lingered there,

As hearts of lovers will, and sought anew

To get her back, Criseyde the bright of hue.

And in his heart he would excuse her, saying

That Calkas was the cause of her delaying.

226

Many a time he planned for them to meet

By wearing pilgrim kit for his disguise

And visiting her, but could not counterfeit

So well as to conceal him from sharp eyes;

Moreover, what excuse could he devise

Supposing he were recognized and caught?

Many a tear he shed as thus he thought.

227

Many a time he wrote to her anew

And piteously ‑ he showed no sign of sloth –

Beseeching her that, since he had been true,

She would return again and keep her oath;

And so, one day, in pity (I am loth

To take it otherwise) she took her pen

And ‑ you shall hear it all ‑ wrote back again:

228 Criseyde's Letter

`Dear son of Cupid, mirror of perfection,

O sword of knighthood, fount of nobleness,

How may a soul in terror and dejection

Send word of joy when she is comfortless?

I heartbroken, I sick, I in distress;

Since neither with the other may have dealing

I cannot send you either heart or healing.

229

`Your long, complaining letter has acquainted

My pitying heart with all your misery,

And I have noted, too, that tears have painted

Your papers, and that you require of me

To come to you; as yet that cannot be.

Lest it be intercepted, it is better

Not to say why, in writing you this letter.

230

`Grievous to me, God knows, is your unrest,

Your urgent haste; you should observe more measure.

It seems you have not taken for the best

What Heaven has ordained, and what you treasure

Most in your memory is your own pleasure.

Do not be angry, please, or out of humour;

What keeps me waiting here is wicked rumour.

231

`For I have heard far more than I expected

Of how things stand between us; I am staying

In order that report may be corrected

By my dissimulation; and they're saying

(Now, don't be angry) you were only playing

With me; no matter for that I In you I see

Nothing but truth and pure nobility.

232

`Come back I will; but in the disarray

In which I stand just now, what day or year

This is to happen, I can hardly say.

Yet, in effect, I beg you persevere

In your affection, speak me well, my dear,

For truly, and as long as life may last,

You may be sure my friendship will hold fast.

233

`Again I beg you not to take it ill

If what I write is short; for things are such

Where now I am, I dare not write; but still

Letters are things for which I have no touch.

Moreover one short sentence can say much.

The intention is what counts and not the length.

And now, farewell; God give you grace and strength !

Your C.'

234

Poor Troilus thought this letter very strange

When he had read it, and was sadly stirred;

He sighed; it seemed the calends of a change.

But finally, for all that had occurred,

He could not think she would not keep her word;

And easier for those who love so well

It is to trust, though trusting be a Hell.

235

Nevertheless they say that at long last

In spite of all, a man will finally

Perceive the truth; this happened, and quite fast,

To Troilus; she was ‑ he came to see –

Less kindly‑natured than she ought to be;

And in the end he knew beyond all doubt

That all was lost which he had been about.

236

Standing one day in melancholy mood,

With his suspicions clouded in a frown

Thinking of her, he heard a multitude

Of Trojans clamouring about the town,

Bearing, as was their fashion, up and down

A fine piece of coat armour (says my story)

Before Deiphebus, to show his glory.

237 ?????

This coat, as says my author, Lollius,

Deiphebus had rent from Diomede

That very day, and when this Troilus

Beheld it there, he gave it sudden heed –

The length ‑ the breadth ‑ the pattern in the bead

And all the worked embroidery in gold

‑ And suddenly he felt his heart turn cold.

238

There, on the collar, could he not perceive

The brooch he'd given her when they had to sever,

Yes on the very day she took her leave,

In memory of his grief and him for ever?

Had she not pledged her faith that she would never

Part with that brooch? But that was long before;

He knew he could not trust her any more.

239

Homewards he took himself and soon he sent

For Pandarus, and told him from the start

About the brooch and of this new event,

Clamoured against her variable heart,

Mourned his long love, his truth to her, the smart

Of this new anguish, cried for the release

Of death without delay, to bring him peace.

240

And thus he spoke: `O lady bright, Criseyde,

Where is your faith to me? And where your vow?

Where is your love? Where is your truth?' he cried,

`And is it Diomede you are feasting now?

Alas, I would have thought that, anyhow,

Had you intended not to stand upon Your truth to me, you'd not have led me on.

241

`Who now will trust an oath? Ah, let them go !

Alas, I never would have thought ere this

That you, my own Criseyde, could alter so !

Nay, were I guilty, had I done amiss,

Could there have been the cruel artifice

In you to slay me thus? And your good name

Is now destroyed; there lies my grief and shame.

242

`Was there no other brooch you had in keeping

To fee some newer lover with?' said he,

`Except the brooch I gave you, wet with weeping,

For you to wear in memory of me?

There was no reason why this had to be,

Unless it were for spite and that you meant

To make an open show of your intent.

243

`Cast from your mind, I see I have no part

In you, and yet I neither can, nor may,

For all the world, find it within my heart

To un‑love you a quarter of a day !

Born in an evil hour, still I say

That you, for all the grief that you are giving,

I still love best of any creature living.'

244

And then ` O God Almighty, send me grace

That I may meet again with Diomede !

For truly, if I have the fighting‑space

And power, I shall hope to make him bleed !

O God,' he said, `that shouldest take good heed

To foster truth, and make wrong pay the price,

Why wilt thou not do vengeance on this vice?

245

`O Pandarus, so ready to upbraid me,

Who mocked me for believing in a dream,

See for yourself ! Has not your niece betrayed me?

How stands the bright Criseyde in your esteem?

And many are the ways, or so I deem,

In which the gods reveal our joy and woe

In sleep; my dream has proved that it is so.

246

`Certainly now, without more waste of breath,

Henceforward and as truly as I may,

I will bear arms and I will seek my death;

Little I care how soon will be the day.

Truly, Criseyde my sweetest, let me say

To you, whom I have wholly loved and served,

What you have done to me was not deserved.'

247

This Pandarus, who stood the while and heard,

Knew it was true, and he had known it long;

He made no answer to him, not a word,

Sad for his friend and for a grief so strong,

And shamed because his niece had done a wrong.

Stunned by these things, he stood in deep dismay,

Still as a stone, without a word to say.

248

But at the last he spoke, and thus he cried:

`O my dear brother, I can do no more;

What should I say to you? I hate Criseyde;

God knows that I shall hate her evermore !

As for the thing which you besought me for,

Having no true regard to my own honour

Or peace of mind, I worked your will upon her.

249

`If I did anything that gave you pleasure

I am glad of it; as for this treason now,

God knows that I am sorry beyond measure!

Would I could ease your heart of it; I vow

I would most gladly do so, knew I how;

Almighty God, deliver her, I pray,

Out of this world; there's no more I can say.'

250

Great was the grief and plaint of Troilus;

But on her course went Fortune, as of old.

Criseyde consoles the son of Tideus,

And Troilus may weep in care and cold.

Such is the world for those who can behold

The way it goes; there's little of heart's rest;

God grant we learn to take it for the best.

251 ?????

The knighthood and the prowess, do not doubt it,

Of Troilus, this very gallant knight

- As you can read in all the books about it –

- Were plain to see in many a cruel fight;

And certainly his anger, day and night,

Fell savagely upon the Greeks, I read;

And most of all he sought out Diomede.

252

And many a time, my author says, they met With bloody strokes, and mighty words were said; The spears that they had taken care to whet They tried on one another, fought and bled, And Troilus rained down blows upon his head. In vain, however; Fortune had not planned That either perish at the other's hand.

13051

BOOR V

253

And had I undertaken to relate

The feats in arms of this distinguished man,

It is his battles I would celebrate;

Seeing, however, that I first began

To tell his love, I've done the best I can.

As for his deeds, let those who would recall

Them, read in Dares, he can tell them all.

254

Beseeching every lady bright of hue

And gentle woman whosoe'er she be,

That though, alas, Criseyde was proved untrue,

She be not angry for her guilt with me;

Her guilt is there in other books to see,

And I will gladlier write, to please you best,

Of true Penelope and good Alceste.'

255

Nor am I only speaking for these men,

But most of all for women so betrayed

By treacherous folk ‑ God give them sorrow,

Amen t Who by their subtlety and wit have played

On your affections in their faithless trade,

Which moves me to speak out; be careful, then,

Listen to what I say: beware of men.

256

Go little book, go little tragedy,

Where God may send thy maker, ere he die,

The power to make a work of comedy;

But, little book, it's not for thee to vie

With others, but be subject, as am I,

To poesy itself, and kiss the gracious

Footsteps of Homer, Virgil, Ovid, Statius.

257

And since there is such great diversity

In English, and our writing is so young,

I pray to God that none may mangle thee,

Or wrench thy metre by default of tongue;

And wheresoever thou be read, or sung,

I beg of God that thou be understood!

And now to close my story as I should.

258

The wrath of Troilus, I began to say,

Was cruel, and the Grecians bought it dear,

For there were thousands that he made away,

Who, in his time, had never any peer

Except his brother Hector, so I hear.

But O alas, except that God so willed,

He met with fierce Achilles and was killed.

259

And, having fallen to Achilles' spear,

His light soul rose and rapturously went

Towards the concavity of the eighth sphere,

Leaving conversely every element,

And, as he passed, he saw with wonderment

The wandering stars and heard their harmony,

Whose sound is full of heavenly melody.

260

As he looked down, there came before his eyes

This little spot of earth, that with the sea

Lies all embraced, and found he could despise

This wretched world, and hold it vanity,

Measured against the full felicity

That is in Heaven above; and, at the last,

To where he had been slain his look he cast,

261

And laughed within him at the woe of those

Who wept his death so busily and fast,

Condemning everything we do that flows

From blind desire, which can never last,

When all our thought on Heaven should be cast;

And forth he went, not to be long in telling,

Where Mercury appointed him his dwelling.

262 ?????

Lo, such an end had Troilus for love !

Lo, such an end his valour, his prowess!

Lo, such an end his royal state above,

Such end his lust, such end his nobleness !

And such an end this false world's brittleness !

And thus began his loving of Criseyde

As I have told it you, and thus he died.

263 ?????

Oh all you fresh young people, he or she,

In whom love grows and ripens year by year,

Come home, come home from worldly vanity !

Cast the heart's countenance in love and fear

Upwards to God, who in His image here

Has made you; think this world is but a fair

Passing as soon as flower‑scent in air.

264

And give your love to Him who, for pure love,

Upon a cross first died that He might pay

Our debt, and rose, and sits in Heaven above;

He will be false to no one that will lay

His heart wholly on Him, I dare to say.

Since He is best to love, and the most meek,

What need is there a feigning love to seek?

265

Behold these old accursed pagan rites !

Behold how much their gods are worth to you!

Behold these wretched worldly appetites !

Behold your labour's end and guerdon due

From Jove, Apollo and Mars, that rascal crew !

Behold the form in which the ancients speak

Their poetry, if you should care to seek.

266

O moral Gower, I dedicate this book

To you, and you, my philosophical Strode.'

In your benignity and zeal to look,

To warrant, and, where need is, to make good;

And to that truthfast Christ who died on rood,

With all my heart for mercy ever I pray,

And to the Lord right thus I speak and say:

267

Thou One arid Two and Three and Never‑ending,

That reignest ever in Three and Two and One,

Incomprehensible, all‑comprehending,

From visible foes, and the invisible one,

Defend us all! And lesu, Mary's Son,

Make us in mercy worthy to be throe,

For love of her, mother and maid benign!

Amen.