arts and ideas chaucer troilus and criseyde book III

Chaucer
Troilus and Criseyde

BkI BkII BkIII BkIV BkV

Book III

O blissful light, whose beams in clearness run

Over all Third Heaven', adorning it with splendour,

O daughter of love and darling of the Sun,

Pleasure of Love, O afable and tender,

The ready guest of noble hearts, defender

And cause of all well‑being and delight,

Worshipped by thy benignity and might!

In heaven, in hell, in earth and the salt sea

Thy power is felt and is in evidence,

Since man, bird, beast, fish, herb and greening tree

Feel thee in season, eternal effluence!

God Himself loves, nor turns His countenance thence,

And there's no creature in this world alive

That without love has being or can thrive.

Thou first didst move Jove to those glad effects

Through which it comes that all things live and are,

Madest him amorous and, lo, he elects

His mortal loves; thou givest him, as far

As pleases thee, his pleasure, or dost bar,

Sending him in a thousand shapes to look

For love on earth; and whom thou wouldest, he took.

Yes, and fierce Mars for thee has slaked his ire;

Thou canst ennoble every heart and face

As it may please thee; those thou wilt set on fire

Learn to dread shame and shun whatever is base.

Courteous thou makest them, and fresh in grace,

And high or low, as his intent may be,

The joys a man may have are sent by thee.

Thou holdest realm and home in unity,

And art the steadfast cause of friendship too,

Thou knowest all that covered quality

Of things that makes us wonder what or who

It is that makes them tick; where is the clue

Why she loves him, or he loves there or here,

And why this fish, not that, comes to the weir.

Thy law is set upon the universe;

And this 1 know, for lovers told it me,

That he who strives against thee fares the worse.

Now, lady bright, of thy benignity,

In reverence to those that worship thee,

Whose clerk I am, O teach me how to show

Some of the joy that, serving thee, they know.

Into my naked heart a sentience pour

With power, to show thy sweetness and delight!

Caliope, be present; I implore

Thy voice, for now is need! Thou seest my plight;

How shall I tell of Troilus' joy, or write

That all may honour Venus as they read it?

And to such joy, may God bring those who need it!

He lay there all this meanwhile, Troilus,

Learning the lesson suited to his case;

`By Jove,' he thought, `I shall say thus and thus,

And thus entreat my darling for her grace;

That's a good phrase, and thus I'll set my face;

This I must not forget.' Unhappy man,

Pray God all goes according to his plan !

Lord, how his heart began to quake and thrum,

Hearing her step 1 His sighs came short and quick;

Pandar had led her in, and then had come

Closer, and twitched the curtain, by a trick

To peek inside, and said `God help the sick !

Just look who's come to see you ! There she stands,

The one who has your murder on her hands !'

He spoke as if he were about to weep.

`Ah ! Ah !' cried Troilus, with a pitiful sigh,

`God knows if I am ill! I cannot sleep;

I cannot see ‑ who is it standing by?'

`Sir,' said Criseyde, `it's Pandarus and I.’

'You, sweetheart? O alas I cannot kneel

Or rise to show the reverence I feel.'

He raised himself a little, but she came

At once and softly laid her hands on his.

`You must not kneel to me; in heaven's name,

What do you mean?' she said; `Two purposes I have in coming,

Sir; the first one is To thank you; next to beg continuance

Of your protection, and your countenance.'

This Troilus, hearing his lady pray

For his support, lay neither quick nor dead:

Bashfulness left him not a word to say,

Not even if they'd come to take his head.

But, Lord, to see him suddenly turn red !

And, gentlemen, his lesson, learned so neatly,

To beg her favour, disappeared completely.

All this Criseyde had noticed well enough,

For she was wise, and loved him never the less,

Though he was not self‑confident or tough,

Nor tried to fool her with some fine address;

But what he said, as soon as his distress

Began to lessen, if my rhyme will hold,

I'll tell you, as my ancient authors told.

With a changed voice, changed by his very dread,

Troilus answered. In a manner bare

Of all assurance, and now blushing red,

Now paling, to Criseyde, his lady fair,

With downcast, humble and surrendered air,

Twice he burst forth; one word was all his art,

And it was, `Mercy, mercy, sweetest heart!'

Silent awhile, when he could speak again,

The next word was `God knows that when I gave

Myself to you, as far as it has lain

In me to do so, and as God may save

My soul, I became yours, and to the grave,

Poor wretch, I shall be ‑ not that I complain

Of suffering; none the less I suffer pain.

`This is as much, O sweet and womanly one,

As I may now bring forth; if it displease you,

I will revenge it on me and have done,

Soon, soon, and take my life, if that will ease you,

And death shall stay your anger and appease you;

Since you have heard me say somewhat, or try,

I do not care how soon I am to die.'

To see the manful sorrow that he felt

Might well have touched a heart of very stone,

Pandarus stood in tears, about to melt,

Nudging his niece anew at every moan;

`True are the hearts' he sobbed `that weep alone !

O for the love of heaven, end our woe,

Or kill us both together, ere you go !'

`I? What?' she said, `By heaven and in truth

I do not know what you would have me say.'

`Not know?' said he, `‑Have pity on his youth

For God's love, would you have him pass away?'

`Well then,' she said, `I'll ask him, if I may,

What is the aim and end of his intent?

I never have truly gathered what he meant.'

`What I have meant? Ah, sweetest heart, my dear,'

Said Troilus, `my lovely, fresh and free,

Let but the rivers of your eyes stream clear

In friendliness, once in a while, on me,

And give me your consent that I may be

He that, without a touch of vice, may ever

Offer his whole, true service and endeavour,

`As to his lady and his chief resource,

With all my heart and mind and diligence,

And to be comforted, or feel the force

Of your displeasure equal to my offence,

As death for any disobedience;

Deign me the honour, too, to use your power,

Commanding me in all, at any hour,

`And I to be your ever‑humble, true,

Secret in service, patient in distress,

And in desire constant, fresh and new

Servant, to serve you in all eagerness,

In every inclination you express,

All it may cost accepting in good part,

See, that is what I mean, my sweetest heart.'

Said Pandarus `Well! There's a hard request,

Reasonable for a lady to deny!

Now, by the Feast of Jupiter the Blest,

Were I a god, you should be marked to die,

You, that can hear this man lay all else by

To serve you until death, he is so fervent,

Yet you refuse to take him for your servant!'

Now fully at her ease, she turned her eyes

To look at him, serenely debonair,

And thought she need not hurry her replies;

But in the end she answered him with care,

And softly said `My honour safe and fair,

And in such form as you have heard him proffer,

I will receive his service, at his offer,

`Beseeching him, for heaven's love, that he

Will, in all honour and without pretence,

As I mean well by him, mean well by me,

And guard my honour with all diligence.

If I can make him happy in this sense

Henceforward, then I will; this is no feigning;

And now be whole again, no more complaining.

`Nevertheless I warn you all the same,

Prince as you are, King's son and famous knight,

You shall have no more sovereignty or claim

On me in love than in such case is right;

And if you do amiss, I shall requite

It, though it anger you; but while you serve me,

Then I will cherish you as you deserve me.

` So in a word, dear heart, my chosen man,

Be happy; draw towards your strength again

And I will truly give you all I can

To pay you back in sweetness for your pain;

If I am she you need, you shall obtain

For every grief a recompense in bliss.'

And then she took him in her arms to kiss.

And down fell Pandarus upon his knees;

Casting his eyes and hands to heaven, he cried

`Immortal god, O deathless deity

- Cupid I mean ‑ by this be glorified!

Venus, make melody! And, hark! Outside

I seem to hear the bells of Troy a‑ringing

For joy, without a hand to set them swinging!

`But ho! No more of this ‑ and anyhow

They'll soon be coming back, when they have done

Reading that letter; there! I hear them now.

Criseyde, let me adjure you now, for one,

And you, for another, Troilus, my son;

Be ready at my house when I shall call –

You may be sure I shall arrange for all –

`To ease your hearts in practising your craft,

And let us see which of you wins the prize

For talking feelingly of love!' He laughed;

`You shall have leisure there to theorize.'

`How soon can this be done?" You must be wise,'

Said Pandarus, `and wait till you are well;

It all will happen, just as you heard me tell:

Deiphebus and Helen on their own

Started that moment to ascend the stair,

And, lord, how Troilus began to groan,

To blind his brother and his sister there.

Said Pandarus, `It's time we went elsewhere;

Now, little niece, take leave of them, all three;

Leave them to talk, and come along with me.'

She took her leave of them most mannerly,

As well she could, and in return they bowed

And joined in doing her full courtesy;

When she had gone they sang her praises loud,

Spoke wonders of her excellence, and vowed

Her manners were enchanting, and her wit;

It was a joy to hear them praising it.

Now let her wend her way to her own place,

While we return to Troilus again;

He set at naught the letter and the case

Deiphebus had studied (but in vain).

From Helen and his brother, to be plain,

He longed to be delivered; it were best,

He said, to let him sleep; he needed rest.

So Helen kissed him and to where she dwelt

Set off, the others too; it all went right,

And Pandarus, as fast as he could pelt,

Came back to Troilus, in bee‑line flight,

And on a pallet all that happy night

At blissful ease by Troilus he lay

Happy to talk until the break of day;

Yet, when they all had gone except these two,

And the great doors had shut away the town,

(To tell it shortly and without ado)

This Pandarus got up and sat him down

Freely on Troilus' bed, and with a frown,

Began to speak in a more serious way,

And I shall tell you what he tried to say.

`My dearest lord and brother, as God knows

- And so do you ‑ it touched me to the quick

So long to see you languish in the woes

Of love, ever more desperately sick.

By every ingenuity and trick

Since then, I have been busy, ploy by ploy,

To bring you out of suffering into joy.

`And I've so managed matters, as you know,

That, thanks to me, you stand in a fair way

To prosper well. I say this not to crow;

Do you know why? I am ashamed to say;

To pleasure you I have begun to play

A game I'll never play for any other,

Not though he were a thousand times my brother.

`For you I have become since I began,

Half earnest, half in game, a go‑between,

The kind that brings a woman to a man;

You know yourself what thing it is I mean.

For I have made my niece ‑ and she is clean

Place her whole trust on what is fine in you;

She will do all that you would have her do.

`God, who knows all, bear witness here for me !

There was no greed of gain in what I sought;

I only wished to abridge the misery

That was destroying you ‑ or so I thought.

Good brother, now do everything you ought,

For God's dear love, to keep her out of blame;

As you are wise and good, protect her name.

`As well you know, people now think of her

As one enshrined and sainted, so to say.

The man is still unborn who could prefer

A charge that she had ever gone astray;

And woe is me that set her in the way

- My own dear niece ‑ of what is yet to do!

I am her uncle and her traitor too.

`And were it known that I, by cunning measures,

Had put into her head the fantasy

Of being wholly yours to do your pleasures,

Why, all the world would cry out shame on me,

And say it was the foulest treachery

This deed of mine, that ever had been done.

She would be lost, and what would you have won?

`And so, before I take the step ahead,

Let me again beseech you, let me pray

For secrecy; we would be better dead

Than be betrayed in this, I mean to say;

Do not be angry with me for the way

I harp on secrecy; this high affair,

As you well know, demands as high a care.

`Think of the sorrows brought about ere this

By those who boast their conquests! One may read

Of many a sad mischance, of things amiss,

Day after day, just for this wicked deed;

And therefore ancient writers are agreed

And they have written, as we teach the young,

"The first of virtues is to hold your tongue."

`And were it now my purpose to engage

In a diffuse discussion, I could name

Almost a thousand from our heritage

Of ancient tales, of women brought to shame

By foolish boasters; you could do the same,

And proverbs too, against the vice of blabbing;

Even if it's the truth, it still is gabbing.

`O tongue, alas, that has so often torn,

And from so many a lady fair of face,

The cruel cry "Alas that I was born!"

And has kept fresh so many a girl's disgrace,

When what is boasted of in any case

Is oftenest a lie, when brought to test;

Braggarts are natural liars at the best.

`A braggart and a liar is all one;

As thus: suppose a woman granted me

Her love, and said that others there were none;

If I were sworn to this in secrecy,

And, after, went and blabbed to two or three,

I'd be a braggart, and, by the same token,

A liar too, because my word was broken.

`Look at such people! Are they not to blame?

What should I call them? What? What are they at,

These men that boast of women, and by name,

Who never promised either this or that,

And knew no more of them than my old hat?

God bless us all! It's little wonder then

Women are shy of dealing with us men.

`I do not say this as distrusting you,

Or any man of sense; but for the sot,

And for the mischief in the world now due

To folly as often as to wicked plot;

This blabbing vice ‑ a woman fears it not

In men of sense, if she has been to school;

The man of sense takes warning from the fool.

`But to the point, my brother; to speak plain,

Keep everything that I have said in mind,

And keep it close! And now, cheer up again,

For when your moment comes, you then will find

Me true; I'll do your business in such kind

As will suffice you, if the Lord is good,

For all will happen as you wish it would.

` I know you mean her well, by Heaven I do!

And that is why. 1 dared to undertake

Your business; what she now has granted you

You understand; the day is set to make

The contract. Well, I cannot keep awake,

Good night! Since you're in Heaven, say a prayer

To send me death, or let me join you there.'

Who could express the joy, the very bliss

That pierced the soul of Troilus when he felt

The effect of Pandar's promised help in this?

For all his former sorrows that had dealt

His heart so many a blow, began to melt

In joy; the luxury of sigh and tear

He felt no more, it seemed to disappear.

But just as all these woodlands and these hedges

That winter‑long are dead and dry and grey,

Revest themselves in green and are May's pledges

To every lusty lad that likes to play,

So, to speak truth, and in the self‑same way,

His heart grew suddenly so full of joy,

There never was a gladder man in Troy.

Turning to Pandar, upon whom he cast

An earnest look, a friendly one to see,

He said, `Dear friend, it was in April last

As well you know (consult your memory)

You found me almost dead for misery

And worked on me, to bring me to confess

The secret cause of my unhappiness.

`You know how long it was that I forbore

To tell you, though I trust you best, and though

I knew there was no danger on that score.

Then tell me if you will, since this was so,

If I was loth that even you should know,

How would I dire tell others, in my fear

‑ I who am quaking now, lest someone hear?

`Nevertheless I swear, and by that Lord

Who as He pleases governs all whatever,

(And if I lie, Achilles with his sword

Cleave through my heart !) ‑ swear, should I live for ever,

Who am but mortal man, that I could never

Dare ‑ could, nor would ‑ make boast to anyone

Of this, for all that's good beneath the sun.

`For I would rather die, and I determine

To do so, in the stocks, in prison, down

In foulest filth and wretchedness and vermin,

Captive of cruel King Agamenoun;

And this in all the temples in the town

Aye, and by all the gods too, I will swear

To you tomorrow morning, if you care.

`And as to all that you have done for me,

That is a thing I never can repay,

I know that well, not if I were to be

Killed for your sake a thousand times a day !

And there is nothing more that I can say

Except that from now on I'll be your slave

Wherever you go, and serve you to the grave.

`But here, with all my heart, I beg of you

Never to think I could be so insane

As to imagine ‑ for you seemed to do –

That what you did in friendship for my pain

Was done in bawdry, like a pimp, for gain;

I'm not a madman, though I be a clod;

I know full well it wasn't that, by God !

` If there are men whose business in such dealings

Is done for money, call them what you must;

What you have done was done with noble feelings,

Done with compassion, fellowship and trust;

Distinguish love from what is done for lust.

There's a diversity to be discerned

Between things similar, so I have learned.

`And that you may be sure I could not blister

Your services by thinking them a jest,

Or shameful, there's Polyxena, my sister,

Or there's Cassandra, Helen and the rest,

Any of them, the fairest and the best

In the whole pack; just tell me which may be

The one you want, and leave the rest to me.

`And since this service has been done by you

To save my life, not for reward or fee,

I beg you, for God's love, to see me through

This great adventure; if it is to be

It needs you now; whatever you decree;

You make the rules, which, high and low I'll keep.

And now, good night, and let us go to sleep.'

Content in one another and at rest,

The world could hardly add a joy to theirs;

And in the morning they arose and dressed

And each went off upon his own affairs;

But Troilus who felt the burning airs

Of sharp desire and hope and promised pleasure

Did not forget wise Pandar's rule and measure,

And in a manlier way restrained his youth,

The reckless action, the unbridled glance,

And not a living soul, to tell the truth,

Could have imagined from his countenance,

Or what he said, a single circumstance;

Far as a cloud he seemed from everyone,

So well was his dissimulation done.

During the time of which I now am writing,

This was his life; with all his fullest might

By day he was in Mars' high service, fighting

The enemy in arms and as a knight;

And through the darkness to the early light,

He mostly lay, wondering how to serve

His lady better, and her thanks deserve,

And, soft as was his bed, I will not swear

There was no strain upon his mind; in fact

He turned and turned upon his pillows there,

Wishing himself possessed of what he lacked;

But in such cases, often men react

With as disturbed a pleasure as did he;

At least, this seems a possibility.

Certain it is, returning to my matter,

That all this meanwhile, so the story goes,

He saw her now and then, and, which was better,

She spoke to him, whenever she dared and chose,

And by agreeing then, beneath the rose,

(Ever the best way) settled, in their need,

How upon all occasions to proceed.

So hurried were their questions and replies

Anxiously spoken on the watch, (in fear

Lest anyone imagine or surmise

Something about it, reaching out an ear),

That there was nothing in the world so dear

To them as was their hope that love would send

A time to bring their speech to a right end.

But in the little that they did or said,

His prudent spirit took such careful heed

He knew by instinct what was in her head,

So that to her it seemed there was no need

To tell him what to do, still less, indeed,

What to avoid; love that had come so late

Had opened joy before her, like a gate.

And, to be brief (for I must mend my pace),

His actions and his words were so discreet,

He stood so highly in his lady's grace

That twenty thousand times she would repeat

Her thanks to God for having let them meet;

So schooled to do her service to the letter

He was, the world could not have shown a better.

She found him so dependable in all,

So secret, so obedient to her will,

That she could truly feel he was a wall

Of steel to her, a shield from every ill;

To trust in his good management and skill

She was no more afraid; he seemed inspired.

(No more afraid, I mean, than was required.)

And Pandarus was stoking up the fire,

Ready and punctual and diligent,

His only thought to speed his friend's desire;

So on he shoved, and back and forth he went

With letters from the city to the tent

Of 'Troilus; surely no one could attend

More carefully the wishes of a friend.

By some it is perhaps anticipated

That every word and message, look or smile

Of Troilus is now to be related

Just as they reached his lady all this while;

But it would make a long and tedious file

To read, of anyone in his position,

And have his words and looks on exhibition.

I have not heard of any writer who

Has tried it, nor, I think, has anyone;

I could not do it if I wanted to.

There was a deal of letter‑writing done;

The matter, says my author, well might run

Another hundred verses; he ignored it.

How then should I be able to record it?

But to the great effect; I put it thus:

It was a concord quiet and complete

They now enjoyed (Criseyde and Troilus)

As I have said, and at this time was sweet;

Save only that they could not often meet

Or have the leisure to fulfil their speeches.

There came a time, which now my story reaches,

When Pandar, always doing what he might

To gain those ends of which you are aware,

(To bring together in his house, some night,

His lovely niece and Troilus, that there

They might talk over all this high affair

And bind it up to both their satisfaction)

Had, as he thought, discerned a time for action.

For he, acting with great deliberation,

Had forecast everything; his commonsense

Had given effect to this premeditation;

He had spared for neither trouble nor expense.

Come, if they liked, to have their conference,

Nothing should fail them; as for being caught

By spies, that was impossible, he thought.

No fear; he was down wind from every kind

Of chattering pie or spoilsport in the game;

So all was well, for the whole world was blind

To their affair, the wild bird and the tame;

The timber's there, all ready for the frame,

And we need nothing now but to be clear

As to the hour when she should appear.

And Troilus, to whom these careful schemes

Were fully known, waited as best he might;

He too had made arrangements, as it seems,

And found a pretext that would set things right

Should any note his absence, day or night,

While he was in the service of his love

‑ That he was sacrificing to the gods above,

Keeping a lonely vigil under vow

To hear Apollo's answer, and to see

The quivering of the holy laurel‑bow

Before Apollo spoke out of the tree,

To tell him when the Greeks would turn and flee;

Let no one therefore ‑ God forbid! ‑ prevent him,

But pray Apollo's answer might be sent him.

Now there was little more to do, and soon

Pandar was up, for, briefly to explain,

Immediately upon the change of moon,

When earth, a night or two, was dark again,

And all the skies were gathering for rain,

Off in the morning to his niece he went,

And all of you have heard with what intent.

When he arrived, he started making fun

As usual, beginning with a jape

Against himself, and swore before he had done,

By this and that that she should not escape,

Or keep him running round her like an ape;

Certainly, by her leave, she was to come

That very night to sup with him at home.

She laughed at that and looked for an excuse,

And said `It's raining, looks How can I go?'

`You must; don't stand there musing, it's no use;

And don't be late. It's got to be, you know.'

And they at last agreed it should be so,

` Or else ‑ ' he swore it softly in her ear

`If you don't come to me, I shan't come here.'

And then she asked him, keeping her voice down,

Whether he knew if Troilus would be there.

He swore he wouldn't, he was out of town;

`But all the same,' he said, `suppose he were,

Surely that need not weigh you down with care?

Rather than have him seen there, I would die

A thousand deaths; you need not fear a spy.'

My author has not cared to set it down

What she was thinking when he told her so,

(I mean that Troilus was out of town)

Or if she thought it was the truth or no;

At least she granted him that she would go

Without suspicion, being so besought,

And, as his niece, obeyed him as she ought.

Nevertheless she pressed her point on Pandar;

Although to dine with him would start no scare,

One must beware of many a goose and gander

Who love to dream up things that never were,

So let him choose his other guests with care;

`Uncle,' she urged him, `since I trust you best,

Make sure that all is well; I'll do the rest.'

He swore to this by all the stocks and stones,

By all the gods that are in heaven as well,

On pain of being taken, skin and bones,

And cast as deep as Tantalus in Hell,

King Pluto's place. What more is there to tell?

When all was settled, Pandar took his leave;

She came to supper at the fall of eve,

Accompanied by certain of her men,

And by her lovely niece, Antigone,

And other of her women, nine or ten.

Who do you think was happy, answer me,

But Troilus? He stood where he could see

Out of a window in a closet‑store,

Cooped there since midnight on the night before,

Unknown to anyone, save Pandarus,

Who, to resume, now met her in the hall

With every mark of joy and friendly fuss,

Embracing her, and then, as to a ball,

He led them in to supper, one and all,

When the time came and sat them softly down,

Needing, God knows, no dainties fetched from town !

And after supper they began to rise,

Eased and refreshed and happier by half;

Lucky the man best able to devise

Something to please her, or to make her laugh;

He sang; she played; he told a tale of chaff.

All things, however, have an end, and so

At last she took her leave, meaning to go.

O Fortune, O Executrix of Dooms,

O heavenly influences in the sky !

Truth is you are our herdsmen and our grooms,

And we your cattle, though we question why,

And think your reasoning has gone awry;

So with Criseyde, I mean: against her will,

The gods had their own purpose to fulfil.

Bent was the moon in Cancer, silver‑pale,

And joined with Saturn and with Jupiter,

And such a rain from heaven, such a gale

Came smoking down that all the women there

Were terrified, quite overcome with fear;

Pandar made comment, laughing up his sleeve,

`Fine time, your ladyship, to take your leave !

`But, my dear niece, if ever in any way

I may have pleased you, let me beg of you

To do me a small favour; why not stay

And spend the night here? I implore you to.

It is as much your house as mine. Now, do !

It's not a joke, I really mean it so;

It would be a disgrace to let you go.'

She, knowing her advantage just as well

As half the world does, listened to his prayer;

The streets were flooding and the rain still fell.

It seemed as good a bargain to stay there

And grant the little favour with an sir

And then be thanked, as grumble and then stay;

Going home now was not the better way.

`I will indeed,' she answered, `Uncle dear,

If that is what you'd like, it shall be so;

I shall be very happy to stay here,

And I was joking when I said I'd go.'

`Thank you, dear niece,' he answered, `joke or no,

To tell the truth you put me in a fright;

I am delighted you will stay the night.'

Thus all is well; and joy began to flower

All over again, the party warmed and spread;

But Pandar, if he'd had it in his power,

Would gladlier have hurried her to bed,

And so `What a tremendous rain!' he said,

` Such weather is only fit for sleeping in,

That's my advice to you, so let's begin.

`Now, niece, you know where I am going to put you,

So that we shan't be lying far asunder,

And so you shall not hear (if that will suit you)

The noise of all this downpour and the thunder?

By God, right in my little closet yonder!

And I'll be in the outer room, alone,

And guard your women for you, on my own.

`Here in this central chamber, which you see,

Your women can sleep comfortably soft;

And right in there is where you are to be;

If you lie well tonight, "come once, come oft",

And never care what weather is aloft.

Some wine, now I Presently, when you think best,

It will be time for us to go and rest.'

And that was all; soon, if I may pursue,

Dessert was served, the traverse thereupon

Was drawn, and those with nothing more to do

About the room, departed and were gone,

And meanwhile it was raining, on and on

Amazingly; the wind blew loud and bleak;

People could hardly hear each other speak.

Then Pandarus, her uncle, as he should,

With certain of her women ‑ three or four –

Escorted her to bed and, when he could,

He took his leave, and, bowing to the floor,

He said, `Just here, outside this closet‑door,

Across the way, your women will be near you;

You only have to call and they will hear you.'

Once she was in her closet and in bed,

With all her waiting‑women ordered out

And sent to bed themselves, as I have said,

No one was left to skip or lounge about;

They had been scolded off, you needn't doubt,

(Such as were still astir) and told to keep

Their chambers and let other people sleep.

100

But Pandarus, who knew the ancient dance

At every step, and every point therein,

Saw all was well, with nothing left to chance,

And judged it was the moment to begin

His work, and from the door he took the pin;

Still as a stone, and with no more delay

He sat him down by Troilus right away.

101

To reach the point as quickly as I can,

He told him all the cunning artifice

Of the affair, and said `Get ready, man,

You are about to enter Heaven's bliss.'

` O blessed Venus, send me grace for this !

I never had more need of it,' he cried,

`Nor ever have felt half so terrified.'

102

Said Pandarus `Don't be at all afraid;

It will all happen just as you desire.

I promise you the gruel is well made,

If it is not I'll throw it in the fire.'

`Yet, blessed Venus,' Troilus prayed, `inspire

My heart this night, as constantly as I

Serve, and shall serve thee better, till I die !

103

`And if it chanced the hour of my birth

Was governed by unfavourable stars,

If thou wert quenched, O Venus full of mirth,

By Saturn, or obstructed by fell Mars,

O pray thy Father to avert such jars

And give me joy, by him that in the grove,

Boar‑slain Adonis, tasted of thy love.

104

`O Jove, by fair Europa's love and rape,

Whom, in a bull's form, thou didst bear away,

Help now! O Mars, thou with the bloody cape,

For Cypris' sake, hinder me not today!

O Phebus, think how Daphne in dismay

Clothed her in bark, and was a laurel tree;

Yet, for her love, send thou thy help to me !

105

`Mercury also, for the love of Hers,

Cause of the rage of Pallas with Aglauros,

Now help, and O Diana, in thy mercy,

Be not offended by the road before us !

And you, O Fatal Three, the sister‑chorus,

That, ere my shirt was shaped for me, have spun

My destiny, O help this work begun !'

106

Said Pandarus `You wretched mouse's heart,

Are you afraid that she is going to bite you?

Throw on this fur‑lined mantle for a start

And follow me; allow me to invite you !

Wait, let me go in front of you, to light you.

And on the word, he lifted up the latch

And drew in Troilus after him, like a catch.

107

The stern wind snored so loudly round about

The house, no other noises could be heard;

Those that lay sleeping at the door without

Slept on securely there; they never stirred.

On sober tiptoe and without a word

Pandarus then, unhindered, crossed the floor

To where they lay, and softly closed the door.

108

As he came back towards her, quietly,

His niece awoke and called out `Who is there?’

'My dearest niece,' he answered, `only me;

Nothing to wonder at, you needn't fear.'

Then he came close and whispered in her ear

`For God's love, I beseech you, not a word!

Wake no one up; we might be overheard.'

109

`What? How did you come in? In heaven's name!

Didn't they hear you? But they must have done!’

'No, there's a little trap‑door ‑ that's how I came.'

Criseyde replied `Then let me call someone.'

`What? God forbid! What foolish notions run

Into your little head! Speak softly, do,

Or else they'll think things they've no business to.

110

`A sleeping dog is better left alone;

No one will guess a thing, unless you make them;

Your women are asleep, as still as stone.

Why, you could blow the house up and not wake them !

They'll sleep till dawn and daylight overtake them.

And when I've finished what I've got to say,

As quietly as I came, I'll go away.

111

`Now, my dear niece, you surely understand,

For on this point you women think the same,

That when you've taken any man in hand

And called him "sweetheart" (it's a lover's name)

To play at blind‑man's‑buff with him ‑ the game

Of having another lover all along –

Will do yourself a shame and him a wrong.

112

`Why do I say all this? You know quite well,

Better than any, that your love is plighted

To Troilus, who, as anyone can tell,

Is one of the finest fellows ever knighted;

You made him feel his feelings were requited

And that, except for fault in him, you never

Would play him false, though you should live for ever.

113

`Now this is how things stand; I have to say

That since I left, this Troilus, to be plain,

Has got into my room the secret way

- That's by the gutter ‑ and in all this rain

- Unknown to anyone, I must explain –

Except to me, as I may hope for joy,

And by the faith I owe the King of Troy.

114

`He is in frantic pain, in such distress

That if he isn't fully mad by this,

He may run mad quite suddenly, unless

The Lord is good to him; the reason is

It has been told him by a friend of his

That you have promised love to one Horaste;

For grief of which this night will be his last.'

115

Amazed to hear him saying this, Criseyde

Suddenly felt the heart in her turn cold,

And, with a sigh, impulsively replied `Alas,

I would have thought, whoever told

Such tales of me, my sweetheart would not hold

Me false so easily ! Ah, wretched stuff

Of lying tales ! I have lived long enough.

116

`Horaste, alas? I false to Troilus !

I've never even heard of him!' said she;

`What wicked spirit has maligned me thus?

Well, anyhow tomorrow he will see,

For I can clear myself as totally,

As ever woman did, if he will hear.'

And she began to sigh, and shed a tear.

117

`O God,' she said, `that worldly happiness,

Called by the learned "false felicity",

Is intermingled with such bitterness;

A deep anxiety, God knows,' said she

`Gnaws at the root of vain prosperity !

For joys come rare and singly, perhaps never,

And no one has them always and for ever.

118

`O brittle happiness, unstable joy,

No matter whose you are, or how you spring,

Either one knows you for a transient toy

Or knows it not ‑ one or the other thing;

How then can he who does not know it, sing

His joy in having joy? Does he not mark

His ignorance of the oncome of the dark?

119

`But if one knows that joy is transitory,

And every joy in worldly things must flee,

He that remembers this will lose the glory;

The very dread of losing it must be

Enough to ruin his felicity.

If then one sets no store on joy so brittle,

It follows surely that it's worth but little.

120

`And so I will conclude the matter thus,

That honestly, as far as I can tell,

There's no true happiness on earth for us;

But jealousy, thou Serpent out, of Hell,

Thou envious madness, wicked infidel,

Why hast thou made my love mistrust me so,

Who never have offended, that I know?'

121

Said Pandar `That's what's happened, anyhow.'

Said she `But Uncle, who has told you this?

Why has my dear heart done this to me now?'

`You know, dear niece,' he answered, `how it is;

I hope all will be well that is amiss,

For you can quench it; set his heart at rest,

And do so now, for that will be the best.'

122

`Why, then, tomorrow so I will,' said she,

`And then, God willing, he'll be satisfied.'

`Tomorrow? That would be a joke!’ said he,

`No, that will never do, my dear Criseyde;

The learned say "It cannot be denied

That danger ever battens on delay."

Delays aren't worth a blackberry anyway.

123

`Niece, there's a time for everything, that's certain,

And, when the room's on fire, it's a flaw

To argue if the candle caught the curtain

Or how the devil they dropped it on the straw;

Far better put it out than hum and haw;

God bless us, while such talk is going on

The harm has happened and the bird is gone.

124

`And, little niece ‑ now do not be offended –

If all night long you leave him in this woe,

God help me, I shall think your love pretended

And that you never cared. I dare say so

Since we're alone, we two; but I well know

You are too sensible for such a crime

As leaving him in danger all that time.

125

`I never cared? By God, I'd like to know

When you have cared for anyone,' said she,

`As I for him !" Indeed? Well, time will show;

But since for your example you take me,

Were I to leave him in this misery

For all the treasure in the town of Troy,

I pray God I tray never come to joy.

126

`Now just reflect; if you, who are in love,

Can leave his life in dangerous distress,

And all for nothing, then by God above

It's worse than folly, it's sheer wickedness,

Straight malice, I should call it, nothing less.

What ! Leave him in his present state of mind?

It's foolish, it's ungenerous, it's unkind.'

127

`Well,' said Criseyde, `then will you do a thing

For me, and put an end to this upset?

Take this to him; it is my own blue ring;

There's nothing he would so much like to get,

Except myself. It is an amulet

To ease his heart; and tell him that his sorrow

Is groundless, as it shall appear tomorrow.'

128

`A ring? What next ! Good gracious !' Pandar said,

`My dearest niece, that ring will need a stone

With power in it to awake the dead,

And such a ring I cannot think you own;

Where is your commonsense? It must have flown

Out of your head,' he said, `to ruin you both;

O time, lost time ! It is the curse of sloth.

129

`Do you not know a high and noble nature

Is neither moved to sorrow, nor consoled

By trifles? If a fool, or some low creature,

Fell in a jealous rage, I would not hold

His feelings worth a mite. He could be told

A few white lies some other day, you see;

But this is in a very different key.

130

`This is so noble and so tender a heart

He will choose death to give his griefs their due;

You may believe, however much they smart,

He will not speak his jealousies to you;

And therefore, lest his heart should break in two,

Speak to him now yourself of what's occurred,

For you can steer him with a single word.

131

`I've told you of the danger he is in;

His coming has been secret; none had sight

Of his arrival; where's the harm or sin

In seeing him? I shall be here all right;

But more than that, he is your chosen knight;

By rights you ought to trust him most of all,

And I am here to fetch him, at your call.'

132

So touching was this accident to hear,

So like a truth, moreover, on the face

Of it, and Troilus to her so dear,

His coming secret, and so safe the place,

Although she would be doing him a grace,

All things considered, as the matter pressed,

No wonder if she acted for the best,

133

And said `As God may bring my soul to peace,

I feel for him, I grieve about his woe,

And I would do my best for his release

From pain, had I the grace; but even so

Whether you stay with me, or whether you go

To fetch him, till God clears my mind for me,

I'm in a dire dilemma, as you can see.'

134

' “Dilemma!" Now, you listen to me in turn;

That means The Donkeys' Bridge; it beats a fool,

For it seems hard to wretches who won't learn,

From sloth or wilful ignorance, at school

- Not worth a bean, such fellows, as a rule.

But you are wise, and what we have on hand

Is neither hard, nor easy to withstand.'

135

`Well,' she said, `Uncle, do as you think just;

But I must first get up, you realize,

Before you bring him in; and since my trust

Is in you two, and you are both so wise,

Do everything discreetly and devise

A way to guard my honour and ease his soul;

For I am here as one in your control.'

136

Pandar replied `That is well said, my dear,

A blessing on your wise and gentle heart!

But don't get up; you can receive him here,

There is no need to move, just play your part

And each will ease the other of all smart,

Please God! Venus, I worship thee! And very

Soon, as I dare to hope, we'll all be merry.'

137

Then Troilus went down upon his knees

At once, and reverently, beside her bed;

He greeted her with loving courtesies;

But, Lord ! How suddenly she blushed deep red,

And not if they had come to take her head

Could she have said a word; she was struck dumb

Seeing hits there, so suddenly had he come.

138

And Pandarus, who was so good at feeling

The mood of things, at once began to jest;

`Look, niece,' he said, `see how this lord is kneeling!

Now there's a gentleman, by any test'

He ran and fetched a cushion from the chest

`Now kneel away as long as you may please,

And may the Lord soon set your hearts at ease.'

139

I cannot say ‑ she did not bid him rise –

If grief had put the matter from her mind,

Or if she simply took it in the guise

Of an observance, of a lover's kind;

And yet she did him favours, as I find;

She kissed him, sighing, and at last entreated

Him not to kneel, but rise up and be seated.

140

Said Pandarus `Well, now you can begin;

Make him sit down, dear niece, a little higher

Beside you on the bed, up there within

The curtains, to hear better; I'll retire.'

And with that word he drew towards the fire

And took a light, and framed his countenance

As if to gaze upon an old romance.

141

She, being Troilus' lady as by right,

Stood on the clear ground of her faithfulness,

And though she thought her servant and her knight

Was one who never should so much as guess

At any untruth in her, yet his distress

Touched her ‑ love‑maddened, he had lost his head;

So, to rebuke his jealousy, she said:

142

`Look, dearest heart, because love's excellence,

Which no one may resist, would have it so;

Also because I know the innocence

Of your pure truth, and saw your service grow

From day to day, I came indeed to know

Your heart all mine; these things have driven me

To have compassion on your misery.

143

`And for your goodness, which to this very hour

I have found in you, dear heart and chosen knight,

I thank you to the best of my poor power,

Though that is less than you deserve of right,

And I, with all my heart and soul and might,

Swear that I am, and ever shall be, true

Whatever it may cost me, love, to you.

144

`This shall prove t rue, as you may well believe;

But, sweetest heart, what this is leading to

Has to be said, although you must not grieve

That I should say it and complain of you;

For finally the thing I hope to do

Is slay the heaviness and pain that fill

Our hearts, and bring redress to every ill.

145

`I cannot think, my darling, how or why

This jealousy, this wicked cockatrice,

Has crept into your heart so causelessly.

How gladly would I save you from that vice!

Alas that it ‑ or even a small slice

Of it – should refuge in so fair a place!

May Jove uproot it, may it leave no trace !

146

`But O thou Jove, O Author of all Nature,

Is this an honour to thy deity

That there should fall on many a guiltless creature

Such injury, when guilty ones go free?

O were it lawful to complain to Thee,

For sanctioning unwarrantable pain

Through jealousy, how loud I would complain!

147

`A further grief is this, that people say

Nowadays "Jealousy is the soul of love."

A bushel of poison is excused today

By one small grain of fondness, which they shove

Into the mixture; God that sits above

Knows if it's more like love, or more like shame,

Or hatred; things should bear their proper name.

148

`Certain it is one kind of jealousy

Is more excusable than some I know,

As when there's cause; and some such fantasy,

So well repressed by pity, will not show;

It scarce does harm or speaks it ‑ better so;

And bravely it drinks up its own distress

And I excuse it for its nobleness.

149

`Then there's a jealousy that comes from spite,

A furious, irrepressible intrusion;

But your dear heart is not in such a plight,

And I thank God for it; for your confusion,

So I would call it, is a mere illusion,

Of the abundance of your love for me,

Which makes your heart endure this misery.

150

`Sorry I am for it, but angry not;

Yet, for my duty and for your heart's rest,

Let me be judged on oath, or else by lot,

Or by ordeal; you shall choose the test,

And, for the love of God, may this prove best !

If I be guilty, take my life away;

What is there more that I can do or say?'

151

A few, bright, newly‑gathered tear‑drops fell

Then from her eyes, and suddenly she cried

`In thought or deed, O God, thou knowest well,

To Troilus was never yet Criseyde Untrue !'

And down she laid her head to hide

Under the sheet, at which she tugged and tore,

Then sighed and held her peace, said no word more.

152

And now God send me help to quench this sorrow !

- And so I hope He will, for He best may –

For I have often seen a misty morrow

That turned into a merry summer's day;

And after winter follows greening May;

We see it all the time, and read in stories

How bitter battles win to sudden glories.

153

This Troilus, on hearing what she urged,

You may imagine, had no thought of sleep;

It was not with a sense of being scourged

That he had heard and seen his lady weep,

But of the cramp of death; he felt it creep

About his heart at every tear she shed;

It wrung his soul in anguish by her bed.

154

Deep in his spirit, he began to curse

His coming there, to curse the very day

That he was born, for bad had turned to worse;

Lost was the service he had sought to pay

His lady; he too lost, a castaway;

`O Pandarus,' he thought `your cunning wile

Is worthless to me . . . O, alas for guile !'

155

And loaded down with shame he hung his head,

Fell on his knees and sorrowfully sighed.

What could he say in answer, all but dead?

And she was angry that could best provide

The comfort he most needed. He replied

When he could speak, `God knows that in this game,

When all is known, I shall not be to blame.'

156

And, as he spoke, his sorrow was compacted

And shut into his heart, without relief

Of tears; he felt his spirits so contracted,

Stunned, stupefied, by such excess of grief,

Oblivion came upon him like a thief,

His fears and feelings all fled out of town

And in a swoon he suddenly fell down.

157

This was no small calamity to see;

But all was hushed, and Pandarus moved fast;

`O niece, keep quiet, or we're lost !’ said he,

`Don't be afraid: But anyhow at last

In spite of all, he picked him up and cast

Him into bed, with `Wretch ! You can't be hurt?

Are you a man?' and stripped him to his shirt

158

And `Niece,' he said, `if you don't help us now

Your Troilus is lost, and all's forlorn!'

`I would indeed, if only I knew how,'

She said, `And gladly; O that I was born! '

Yes, niece, you should be pulling out the thorn

That's sticking in his heart,' said Pandarus,

`Say "All forgiven," dear, and stop this fuss.'

159

`That would be dearer to me, far more dear,'

She said `than all the good under the sun!'

And then she stooped and whispered in his ear

`I am not angry with you, love; have done !

I swear it, not with you or anyone,

O speak to me, for it is I, Criseyde!'

In vain; he neither wakened nor replied.

160

They felt his pulse and she began to soften

His hands and temples with her tender touch,

Sought to deliver him and kissed him often

To loose his bonds, recall him from the clutch

Of bitter swooning; and they did so much

That, at long last, he started to draw breath,

Seeming to dawn out of the dark of death.

161

Reason took back her power on his mind,

Deeply abashed and humbled by her kiss,

And, with a sigh, as he began to find

Himself awake, he said `O what's amiss?

Merciful God! You wrong yourself in this!'

And she gave answer, calling him by name,

`Are you a man? O Troilus, for shame !'

162

And then she laid her arm across his breast

Forgave him all, and kissed him where he lay

Many a time; he thanked her with the best

Of all that welled into his heart to say,

And she gave answer in as kind a way

As came to her, to cheer him and delight,

And do away the sorrows of the night.

163

Said Pandarus `For aught I can surmise,

I and this candle serve no purpose here;

When folk are sick a light may hurt their eyes;

So, for the love of God, since you appear

To be in happy plight, let no more fear

Hang in your hearts, and may all discord cease.'

He bore the candle to the mantelpiece.

164

Soon after that, though there was little need,

She took his oath and forced him to unsay

His jealousy; and after that, indeed,

She saw no cause for sending him away;

For trifles lighter than an oath will sway

On many occasions; as I dare to guess,

He that loves well means no ungentleness.

165

But still she taxed him with the charge of treason,

Questioning him of whom, and where, and why

He had been jealous, since there was no reason,

And what the sign he had been prompted by.

She pressed him busily for a reply,

Or else (she let him think) she had no doubt

It was a plot designed to find her out.

166

And, briefly, that the matter might be mended,

He felt obliged to answer when she ceased;

And, to avoid more trouble, he pretended

She had not smiled at such and such a feast;

Surely she might have looked at him, at least!

And so on. Almost everyone produces

Rubbish like that when fishing for excuses.

167

Criseyde replied `But, sweet, if it were so,

What harm was there in that? I did not mean

You any harm. By heaven, you should know

My very thoughts are yours, and clear and clean!

None of your arguments are worth a bean!

Are these your childish jealousies? I thank you!

You're like a little boy; I ought to spank you 1'

168

Troilus sorrowfully began to sigh,

The fear that she was angry grew so strong;

He seemed to feel the heart within him die;

`Alas,' he said, `I have been ill so long,

Have mercy on me if I did you wrong!

I promise never to offend you more;

I am in your hands, with much to answer for.'

169

`For guilt, a mercy flows to take your part;'

She answered, `and I have forgiven you;

Yet keep this night recorded in your heart,

Lest you should fall again, if tempted to;

Promise me this" My dearest heart, I do.'

`And now that I have punished you for this,

Forgive it me, my darling, with a kiss.'

170

This Troilus, by sudden bliss surprised,

Put all into God's hand, as one who meant

Nothing but well, and, suddenly advised

By impulse, took her in his arms and bent

Her to him; Pandarus with kind intent

Went off to bed, saying ` If you are wise,

No fainting now, lest other people rise.'

171

What is there for the hapless lark to do

When taken in the sparrowhawk's fierce foot?

I can say nothing more; but, of these two,

For those to whom my story may be soot

Or sugar ‑ I follow what my author put,

And must, though I delayed a year, express

Their joy, as I have told their heaviness.

172

Criseyde, on feeling herself taken thus,

As says my author in his ancient book,

In the enfolding arms of Troilus

Lay trembling, like an aspen leaf she shook.

And Troilus with glory in his look

Gave thanks to the bright gods and all their train.

So we may come to Paradise through pain.

173

And then this Troilus began to strain

Her in his arms and whispered, `Sweetest, say,

Are you not caught? We are alone, we twain,

Now yield yourself, there is no other way.'

And soon she answered him, as there she lay,

`Had I not yielded long ago, my dear,

My sweetest heart, I should not now be here.'

174

O true it is that he who seeks a cure,

As of a fever or a long disease,

Must, as we see all day, perforce endure

To drink the bitterest medicines to the lees;

And so we drink down pain to bring us ease,

As did these lovers in their fresh adventure;

They found their cure through pain, and long indenture.

175

And now the sweetness seemed to be more sweet

Because they had endured the bitter thorn;

For out of woe and into bliss they fleet,

Such as they had not known since they were born.

And better so than both to be forlorn !

For love of God, let women all take heed

And do as did Criseyde, if there be need.

176

Criseyde unloosed from care or thought of flight,

Having so great a cause to trust in him,

Made much of him with welcoming delight,

And, as the honeysuckle twists her slim

And scented tendrils over bole and limb

Of a tall tree, so, free of all alarms,

They wound and bound each other in their arms.

177

And as a nightingale that is abashed

And holds her peace, having begun to sing,

Because she may have heard the hedges crashed

By cattle, or the shout of shepherding,

Then, reassured, will let her music ring,

Just so Criseyde, now that her fears were still,

Opened her heart to him and showed her will.

178

Like one who sees his death is taking shape,

And die he must for all that he can see,

Whom suddenly a rescue and escape

Bring back from death to new security,

For all the world, to such new ecstasy

With his sweet lady won, came Troilus;

God grant no worse a fortune fall to us !

179

Her delicate arms, her back so straight and soft,

Her slender flanks, flesh‑soft and smooth and white

He then began to stroke, and blessed as oft

Her snowy throat, her breasts so round and slight,

And in this heaven taking his delight,

A thousand, thousand times he kissed her too,

For rapture scarcely knowing what to do.

180

And then he said `O Love, O Charity,

Who, with thy mother, Cytherea the sweet,

After thyself is to be worshipped, she,

Venus, the planet of all kindly heat,

And next to you, Hymen I also greet,

For never to the gods was man beholden

As I, from cold care brought, to grace so golden !

181

`Benignest Love, thou holy bond of things,

Who seeks thy grace but renders thee no praise, Lo !

His desire would fly, but has no wings;

And were it not thy bounty deigns to raise

Those that best serve thee, labouring many days,

All would be lost, for what could they inherit

Unless thy grace were greater than their merit?

182

`Since thou hast helped me that could least deserve thee

Among the many numbered in thy grace,

And, when I was near death, hast let me serve thee

And hast bestowed me in so high a place

There is no bliss beyond it in all space,

What can I say but "Praise and reverence

Be to thy bounty and thy excellence !"'

183

And having spoken thus, he kissed Criseyde,

At which she felt, be certain, no displeasure;

`Ah, would to God that I but knew,' he cried

`How I might please you best, my heart, my treasure !

For was there ever man had such a measure

Of joy as I, on whom the loveliest

I ever saw has deigned her heart to rest?

184

`Here mercy is proved greater than deserving,

And every feeling proves it so in me,

For I, bright lady, whom I live in serving,

Cannot deserve your generosity;

Yet think, although I serve unworthily,

Needs must I shall learn better to deserve you

In virtue of the honour it is to serve you.

185

`And, for the love of God, my lady dear,

Since He created me to serve your will

- I mean, it is His will that you should steer

My course of life, to save me or to kill –

Teach me to earn your thanks and to fulfil

Your wishes, so that I may never chance

On your displeasure, through my ignorance.

186

` O fresh and womanly love, I dare to give

This certain promise: truth and diligence,

These you will find in me, and while I live

I will be perfect in obedience;

And should I fail you, in presence or absence,

Let me be killed for it, if it seems good

To you, my darling, in your womanhood.'

187

`Indeed,' said she, `dear heart of my desire,

Ground of my joy, my garner and my store,

I thank you for it with a trust entire

As it is thankful; let us say no more,

It is enough; for all was said before.

And, in a word that asks for no release,

Welcome, my lover, my sufficing peace.'

188

Of all their ecstasies and joys, the least

Was more than I have power to convey;

But you, if you have tasted, judge the feast

Of their delight, the sweetness of their play;

I can say little, but at least I say

In safety, yet in dread, with night above,

They learnt the honour and excellence of love.

189

O blissful night, that they so long had sought,

How wert thou kindly to them both, how fair!

Would that my soul could such a night have bought,

Yes, or the least among the joys were there !

Away with coldness and away with care

And in this bliss of heaven let them dwell,

Surpassing all that tongue of man can tell.

190

These very two, in their embraces left,

So loath a moment to be disentwined,

Lest in their parting they should be bereft

Each of the other, or awake to find

It was a dream, a fancy of the mind,

Each to the other whispered in their kiss

`Can this be true? Or am I dreaming this?

191

Lord, how he gazed at her, how blissfully !

His hungry eyes now never left her face,

And still he said `Dear heart, O can it be

That you are truly in this very place?’

'Yes, yes, indeed I am, by heaven's grace.'

Criseyde gave answer with so soft a kiss

His spirit knew not where it was, for bliss.

192

With many kisses Troilus again

Touching her fluttered eyelids made reply

`Clear eyes, you were the cause of all my pain,

The humble nets my lady caught me by!

Though mercy may be written in her eye,

God knows the text was difficult to find;

How was I bound without a thong to bind?'

193

Then in his arms he took and held her close,

And sighs welled up in him and took their flight

A hundred times, nor were they such as those

Men sigh in grief or sickness, but the right

And easy sighs of passion and delight,

Sight. on the quickening pulse of love within,

That none will wish away when they begin.

194

Soon after this they spoke of many things

Seeking their great adventure to unfold,

And made a playful interchange of rings,

Though what the posy was we are not told;

Yet well I know there was a brooch of gold

And blue, set with a ruby heart, she took

And pinned upon his shirt, so says the book.

195

Lord! Do you think some avaricious ape

Who girds at love and scorns it as a toy,

Out of the pence that‑ he can hoard and scrape,

Had ever such a moment of pure joy

As love can give, pursuing his foul ploy?

Never believe it ! For, by God above,

No miser ever knew the joy of love.

196

Misers would answer `Yes'; but, Lord, they're liars!

Busy and apprehensive, old and cold

And sad, who think of love as crazed desires;

But it shall happen to them as I told;

They shall forgo their silver and their gold

And live in grief; God grant they don't recover,

And God advance the truth of every lover !

197

I wish to God those wretches that dismiss

Love and its service sprouted ears as long

As Midas did, that man of avarice;

Would they were given drink as hot and strong

As Crassus' swallowed, being in the wrong,

To teach such folly that avarice is vicious

And love is virtue, which they think pernicious.

198

These very two whose tale I have to tell,

Deep in the new assurance that was theirs,

Played in their talk and found it joy to dwell

On every detail, all the whens and wheres

And hows of their first meetings, and the cares

That now were passed, their heavy hearts, their sadness,

Which, I thank God, had all been turned to gladness.

199

And ever more in speaking of some pain

Or woe remembered, but now past and done,

They broke into their tale to kiss again,

And so another rapture was begun;

They yielded all their strength, since they were one,

Recapturing their bliss to feel at ease,

And weigh their joys with former miseries.

200

I will not speak of sleep, for reason swears

That sleep is nothing to my purpose here;

And heaven knows it was not much to theirs.

But lest this night that they had bought so dear

Escape them vainly ‑ which was not to fear –

They packed its moments up with all the treasure

Of tenderness and gentle‑natured pleasure.

201

However, though I cannot tell it all

As excellently as my author can,

Yet I have given ‑ and, with God's help, shall –

The gist and substance of that learned man;

And if, in reverence of love, my plan

Has added more, it was my simple wit

Intending well; do what you like with it.

202

For these my words, here and in every part

Of this, are spoken under the correction

Of you that have a feeling for love's art,

And I submit them all to your reflection;

Add or diminish, make your own selection

Of my poor language; let it be your care,

I beg you! To return to where we were,

203

When the first cock, common astrologer,

Began to beat his breast and then to crow,

And Lucifer, the morning's messenger

And star of day, began to rise and show,

And eastwards there appeared (for those who know)

Fortuna Major, she, with stricken heart

Spoke thus to Troilus, that they should part:

204

`Life of my heart, my trust, and my delight,

Alas that I was born, alas, I say,

That day should part the lovers of the night!

But it is time to go; you must away,

Else I am lost for ever and a day;

Couldst thou not, night, have hovered on us, and kept

All dark, as when with Jove Alcmena slept?

205

`O dark of night, since books and learned folk

Affirm that God created thee to hide

This world, at certain times, in thy black cloak,

That rest to men should never be denied,

The beasts should bellow at thee, and men chide,

Since, broken with labour all the heavy day,

They get no rest from thee, that fleest away.

206

`Alas, too briefly is thy business done,

Swift night! May God, the Lord of Nature, hear,

And, for the malice of thy downward run,

Curse thee, and bind thee to our hemisphere,

Never beneath the earth to reappear !

For through thy reckless hurrying out of Troy

I have as hastily forgone my joy.'

207

This Troilus, who at these sayings felt

(As then it seemed to him in his distress)

His heart in tears of blood begin to melt,

Like one that never yet such bitterness

Had tasted out of joy so measureless,

Enfolding his dear lady, his Criseyde,

In straining arms, lamentingly replied;

208

‘O cruel day, denouncer of the joy

That love and night have stolen and made their prize,

Accursed by thy coming into Troy,

For every chink has one of thy bright eyes !

Envious day! Wherefore so many spies?

What hast thou lost? What dost thou seek of us?

God quench the light in thee for doing thus !

209

`How has love injured thee, or been at fault,

Pitiless Day? Thine be the pains of Hell !

Many a love lies slain by thy assault,

For where thou pourest in they cannot dwell.

Is this the place to proffer light? Go sell

Thy merchandise to such as carve or paint;

We do not need thee, source of our complaint!'

210

And he began to chide the titan sun

`Fool that thou art! No wonder men deride thee

To lie all night with Dawn, as thou hast done,

And yet to let her slip from close beside thee

To trouble other lovers; off! and hide thee

In bed again, thou and thy precious Morrow !

A curse upon you both, God give you sorrow!'

211

He sighed profoundly, turning to continue

To her, and said `Lady of weal and woe,

Lovely Criseyde, their very root and sinew,

Shall I arise, alas, and let you go?

I feel my heart will break and overflow;

How shall I live a moment if I do,

Since all the life I have is lived in you?

212

`What shall I do? Indeed I know not how,

Or when, alas, if ever, we shall see

A time to be again as we are now;

And, for my life, God knows what that can be

Since even now dsire is biting me

And I shall die unless I may return!

How can I keep away from you and burn?

213

`Nevertheless my own, my lady bright,

If I could but be certain it was true

That I, your humblest servant and your knight,

Was set as firmly in your heart, as you

Are set in mine ‑ if this I only knew,

It would mean more to me than Troy and Greece

Together, and I could endure in peace.'

214

To which Criseyde made answer straight away

Sighing profoundly; this was her reply:

`The game has gone so far since yesterday,

That Phoebus first shall tumble from on high,

And doves be one with eagles in the sky,

And every rock in earth shall break apart,

Ere Troilus be sundered from my heart.

215

`For in my heart you are so deeply graven

That though it were my wish to turn you out,

As sure as God may bring my soul to haven,

Were I to die in torture, have no doubt,

I could not do it; therefore be without

These creeping fancies of the brain,

I say, For God's dear love, or I shall pine away.

216

`That you should hold me ever fast in mind,

As I hold you, is all that I beseech;

And if I knew that I was sure to find

It so, it were as far as joy could reach;

But dearest heart, with no more waste of speech,

Be true to me, or pity on us both, _

For I am yours, by God and this true oath.

217

`And so feel sure of me, and no more sadness !

This is a thing I never said before

Nor shall to any; should it give you gladness

To come again and visit me once more,

I long for it as much as you, be sure,

As God may comfort me; I give you this.'

She took him in her arms with many a kiss.

218

Against his will (but still it had to be)

This Troilus rose up and left their bed,

Put on his clothes and kissed her tenderly

A hundred times; and on his way he sped,

And with the voice of one whose spirit bled

He said `Farewell my dearest heart, my sweet,

And may God grant us safe and soon to meet.'

219

Her grief had left her not a word to say,

So bitter did their parting seem, so dire;

And to his palace Troilus made way

As woebegone as she, yet still on fire

(To tell the truth), still wrung by the desire

To be again where he had been in bliss;

Nothing effaced the memory of this.

220

Back at his royal palace, quickly too,

He softly stole to bed, hoping to slink

Into long sleep, as he was wont to do;

But all for nought, he couldn't sleep a wink;

Into his fevered heart no sleep would sink.

He burned with passion for her now, who seemed

Worth more, a thousand fold, than he had dreamed.

221

Within him up and down began to wind

Her every word and gesture, stored with treasure,

Firmly impressed for ever on his mind,

To the least point of the remembered pleasure;

And at the memory, in no small measure,

Desire would blaze again, and longing grew

More than before, yet nothing could he do.

222

Criseyde herself, in the same manner, nursed

Within her heart the thought of his affection,

His sovereign worth, how she had met him first,

His gentle breeding and his circumspection,

And gave her thanks to love for this protection,

Longing to have him with her as before

And entertain her dearest heart once more.

223

Now Pandarus, when day had come again,

Went in to see his niece, and up he stepped

And said `I am afraid this dreadful rain

Left you but little leisure . . . Have you slept?

Did you have happy dreams? Now I was kept

Awake all night, yes, many were kept waking,

And some of us there are whose heads are aching.'

224

He came in close and said `Well, how do you do

This merry morning? How are you feeling, niece?'

`Never the better', she replied `for you,

Fox that you are ! May all your cares increase !

God knows you are the author of this piece.

For all your outward shows and words so white,

Little they know, who know you but by sight.'

225

And, saying this, she made a move to hide

Under the sheet, for she was blushing red;

But Pandar, lifting up a corner, pried

Within, remarking `Well now, strike me dead !

Where is that sword of mine? Chop off my head !'

And, with a sudden thrust, his hand slipped past

Under her neck; he kissed her then at last.

226

I will pass over all that needs no saying;

God let him off his death, and so did she;

There they were, laughing happily and playing,

There was no reason why they should not be.

But to my purpose in this history;

When the time came, home to her house she went;

Pandarus had accomplished his intent.

227

Now let us turn again to Troilus;

In bed he lay, long, in a restless mood.

He had sent secretly for Pandarus

To come to him as quickly as he could;

He came at once, as may be understood;

Not once did he say `no'; gravely instead

He greeted him and sat beside his bed.

228

This Troilus, with all the force of feeling

That ever in the heart of friendship dwelt,

Threw himself down in front of Pandar, kneeling,

And would not rise again from where he knelt

Till he had poured the gratitude he felt

Forth in a thousand thanks, and blessed the morrow

Pandar was born to bring him out of sorrow.

229

`O friend of friends,' he said, `the very best

That ever was or will be, truth to tell,

Who brought my soul to Heaven and to rest

From Phlegethon, the fiery flood of Hell,

Though I should serve you, though I were to sell

My life for you a thousand times a day,

That were a mote of what I ought to pay.

230

`The sun above, with all the world to see,

Has never yet, my life on it, set eye

On one so inly good and fair as she,

Whose I now am, and shall be till I die;

That I am hers I thank and glorify

Love that appointed me to this high end;

And I thank you for your kind office, friend

231

`It was no little thing for you to give;

Yours is a debt I never can repay;

I owe my life to you ‑ and why? I live,

Dead but for you and buried, many a day !

And having spoken, back in bed he lay.

And Pandar listened with a sober eye

Till he had done, and then he made reply:

232

`Dear friend, if I've done anything for you,

It was a pleasure to me; in God's name

Believe it, I was very glad to do

Whatever I could for you ‑ but all the same,

(Don't be offended!) I should be to blame

Unless I warned you; you are now in joy;

Beware, for it is easy to destroy.

233

`Think that of Fortune's sharp adversities

The most unfortunate of all, at last,

Is to have known a life of joy and ease,

And to remember it when it is past.

Therefore be careful; do not go too fast;

Never be rash, though you are sitting warm,

For if you are you'll surely come to harm.

234

`You are at ease; that is a good beginning;

But it's a certainty, as sure as fire

Is red, that keeping is as hard as winning

And needs as great a skill; bridle desire,

For worldly joy hangs only by a wire

As one can see; day after day it snaps;

And so go softly; there is need perhaps:

235

`I hope, God helping me in my design,'

Said Troilus, ` I shall bear myself in such

A way as not to risk, through fault of mine,

The loss of anything, by too rash a touch;

Nor do you need to speak of this so much;

If you but knew my heart and its intention,

You would not think this matter worth a mention.'

236

He told him of the gladness of the night,

Why he had dreaded it at first, and how,

And said ` O friend, as true as I'm a knight,

And by the faith I owe the gods,

I vow I never had it half as hot as now;

But this I know, the more desire bites me

To love her best, the better it delights me.

237

`And I can hardly tell you how it is,

But now I feel full of fresh quality,

Quite unlike anything I felt ere this.'

Pandar replied to this judiciously:

`One who has known what heaven's bliss can be

Will feel quite differently, I do not doubt it,

From what he did when first he heard about it.'

238

To sum things in a word, this Troilus

Could never tire of speaking in her praise,

And would asseverate to Pandarus

The bounty of his lady and her ways,

And thank and welcome him with cheerful phrase;

The tale was ever freshly spun with wonder,

Till night came down and put the friends asunder.

239

Soon after this ‑ for Fortune still was steady

There came the blessed moment of sweet news

When Troilus had warning to be ready

To meet Criseyde again; they were to use

The self‑same means; he felt his heart suffuse

Itself in joy of sweet anticipation

And gave the gods all thanks and adoration.

240

The form and manner of the thing was treated

Just as before; she came, with him ahead;

Therefore I think it need not be repeated,

And, to go plainly to the point instead,

In joy and safety they were put to bed

By Pandar, when the moment suited best;

And thus they were in quiet and at rest.

241

You needn't ask of me, since they are met,

Whether they were as happy as before;

Blissful as was their first encounter, yet

Their second was a thousandfold the more;

Gone were the sorrows and the fears of yore,

And both of them, indeed, if truth be told,

Knew as much joy as human heart can hold.

242

This is no little thing for me to say;

It stuns imagination to express.

For each began to honour and obey

The other's pleasure; happiness, I guess,

So praised by learned men, is something less.

This joy may not be written down in ink,

For it surpasses all that heart can think.

243

But cruel day would make them catch their breath

At its approach; it signed to them again,

And what they felt was like the stroke of death;

The colour in their faces showed the strain,

And they began once more in their disdain

To call day traitor, envious and worse,

Laying the daylight under bitter curse.

244

`Alas !' said Troilus, `now I, for one,

Can see how Pyrois, and those other three

Swift steeds, that draw the chariot of the sun

Have used some by‑path, out of spite to me,

And day has come so soon and suddenly;

The sun has hastened; he shall pay the price;

I never more will do him sacrifice.'

245

Soon, of necessity, the daylight bid

Them part; and then, all speech and greeting done,

They separated as before they did

And set a time to meet and be at one.

Many a night renewed their love begun,

And Fortune led them for a time in joy,

Criseyde and this King's son, this Prince of Troy.

246

Deeply fulfilled, in happiness and song,

Troilus led his life from day to day;

He jousted, spent and feasted with the throng,

Gave presents, decked himself in fine array,

And was surrounded by a world as gay

And fresh in heart as any he could find,

Fitting the natural temper of his mind.

247

His fame rose up, and with a voice so great

Throughout the world, for generosity

And honour that it rang at heaven's gate;

Being in love for him was ecstasy,

And in his inmost heart, it seems to me,

He thought there was no lover upon earth

So happy as he; love had declared its worth.

248

No loveliness that nature might allot

To any other lady that he met

Was able to undo one little knot

About his heart in her enchanted net,

He was so close‑enmeshed, was so beset

By it, to loosen him or set him free

Was quite impossible, or seemed to be.

249

And often taking Pandar by the arm

Into the garden, in a joyous mood,

He fashioned feasts of language on her charm,

Praising Criseyde, praising her womanhood,

Praising her beauty; it was more than good,

It was a heaven, to hear his praises ring,

And in this manner then he used to sing:

250

`Love that is ruler over earth and seals

Love whose commandment governs heaven on high,

Love that has made a wholesome amity

In neighbour states to join and guide them by,

That couples lovers in a holy tie,

And gives the law of love to friends as well,

Bind thou this harmony of which I tell!

251

`How that the universe, of faith so stable,

Varies its seasons with harmonious sway,

So that the elements, for all their babel,

Hold a perpetual bond that lasts for aye,

So Phoebus can bring forth his rosy day,

And so the moon has lordship over night;

This is love's doing; worshipped be his might!

252

`So that the sea, so greedy in its flowing,

Constrains his floods within a certain bound,

To hold them well in check at their fierce growing,

Lest earth and all for ever should be drowned: ‑

Were love to drop the bridle, then the ground

Of all that lives in love would burst apart,

And lost were all that Love now holds in heart.

253

`For so God willed, the Author of all Nature,

To circle every heart in His great bond

Of love, whose power not a single creature

Should know how to escape or go beyond,

And which can twist cold hearts to make them fond,

Able to love, and to feel pity too

For the unhappy heart, and help the true.'

254

In all the dangers of the town's defence

He was the first to arm him as a knight,

And certainly, to trust the evidence,

Was the most dreaded soldier in a fight,

Except for Hector; hardiness and might

Came to him out of love ‑ the wish to win

His lady's thanks had changed him so within.

255

In time of truce, out hawking he would ride,

Or else out hunting ‑ lion, boar, or bear –

(For lesser beasts than these he left aside);

And riding back would often be aware

That she was standing at her window there,

Fresh as a falcon coming from her pen,

And she was ready with a greeting then.

256

Of love and virtue chiefly was his speech

And he despised all baseness; you may guess

There never was occasion to beseech

Him to do honour to true worthiness,

Or bring relief to any in distress.

And glad he was if any man fared well

Who was a lover too, when he heard tell.

257

He thought a man was lost, to tell the truth,

Unless on love's high service he was bent

- I mean such folly as had the right of youth;

And he had language for the sentiment

Of love, and was so strangely eloquent

About love's ordinances, lovers thought

He always spoke and acted as he ought.

258

And though of royal blood, he showed no pride

And harassed no one set in lower place;

To each and all benign, on every side

He earned the thanks of every smiling face;

This was love's will, all honour to love's grace !

Pride, avarice, envy, anger, in a trice

Were rooted out, and every other vice.

259

O my bright lady, thou, Dioné's daughter,

And thou, Sir Cupid, blind and wing'd, her son,

And O ye Nine, by Helicon's fair water,

That on Parnassus hills' have loved to run,

You that have guided all that I have done,

Since it's your will to leave me, and we sever,

What can I do but honour you for ever?

260

Through you I have accomplished in my song

The full effects of love in Troilus,

His joys and griefs ‑ for certain griefs belong

Among them, as the story comes to us.

My third book therefore is concluded thus,

With Troilus in happiness, at rest

In love, with his Criseyde, his own and best.