arts and ideas chaucer troilus and criseyde book IV

Chaucer
Troilus and Criseyde

BkI BkII BkIII BkIV BkV

Book IV

How short a time, lament it as we may,

Such joy continues under Fortune's rule,

She that seems truest when about to slay,

And tunes her song, beguiling to a fool,

To bind and blind and make of him her tool,

The common traitress! From her wheel she throws

Him down, and laughs at him with mops and mows.

For she began to turn her shining face

Away from Troilus, took of him no heed,

And cast him clean out of his lady's grace,

And on her wheel she set up Diomede,

A thought for which my heart begins to bleed;

The very pen with which I now am writing

Trembles at what 1 soon must be enditing.

For how she left him, how Criseyde forsook

Her Troilus, or was at least unkind,

Must henceforth be the matter of my book,

For so they write who keep the tale in mind.

Alas, alas, that ever they should find

Cause to speak harm of her! And if they lie,

On them should fall the infamy, say I.

O Daughters of Old Night, you Furies Three,

In endless lamentation, endless pain,

Megaera, Alecto and Tisiphone,

And Roman Mars, the slayer of the slain,

Help me to write the Books that still remain

Of Troilus and Criseyde, and of the strife

In which he lost his love, and lost his life.

There, in a mighty host, as I have said,

The Greeks were ranged, encamped about Troy town;

It happened that when Phoebus' golden head

Laid on the Lion's breast, was shining down,

Hector and many a noble of renown

Fixed on a day to sally forth and fight

And do the Greeks what injury they might.

I do not know how long it was between

This, their decision, and the day they chose,

But came the day when, armoured bright and clean,

Hector and many a gallant man arose,

With spear in hand, or carrying great bows;

And out they went to battle and appeared

Before their foes, and met them beard to beard.

All the long day, with weapons sharply ground,

Arrows and darts and swords and dreadful maces,

They battled; many a horse and man were downed,

Their axes hacked away at brains and faces;

But in their last encounter (so the case is)

The night came down, the Trojans were misled,

And, having had the worst of it, they fled.

And on that day the Greeks took Antenor,

Despite Polydamas or Monesteo,

Xantippus, Sarpedon, Polynestor,

Polite, and the Trojan lord, Ripheo.

And other lesser folk, like Phebuseo;

The day's disaster, for the folk of Troy,

Bred fear in them, a heavy loss in joy.

Nevertheless a truce was then arranged

(The Greeks requested it) and they began

To treat of prisoners to be exchanged

And paid great sums in ransom, man for man;

And soon through every street the rumour ran

In town and out; it came to every ear,

And Calkas was among the first to hear.

When Calkas knew for certain these awards

Would hold, he joined the Greeks at interview,

Thrusting himself among the older lords,

And took his seat as he was wont to do;

Then,, changing countenance, he begged them to

Be silent for the love of God, and pay

Respect to him and what he had to say.

And thus he said: `My lords and masters all,

I was a Trojan, everybody knows;

And Calkas is my name, if you recall.

Twas I who first brought comfort to your woes,

Foretelling your success against your foes.

Your work will soon and certainly be crowned;

Troy will be burnt and beaten to the ground.

`And in what form and manner, in what way,

To blot this city out and gain your ends,

Often enough you all have heard me say,

As each, I think, among you apprehends.

I held the Greeks my very special friends

And so I came to you in person here,

And what was best to do I then made clear,

`Without considering my loss in treasure,

Weighed with your comfort ‑ loss of income too –

Thinking, my lords, in this to give you pleasure,

I left my goods behind and came to you.

The loss was nothing, though, with that in view;

For I surrender, as I hope for joy,

On your behalf, all that I have in Troy,

`Save for my daughter, whom I left, alas,

Sleeping at home when out of Troy I crept;

O stern, O cruel father that I was !

Hard‑hearted resolution to have kept !

Would I had brought her naked as she slept !

For grief of which I may not reach tomorrow,

Unless you lords take pity on my sorrow.

`Because I saw no moment until now

For her deliverance, I held my peace;

But now or never; if you will allow,

I very soon may joy in her release.

O help, be gracious to me, Lords of Greece !

Pity a poor old wretch, and take his part!

It was to comfort you he broke his heart.

`You now have captured, chained, and may condemn

Plenty of Trojans; if you willed it, she

My child, could be exchanged for one of them;

Now, in the name of generosity,

Out of so many, give up one to me!

And why refuse this prayer?

Troy will fall And you will conquer people, town and all.

`Upon my life it's true, believe you me;

Apollo told me faithfully about it,

And I have checked it by astronomy,

By lot and augury, you needn't doubt it;

The time is near when you, who stand without it,

Shall witness flame and fire as they flash

Above the town, and Troy shall turn to ash.

`For Phoebus certainly and Neptune,' too,

Who made the walls of this accursed town,

Are in high wrath against it and will do

Vengeance on all its folk, and bring it down,

And on Laomedon who wore the crown

In times gone by, but would not pay their hire;

And so these gods will set the town on fire.'

Telling his story on, this old, grey man,

Humble in speech and in his look as meek,

(While the salt tears from either eyelid ran

And left their stain upon his grizzled cheek,)

Went on imploring succour from the Greek

So long that they, to cure him of these sore

Lamentings, handed over Antenor

To Calkas; who so glad of it as he?

Pressing his needs upon them then, he plied

All those appointed for the embassy,

Begging that Antenor should now provide

The offset for King Thoas and Criseyde.

And when King Priam's safeguard had been sent,

At once to Troy the emissaries went.

Told of the reasons for this embassy,

King Priam, issuing a general writ,

Assembled Parliament immediately,

With the result ‑ I give the gist of it –

The embassy were told they would permit

The exchange of prisoners, and what else was needed;

They were well pleased; and so the plan proceeded.

This Troilus was present in his place

When Antenor was asked against Criseyde;

It brought a sudden change into his face,

To hear those words was almost to have died.

But he said nothing, for his tongue was tied;

Were he to speak, they might spy out his passion;

So he endured his grief in manly fashion.

And full of anguish and of grisly dread,

He waited for what other lords might tend

To say of it; two thoughts were in his head:

First, if they granted it, which heaven forfend,

Was how to save her honour? and how contend

Against the exchange? What could he do or say?

He wildly cast about to find a way.

Love drove him fiercely to oppose her going,

Rather to die, indeed, than let her go;

But reason said `What? Speak without her knowing?

You cannot think of it, as well you know;

Gain her consent, or she will be your foe,

And say it was your meddling had revealed,

Your love, so long and carefully concealed.'

So he began to think it might be best,

If parliament decided she be sent,

To acquiesce in what they might suggest

And be the first to tell her their intent,

And leave her then to tell him what she meant

To do, which he would make his whole ambition,

Though all the world should be in opposition.

Hector, on hearing how the Greeks suggested

Taking Criseyde instead of Antenor,

Gave them a sober answer; he protested:

`Sirs, she is not a prisoner of war,

Who ordered this? What do they take us for?

For my part, I would wish it were made clear

It's not our practice to sell women here.'

A noise of people started up at once,

As violent as the blaze of straw on fire

(Though, as misfortune willed it, fog the nonce

Their own destruction lay in their desire)

`Hector!' they cried, `What evil spirits inspire

You thus to shield this woman, and to lose

Prince Antenor? That is no way to choose!

`He is a wise commander and a bold,

And we have need of men, as one can see.

One of the greatest, worth his weight in gold;

Hector have done with all this fantasy!

Hear us,' they said, `King Priam! We agree.

We give our voices to forgo Criseyde;

Let them deliver Anterior!' they cried.

O Juvenal,' how true your saying, master,

That men so little know what they should yearn

To have, that their desire is their disaster;

A cloud of error lets them not discern

What the best is, as from this case we learn:

These people were now clamouring to recall

Prince Antenor, who brought about their fall.

It was his treason gave the Greeks possession

Of Troy; alas, too soon they set him free!

O foolish world, look, there is your discretion !

Criseyde, who never did them injury,

Shall now no longer bathe in ecstasy,

But Antenor ‑ `he shall come home to town,

And she shall go' they shouted up and down.

And so, deliberately, Parliament Took

Antenor and yielded up Criseyde

By the pronouncement of the President,

With many a `No!’ from Hector, who still tried

To save her; he and others were denied,

They spoke in vain; she was obliged to go,

For the majority would have it so.

Then all departed out of Parliament;

And Troilus ‑ there is no more to say –

Went swiftly to his room; alone he went

Save for a man or two of his, but they

Were quickly told to take themselves away,

Because he wished to sleep, or so he said,

And down he flung himself upon his bed.

And as the leaves are torn by winter's theft

Each after other till the tree is bare,

And nothing but the bark and branch are left,

So Troilus lay bereft of comfort there,

Fast bound within the blackened bark of care,

And on the brink of madness, being tried

So sorely by the exchanging of Criseyde.

First he rose up and every door he shut

And window too; and then this sorrowful man

Sat himself down upon his bedside, but

More like a lifeless image, pale and wan,

And from his breast the heaped‑up woe began

To burst in fury forth, under the spell

Of madness, and he did as I shall tell.

As a wild bull that lunges round and reels

Hither and thither, wounded to the heart,

And roars remonstrance at the death he feels,

So Troilus with violent fit and start

Lunged round his room, fists battering his heart,

Head beating wall and body flung to ground,

In utter self‑confusion round and round.

His eyes in pity lent his heart relief,

Swift as twin wells, in tears they streamed away,

The high, convulsive sobs of bitter grief

Reft him of speech, and he could barely say

`O death! Alas, dost thou not hear me pray?

Wilt thou not let me die? Accursed be

The day when Nature formed and fashioned me !'

But after, when the fury and the rage

By which his heart was twisted and oppressed,

In time began a little to assuage

Themselves, he lay upon his bed to rest,

The tears gushed forth again and shook his breast;

The wonder is a body can sustain

The pain I speak of, aye, or half the pain.

And then he said `Fortune, alas for woe !

What have I done? In what have I offended?

Have you no pity, to deceive me so?

Is there no grace to save me? Is all ended?

Must Criseyde go because‑ you so intended?

How can you find it in your heart to be

So cruel, Fortune, so unkind to me?

`Have I not, Fortune, ever held you high

Above all other gods? You know it well.

Will you deprive me thus of joy? Ah, why?

O Troilus, of thee what will they tell

Save that, a wretch of wretches, down he fell

From honour into misery; thence to wail

Criseyde, alas, until his breath should fail?

`Alas, O Fortune, if my life in joy

Roused your foul envy and displeasure, then

Why did you not take Priam, King of Troy,

My father, or let die my brethren?

Or have me killed, the wretchedest of men,

Cumbering earth, useless to all, and lying

Like one not fully dead, yet ever dying?

`Though all were taken, if Criseyde were left me,

I should not care whither you chose to steer;

But it is she of whom you have bereft me;

Aye, that has been your style for many a year,

To rob a man of what he holds most dear,

To prove thereby your fickle violence;

So I am lost and there is no defence.

`O very Lord of Love ! Alas, O Lord,

Who best do know my heart, my every thought,

What sorrowful future can my life afford

If I forgo what was so dearly bought?

And since Criseyde and I by you were brought

Into your grace, and there our hearts were sealed

How can you suffer this to be repealed?

`What shall I do? As long as I am master

Of my poor life of care and cruel pain,

I will cry out against this great disaster;

Alone as I was born, I will complain.

I'll never see the sunshine or the rain;

Like Oedipus, in darkness I shall end

My sorrowful life and die without a friend.

`O weary spirit ranging to and fro

Why fieest thou not out of the woefullest

Of bodies that were ever friend to woe?

O soul, lurking within me, leave thy nest,

Take wing out of my heart, and break my breast;

Follow Criseyde, follow thy lady dear,

Thy rightful place is now no longer herel

`Sorrowful eyes that found their happiness

In gazing into hers that were so bright,

What are you good for now in my distress?

For nothing but to weep away your sight,

Since she is quenched that was your only light!

In vain it is I have you, eyes of mine,

Since she is gone that gave you power to shine.

` O my Criseyde, O sovereign excellence,

Who shall give comfort to the sorrowful soul

That cries his pain with such a vehemence?

Alas, there's no one; death will take his toll,

And my sad ghost, enamoured of its goal,

Will seek thee out to serve thee; O receive it!

What does the body matter, since I leave it?

`And O you lovers high upon the wheel

Of happy Fortune in your great endeavour,

God send you find a love as true as steel

And may your life in joy continue ever!

And when you pass my sepulchre, ah never

Forget your fellow who is resting there;

He also loved, unworthy though he were.

` O old, unwholesome, evil‑living man,

Calkas I mean, alas, what ailed you, Sir,

To turn into a Greek, since you began

A Trojan? You will be my murderer;

Cursed was your birth for me! May Jupiter

Grant this to me, out of his blissful joy,

To have you where I want you, back in Troy !'

A thousand sighs that burnt like a live coal

One, then another, issued from his breast,

And mingled with the sorrows of his soul

Feeding his grief, giving his tears no rest;

He was so lacerated, so oppressed,

So utterly checkmated by this chance,

He felt no joy or grief, but lay in trance.

Pandarus, who had heard in Parliament

What every lord and burgess had replied,

And how they all had given their consent

To have back Antenor and yield Criseyde,

Went nearly mad, he was so mortified;

Not knowing, in his misery, for the nonce,

What he was doing, he rushed away at once

To Troilus; the Squire at his door

On duty opened it anon for him,

And Pandarus, though weeping more and more,

Into the chamber, that was dark and dim,

Pressed onward silently; he seemed to swim

In his confusion, knew not what to say;

For very woe his wits were half astray.

All lacerated both in looks and mood,

In grief, with folded arms, a little space

Before this woeful Troilus he stood,

And gazed upon his pitiable face.

His heart turned chill to see his sorry case,

It slew his heart to see his friend in woe

And misery, or he imagined so.

And the unhappy Troilus who felt

The presence of his friend instinctively,

Like snow on sunny days began to melt,

While sorrowing Pandarus, in sympathy,

Was weeping too as tenderly as he.

So speechlessly they gazed, without relief;

Neither of them could speak a word, for grief.

But in the end the woeful Troilus

Near dead with suffering, burst into a roar,

A sorrowful noise indeed, and spoke him thus,

Through sighs and sobs that shook him to the core,

`O Pandar, I am dead; there's nothing more.

Did you not hear in Parliament' he cried

`They've taken Antenor for my Criseyde!'

And Pandarus, dead‑pale, could only nod.

And answer, very miserably, `Yes;

I've heard ‑ I know about it all. O God,

Who ever would have thought it? Who could guess?

If only it were false! It is a mess

Which, in a moment – how was one to know? –

Fortune has planned, to be our overthrow.

`In all the world no creature, I suppose,

Ever saw ruin stranger than have we,

Whether by chance or accident who knows?

Who can avoid all evils, who foresee?

Such is this world; in my philosophy

No one should think that Fortune is at call

For him alone; for she is common to all.

`But tell me, Troilus, why are you so mad,

Taking it all to heart, the way you do?

What you desired you at least have had;

By rights that ought to be enough for you.

What about me? I've never had my due

For my love‑service, never a friendly eye

Or glance! It is for me to wail and die.

`Besides all this ‑ and you must know as much

As I. do here ‑ the town and roundabout

Is full of ladies, fairer than twelve such

In my opinion; I will search them out

And find you one or two, you needn't doubt;

Be happy then, again, my own, dear brother;

If she is lost, we can procure another.

`What I God forbid our pleasures all should spring

From one sole source, or only in one way;

If one can dance, another girl can sing,

One is demure, another light and gay,

One knows her way about and one can play;

Each is admired for her special grace;

Both heron‑hawk and falcon have their place.

`As Zeuxis` wrote (so wise and full of phrases)

"New love will often chase away the old."

Remember, circumstances alter cases.

Self‑preservation, we are always told,

Comes first; the fires of passion will turn cold

By course of nature; since it was casual pleasure,

You can forget about it at your leisure.

`For just as sure as day will follow night,

New love, or work, or other predilection,

Or the mere fact of seldom having sight

Of someone, can obliterate affection.

One of these ways, to sever the connexion,

And shorten what you suffer, shall be sought;

Absence will surely drive her from your thought.'

He spoke whatever came into his head

`You tell me solemnly to love some other,

To help his friend, and, following his brief,

To start afresh and let my lady go;

He did not care what foolishness he said,

It isn't in my power, my dear brother,

So long as it might bring him some relief.

At last he stirred and answered as he leaned

Upon his elbow, `Friend, your remedy

Would suit me well enough, were I a fiend.

What! to betray one that is true to me?

Shame on the thought of all such villainy !

Better to have me killed before your eyes

At once, than have me do as you advise.

`She that I love, whatever you reply,

To whom my heart is given as to none,

Shall have me wholly hers until I die;

I have sworn truth to her and that is done.

I will not be untrue for anyone;

I live and die her man, I will not swerve;

No other living creature will I serve.

`And where you tell me you can find a creature

As fair as she, have done with it ! Take care,

For there's no other being in all nature

To equal her, and so make no compare,

For your opinion I will never share

Touching all this, and you can spare your breath;

To listen to you is a kind of death.

You tell me solemnly to love some other,

To start afresh and let my lady go;

It isn’t in my power, my dear brother,

And if it were I would not have it so.

Can you play racquets with it, to and fro,

Nettle in, dock out, and shift from here to there?

Bad luck to her that takes you in her care!

`The way you are behaving, Pandarus,

Is like when someone sees a man in woe

And saunters up to him, and argues thus

"Don't think about it and the pain will go."

You'll have to turn me into granite though,

Strip me and rifle me of every passion,

Before you cure me in that easy fashion.

`Death well may drive the life out of my breast,

Which a long grief will surely undermine,

But never shall my soul be dispossessed

Of her love's dart, but down to Proserpine,

When I am dead, I'll go, and there resign

Myself to live in pain, and broken‑hearted,

Eternal grief, that she and I are parted.

`You made an argument along the line

That it should prove a lesser misery

To lose Criseyde, because she once was mine,

And I had had a full felicity.

Why gab like that? Haven't you said to me

Often enough that it was worse to fall

From joy, than not to have known joy at all?

`But tell me, since you think it is so easy

To change in love, and wander to and fro,

How comes it that your feelings are too queasy

To change the one that causes you such woe?

Empty your heart of her and let her go,

Exchange her for some other, sweeter diet,

Some lady that will cause you no disquiet.

`If you, whose love is dogged by unsuccess,

Still cannot drive that love out of your mind,

I that have lived in joy and happiness

With her, as much as any man could find,

Could I so soon forget her? Are you blind?

Where have you been mewed up so long, how spent

Your time, who are so good at argument?

`No, no. God knows that everything you've said

Is worthless; for, befall what may befall,

I mean to die; would I indeed were dead

And no more words; come, Death, the end of all

Our sorrows, come, O hear me when I call !

Happy the death that's called for not in vain,

And, often called, will come to end all pain.

`I know that when I lived my life in quiet

To keep thee off I would have paid thee hire;

Thy coming now would be my sweetest diet;

There's nothing in the world I more desire,

O Death! My griefs have set my heart on fire,

Drown me in tears at once, or take thy dart

And with thy cold stroke quench both heat and heart.

`And since thou shyest so many of the best

Against their will, unasked for, day and night,

Do me this service now at my request,

Deliver the world of me and do me right,

The wretchedest of men that Fortune's spite

Ever struck down; it's time for me to die,

Since in this world I serve no purpose, I'

The tears welled up into his eyes, distilling

Like drops from an alembic, and as fast;

And Pandar held his tongue and stood unwilling

To venture further, with his eyes downcast.

The thought however came to him at last

`By heaven, rather than my friend should die,

I'll say a little more to him, or try.'

`Dear friend,' he said, `you are in great distress,

And since you think my arguments at fault,

Why don't you help yourself and take redress,

Using your manhood now to call a halt

To all these tears? Carry her by assault!

These niceties are nothing but self‑pity;

Get up and take Criseyde and leave the city 1

'Are you a Trojan? Where's your resolution?

Not take a woman who's in love with you

And who would say it was the best solution?

What foolish scruples are you listening to?

Get up at once, and stop this weeping, do,

Show us your manhood and within the hour

I'll die for it, or have her in our power.'

And Troilus, whose voice began to soften,

Replied `You may be certain, brother dear,

That I have thought of this, and very often,

And more than what you have suggested here;

But why I haven't done it will appear

When you have heard what I have got to say;

Then, if you wish to lecture me, you may.

'First, as you know, this city is at war

Just for a woman carried off by force;

I'm one there could be no allowance for,

As things stand now, in such a wicked course;

I should be blamed by all and be a source

Of trouble to the town, if I withstood

My father's word; she leaves for the town's good.

'And I have also thought ‑ should she consent –

To beg her of my father, as a grace;

That would accuse her, to her detriment.

Nor can I offer purchase in this case,

For since my father, in so high a place

As Parliament, has given it his seal,

He could not now consider my appeal

`Yet most I dread her heart might be perturbed

By violence, were I to play that game,

For if the town were openly disturbed

It must result in slander on her name,

Which I would rather die for, than defame;

And God forbid that ever I prefer

Saving my wretched life to saving her.

' So I am lost, for all that I can see,

For it is certain, since I am her knight,

Her honour is a dearer thing to me

Than I myself, it must be, as of right.

Desire and reason tear me in their fight;

Desire counsels "ravish her! ", but reason,

So fears my heart, forbids me such a treason.'

And still he wept away with tears unceasing

And said 'Alas, what will become of us?

I feel my love increasing and increasing

And hope diminishing, my Pandarus,

For reasons ever more calamitous !

Alas, alas, why will my heart not burst?

There's little rest in love, from last to first.'

' As for myself,' said Pandarus 'you're free,

Do as you like; but if I had it hot

And were a Prince, I'd take her off with me,

Though all the city shouted I should not;

I wouldn't give a penny for the lot.

When all the shouting's over and the thunder,

It ends in whispers and a nine‑days'‑wonder.

`You're so considerate, you go so deep;

Think of yourself ! The time is past and done

For weeping now; better if others weep !

Especially since you and she are one.

Get up and help yourself, for, by the sun,

It's better to be blamed and pointed at

Than to lie here and perish like a gnat.

`It's not a vice in you, there is no shame

In holding back the woman you love most;

Maybe she'll think it's foolish of you, tame,

To let her go and join the Grecian host;

Fortune favours the brave ! It is her boast

To help the hardy in a thing like this,

And thwart all wretches for their cowardice.

`And if Criseyde turns peevish, should she grieve

A little, you may make your peace at will

Hereafter; as for me, I can't believe

That even now she'd take it very ill;

Fear nothing l Let your quaking heart be still;

Remember Paris; Paris is your brother;

He has a love, and why not you another?

`And, Troilus, there's one thing I can swear;

If she ‑ Criseyde ‑ your darling and your bliss –

Loves you as truly now as you love her,

God knows that she will never take amiss

What you may do to remedy all this;

And if she leaves you, if she thinks it fit,

Then she is false; love her the less for it.

`And so take heart I Remember, you're a knight;

For love the laws are broken every day;

So show your courage, show your strength and right,

Have pity on yourself and throw away

This awe you feel; don't let this wretched day

Gnaw out your heart; set all at six and seven,

And if you die a martyr, go to heaven.

`And I will stand beside you. No retreat !

Even if I, and all my kith and kin,

Lie dead as dogs for it upon the street

Thrust through with bloody wounds. So count us in !

You'll find me friend, whether you lose or win.

But if you'd rather die in bed upstairs,

Good‑bye I To Hell with anyone who cares !'

These words brought Troilus to life again

And he replied `Well, thanks for that, dear friend;

You needn't goad me so; I suffer pain

Greater than you can give. Now, hear the end:

Whatever happens I do not intend

To carry her off, except by her consent,

Not if it kills me. That was what I meant.'

`Why, so did II And I've been saying so

All day,' said Pandar, `have you asked her yet?

Is that why you are sad?' He answered `No.'

`Then what dismays you, if you haven't met?

How ran you know that she would be upset

If you should carry her off? Why should you fear?

Has Jove come down and whispered in your ear?

`Get up and wash your face; and see it's clean.

Pretend that nothing's happened; see the King,

Or he may wonder where you can have been;

Throw dust into his eyes ‑ yes, that's the thing,

For even now he may be ordering

Someone to fetch you, ere you are aware;

Cheer up, and let me deal with this affair.

` For I am certain that I can contrive it

Somehow, somewhere, some time tonight, for you

To see your lady where you can be private;

Then by her words, and her appearance too,

You'll soon perceive what she would have you do,

And all her mind; talk over what is best;

Farewell for now, for on this point I rest.'

Impartial rumour that is wont to bring

A false report as swiftly as a true,

Had darted through all Troy on eager wing

From man to man, telling the tale anew,

How Calkas' daughter, she, the bright of hue,

In Parliament, not even argued for,

Had been delivered up for Antenor.

And very soon the rumour reached Criseyde;

She, for her part, had never given thought

To Calkas, cared not if he lived or died;

She called down curses on the man who brought

The treaty of exchange, but never sought

To question it, for fear it might be true;

She dared not ask of anyone she knew.

As one who long had set her heart and mind

On Troilus, and who had there made fast,

So that the world itself could not unbind

Such ties of love, or Troilus be cast

Out of her heart as long as life should last,

She burned with love and terror, to and fro;

What would be best to do she did not know.

But, as one sees in town and roundabout,

Women like visiting their friends to chatter;

Criseyde was soon the centre of a rout

Supposing her delighted at the matter;

So gossip and congratulating patter,

Dear at a penny, full of bright regret,

Poured from these city ladies when they met.

Said one `I am as happy as could be

On your account; you'll see your father, dear!'

Another said `Indeed? I can't agree!

We have seen all too little of her here.'

Then said a third `Let's hope that she will clear

The air and bring us peace on either side,

And may the Lord Almighty be her Guide!'

100

These femininities and gossipings

She heard as one whose thoughts are far away;

God knows her heart was set on other things;

Her body sat and heard them say their say,

But the attention of her spirit lay

On Troilus; she sought him with the whole

Speechless desire and passion of her soul.

101

These women, fancying that they could please her

Expended all their tales on her for naught,

For no such vanities had power to ease her,

Since all the while she listened she was caught

In flames of other passions than they thought;

She felt her heart would die of misery

And weariness in such a company.

102

She was no longer able to restrain

The tears within her, they began to well

And give their signal of the bitter pain

In which her spirit dwelt and had to dwell,

Remembering from what Heaven to what Hell

She now had fallen, since she must forgo

The sight of Troilus; she sighed for woe.

103

And every fool of those who sat about her

Supposed that she was weeping for the pain

Of having to depart and do without her

And never be amused by her again;

Her older friends were ready to explain,

Seeing her weep, that it was human nature,

And they wept too for the unhappy creature.

104

And so these women busily consoled her

For things of which she had not even thought,

Believing she was cheered by what they told her;

`She ought to be more cheerful, yes she ought,'

They urged her; and the comfort that they brought

Was such as, with a headache, one might feel,

If someone came and clawed one by the heel.

105

But after all this foolish vanity

They took their leave, and home they hurried all.

Criseyde, invaded by her misery,

Went up into her chamber from the hall,

Fell on her bed for dead, and to the wall

She turned, intending never thence to rise,

As I shall tell you, and, with countless cries,

106

Her rippled hair, the colour of the sun,

She tore, and wrung her fingers long and slender,

Calling on God for pity upon one

Who only wished for death to save and end her;

Her cheeks that once were bright, now pale and tender

With tears, bore witness to her sad constraint,

And sobbing thus, she spoke in long complaint:

107

`Alas !' she said, `That I must leave this nation,

Wretched, unfortunate and full of woe,

Born under an accursed constellation,

And, parted from my knight, compelled to go !

Sorrow upon the daylight, in the glow

Of which these eyes first saw him riding there,

Causing me, and I him, so much despair 1'

108

And upon that there started from her eyes

Tears like an April shower, and as fast,

She beat her white breast, and a thousand cries

She gave for death to come to her at last,

Since he that eased her sorrow in the past

Must be forgone; and in this grief and need

She felt herself a creature lost indeed.

109

`What shall I do?' she said, `And what will he?

How shall I live if we are thus divided?

And O dear heart I love so faithfully,

Who will console your misery as I did?

Calkas, on your head be the sin, misguided

Father ! O Argyve, his wife,

Sorrow upon the day you gave me life !

110

`To what end should I live and sorrow thus?

Can a fish live out of its element?

What is Criseyde without her Troilus?

How should a plant or creature find content

Or live, without its natural nourishment?

There is a proverb, I have heard it said,

"The green that has least root is soonest dead."

111

`Thus I resolve to do: since sword and dart

I dare not handle, for their cruel pain,

From the dread day on which I must depart,

Unless I die of grieving, sorrow‑slain,

I never shall touch meat or drink again

Till I unsheathe my soul and end my breath,

And in this way I'll do myself to death.

112

`My dresses, Troilus, shall be unpearled,

They shall be black, my dearest heart and best,

In token, love, I have forgone the world,

Who once was wont to set your heart at rest;

And in my Order, till by death possessed,

I shall observe, you being absent thence,

The rule of grief, complaint and abstinence.

113

`The sorrowing soul that harbours in my heart

I leave to you ‑ with yours it shall complain

Eternally, for they shall never part.

For though on earth we parted, once again

In the far field of pity, out of pain,

Known as Elysium, we shall meet above,

Like Orpheus and Eurydice, his love.

114

`Thus, dearest heart, for Antenor, alas,

I soon shall be exchanged, is that not sure?

What will you do? Can such a sorrow pass?

How shall your tenderness of heart endure?

Forget your grief, my love! Be that your cure,

Forget me also, for I tell you true

I'll gladly die if all be well with you.'

115

Could they be ever written, said, or sung,

Her words of lamentation and distress?

I do not know; but if my simple tongue

Should venture to describe her heaviness,

I should but make her sorrow seem far less

Than what it was, and childishly deface

Her high complaint; here it shall have no place.

116

Pandar, who had been sent by Troilus

To see Criseyde, when, as you heard me say,

It was agreed it would be better thus

(And he was glad to serve in such a way)

Came to Criseyde in secret, where she lay

Upon her bed, in torment and in rage,

As he came in upon his embassage.

117

And this was how he found her when they met;

Her tears fell salt upon her bed of care,

And bathed her breast and countenance with wet;

The mighty tresses of her sunnish hair,

Hanging about her ears unbraided there,

Were a wild symbol of her martyrdom

And death; her spirit longed for it to come.

118

And, seeing him, she started thereupon

To hide her teary face and turn away,

And this made Pandar feel so woebegone,

That he could hardly bring himself to stay,

It was too much for him. And I must say

That if Criseyde had made lament before,

She did so now a thousand times the more.

119

In bitterest complaining, thus she cried:

`O Pandarus, first cause, as well I know,

Of many a cause of joy to me, Criseyde,

That is transmuted now to cruel woe,

Tell me, am I to welcome you, or no?

You were the first to bring me to the bliss

Of serving love; and must it end like this?

120

`Ends love in sorrow? Yes, or people lie;

Aye, and all worldly bliss, it seems to me.

Bliss has a goal that sorrows occupy,

And whosoever thinks this cannot be,

Wretch that I am, let him but look at me

That hate myself, and ever more shall curse

My birth, and feel I move from bad to worse.

121

`Whoever sees me, sees all grief in one,

Pain, torment, lamentation, bitterness,

None but inhabits my sad body, none!

Anguish and languishment and woe, distress,

Vexation, smart, fear, fury, giddiness . . .

Indeed I think the very heavens rain

Down tears in pity of my cruel pain.'

122

'Ali my dear niece, my sister in dejection,'

Said Pandarus, `what do you mean to do?

Have some regard, some thought for your protection;

Will you let sorrow make an end of you?

Stop it! Here's something you must listen to:

I have a word for you, so pay attention,

Sent you by me from Troilus, I may mention.'

123

Criseyde then turned towards him in a grief

So great, it was a very death to see.

`Alas,' she said, `what word can bring relief?

What has my dearest heart to say to me

Whom I may never see again? Does he

Lack tears upon my going? Should he care

To send for them, I have enough to spare.'

124

The visage that she showed had paid the price;

She looked like one that they had come to bind

Upon her bier; her face, once Paradise,

Had changed and seemed as of another kind;

The fun and laughter one was wont to find

In her, and all her joyfulness, had flown

From poor Criseyde, and there she lay alone.

125

About her eyes there was a purple ring

That circled them in token of her pain

And to behold her was a deadly thing,

And Pandar was unable to restrain

Tears that came gushing from his eyes like rain.

Nevertheless, as best he could, he tried

To give these words from Troilus to Criseyde:

126

`Niece, I suppose you've heard of the to‑do;

The King, and others, acting for the best,

Have made exchange of Antenor and you,

The cause of all this trouble and unrest.

But how these fatal doings have oppressed

Your Troilus no earthly tongue can say;

For very grief his wits have gone astray.

127

`Ah, we have been so wretched, he and I,

It nearly killed us both; but thanks to keeping

To my advice, he has made shift to dry

His eyes and somewhat to withdraw from weeping;

And I am sure that he would fain be sleeping

By you tonight. Together you may find

Some remedy, of one or other kind.

128

`This, short and plain, is all I have to say

- As far as I can gather, anyhow;

And you, in all this tempest of dismay,

Cannot attend to lengthy prologues now;

Send him an answer, if your tears allow,

And, for the love of God, I beg you, dear,

Stop weeping before Troilus comes here.'

129

`Great is my grief,' she answered, as before,

Sighing like one in deadly, sharp distress,

`But yet to me his sufferings weigh still more;

I love him better than myself, I guess.

Is it for me, alas, this heaviness

Of heart, of which he piteously complains?

Indeed this sorrow doubles my own pains.

130

`Grievous to me, God knows, it is to part,'

She said, `yet it is harder still for me

To look into the sorrow of his heart,

For that will be my death, as I foresee.

Yes, I shall surely die. And yet,' said she

`Bid him to come, ere threatening death may sack

The city of my soul in its attack.'

131

Having said this, she buried her face flat

Upon her forearms, shedding many a tear.

Pandarus said, `Alas! Ah, why do that?

You must get up, you know the time is near;

Rise up and quickly, he will soon be here !

You must not let him find you blubbered red,

Unless you wish to send him off his head.

132

`If he could see you making this to‑do,

He'd kill himself; and if I had expected

This fuss, I'd not have let him visit you

For all the wealth King Priam has collected;

Since to what end his course would be directed !

I know too well; and therefore you must try

To stop this woe, or, flatly, he will die.

133

`Prepare yourself, dear niece, to render aid,

To mitigate his sorrows, not to heat;

And touch him with the flat and not the blade;

Use all your wisdom, set him on his feet.

How would it help, were you to fill a street

With tears, though both of you should drown in them?

No time for tears; but time for stratagem.

134

`Here's what I mean: I'll bring him here, and, knowing

You'll be at one in what you fix upon,

I trust you'll find a way to stop your going,

Or to return soon after you have gone.

Women are quick to see a long way on;

Let's see if you can make your wit prevail,

And if you want my help it shall not fail.'

135

`Go,' said Criseyde, `and, Uncle, honestly,

With all the power I have I will refrain

From weeping in his sight; and eagerly

I'll work to make him happy once again;

I will explore my heart in every vein,

For there shall lack no salve to heal his sore

In anything that I'm to answer for.'

136

So off went Pandar seeking Troilus.

He found him in a temple all alone,

Like one whose life had lost its impetus

And who cared nothing for it; at the throne

Of every pitying god he made his moan

Imploring to be taken from earth's face,

Sure as he was to find no better grace.

137

And, to speak briefly, it would be no lie

To say he was so overcome by care

As utterly to have resolved to die

That day; all argument had led him there,

Telling him he was lost, and to despair;

`Since all that comes, comes by necessity,

Thus to be lost is but my destiny.

138

`And certainly, I know it well,' he cried,

`That, in His foresight, Providence Divine

Forever has seen me losing my Criseyde,

(Since God sees everything) and things combine

As He disposes them in His design

According to their merits, and their station

Is as it shall be, by predestination.

139

`But all the same, whom am I to believe?

Though there are many great and learned men,

And many are the arguments they weave,

To prove predestination; yet again

Others affirm we have free choice; but then

Those ancient men of learning are so sly:

On whose opinion am I to rely?

140

`Some say "If God sees everything before

It happens ‑ and deceived He cannot be –

Then everything must happen, though you swore

The contrary, for He has seen it, He."

And so I say, if from eternity

God has foreknowledge of our thought and deed,

We've no free choice, whatever books we read.

141

`No other thought, no other action either,

Could ever be but such as Providence

(Which cannot be deceived about it neither)

Has long foreseen, without impediments.

If there could be a variation thence,

A wriggling out of God's foreseeing eye,

Then there would be no Providence on high.

142

`God then would have no more than an opinion,

With nothing steadfastly foreseen or sure;

It were absurd to say of His dominion

That it would lack a knowledge clear and pure,

Or had the doubtful knowing men endure;

To guess such errors into Deity

Were false and foul, a wicked blasphemy.

143

`Yet there's another view maintained by some

Who wear their tonsures very. smooth and dry;

And they would say " A thing is not to come

Because divine foreknowledge from on high

Foresaw it; rather, that the reason why

It was foreseen was that it had to be,

Which Providence foresaw, presumably."

144

`So, in this manner, this Necessity

Just crosses back onto the other side

Of the debate; things do not have to be

Because foreseen, that has to be denied.

But if they are to be they cannot hide

From Providence; things certain to befall

Must be foreseen for certain, one and all.

145

`I mean ‑ and I am labouring in this –

To question which is cause of which, and see

Whether the fact of God's foreknowledge is

The certain cause of the necessity

By which things come about eventually,

Or if the fact that they must come about

Is what makes God foresee them; there's the doubt.

146

`Yet I won't strive to show, nor have I shown,

How causes stand in order, but infer

That, of necessity, a thing foreknown

For certain, will most certainly occur,

Whether or not we seem to register

That God's foreknowledge made it come to pass;

Yet it will come, for good or ill, alas !

147

`If there's a man there, sitting on the seat,

Then, of necessity, it follows fair

Enough that your opinion is no cheat

When you conjecture he is sitting there;

And yet again, as I am well aware,

The contrary opinion stays as strong,

As thus ‑ now listen, for I won't take long ‑

148

`I say, if the opinion you declare

Is true (that he is sitting there),

I say That of necessity he's truly there;

And so necessity goes either way:

Necessity that he be on display

Necessity in you to see him so,

And that's necessity in both, you know.

149

`But you may say "He is not sitting there

Because the fact you think he is is true,

But rather, he was sitting on that chair

From long before, and so was seen by you."

And I say, though indeed it may be due

To his being there, yet the necessity

Is common to you, interchangeably.

150

` In just this way (it makes undoubted sense)

I can construct ‑ or so it seems to me –

My argument about God's providence

And about all the things that come to be;

And by this reasoning we all can see

That whatsoever things on earth befall

Come of necessity, predestined all.

151

`Although whatever comes about, I mean,

Must therefore be foreknown ‑ as who can doubt? –

And though it does not come because foreseen,

Yet it still follows, and one can't get out

Of this, that things which are to come about

Must be foreseen; or, if foreseen, take shape

Inevitably; there is no escape.

152

`And this is quite sufficient anyway

To prove free choice in us a mere pretence;

What an absurdity it is to say

That temporal happenings ‑ the things of sense –

Are causes of eternal prescience !

Now truly it's as false as it is odd

To say things cause the Providence of God 1

153

`What might I think, had I such thought in store,

Except that God foresees what is to come

Because it is to come, and nothing more?

So might I think that all things, part and sum,

That once had being, but are dead and dumb,

Caused providence, ere they were in the making,

To know them, and to know without mistaking.

154

`Above all this, I have yet more to show,

That just as, when I know a thing to be,

That thing must of necessity be so,

So, when a thing that I can know and see

Is coming, come it will; necessity

Of things to come, foreknown before their day,

Can never be evaded any way.'

155

Then said he thus: `Almighty Jove on high,

That knowest our sad case infallibly,

Have pity on my sorrow, let me die,

Or from our trouble bring Criseyde and me.'

And as he knelt there in his misery,

With all these thoughts debating in his head,

Pandar came in, and (you shall hear it) said:

156

`Almighty God enthroned in heaven above !

Whoever saw a man behaving so?

Why, Troilus, what are you thinking of?

Always your own worst enemy, as though

Criseyde had gone already ! Don't you know

We have her still? Why kill yourself with dread?

The very eyeballs in your skull. look dead.

157

`Haven't you lived for many years, dear brother,

Without her, happily and well at ease?

And were you born for her and for no other?

Did nature only fashion you to please Criseyde?

You should be thinking thoughts like these;

Just as with dice chance governs every throw,

So too with love; its pleasures come and go.

158

`Yet of all wonders this I find most strange,

Why you should weep so, when, as you'll admit,

You have no notion what they will arrange,

Or whether she has ways of stopping it.

You haven't yet made trial of her wit;

It's time enough to stick your neck out when

Your head's to be cut off; start weeping then!

159

`You pay attention, then, to what I say;

I've spent some time with her; she spoke to me

(As was agreed between us, by the way),

And all the time I kept on thinking, she

Had something locked in her heart's privacy

By which she hopes ‑ if I have any ear –

To find a means to hinder what you fear.

160

`So I'd advise you, at the fall of night,

To go and see her and to make an end

Of this; and Juno in her splendid might

Will, as I hope, send grace and be our friend.

My heart is saying "They shall never send

Criseyde away l" So set your heart at rest;

Hold to your purpose, for it is the best.'

161

`You have said well, that's just what I will do,'

Said Troilus, and yet he sighed for woe,

Then stammered out another word or two,

And when he saw that it was time to go

He went alone, and secretly, as though

All was as usual, and took his way

To where she was, and did as I shall say.

162

The truth is this, that when at first they met

Pain in their hearts gave them so sharp a twist

Neither could say a word in greeting, yet

They fell into each other's arms and kissed.

Which was the sorrier at such a tryst

Neither could say; grief has a way of robbing

The soul of words; they could not speak for sobbing.

163

The tears that in their sorrow they let fall

Bitter beyond all tears of nature's kind,

Smarted as wood of aloes does, or gall;

Tears bitterer than these I do not find

The woeful Myrrha' wept through bark and rind;

In all the world there's none so hard of heart

But would have felt compassion for their smart.

164

But when the weary spirits of these twain

Returned to them, to where they ought to dwell,

And felt a little lessening of pain

By long lament and ebbing of the well

Of tears, their hearts beginning to unswell,

At last, and with a broken voice, Criseyde,

Hoarse from her sobbing, looked at him and cried:

165

` O Jove, have mercy on me, I am dying !

Help, Troilus !' And then she laid her face

Upon his breast, and speechless from her crying,

She felt her soul was gliding into space

Leaving for ever its appointed place;

She lay, a greenish pallor in her features,

That once had been the loveliest of creatures.

166

And he began with passion to behold her

Calling her name; but there she lay for dead,

Speechless and cold, her head upon his shoulder,

Her eyes thrown back and upward in her head.

He, at a loss what should be done or said,

Kissing her cold mouth over and again, Suffered,

God alone knew ‑ and he ‑ what pain!

167

He roused himself, and laid her on the bed;

No sign of life she gave that he could see,

Stretched out in length she lay there, seeming dead,

`Alas I' his heart was sighing, `woe is me !'

And when he saw her lying speechlessly,

He said, all bare of bliss, and heavy‑hearted,

That she was gone, her spirit had departed.

168

When he had long lamented and complained,

Had wrung his hands and said what was to say,

And his salt tears upon her breast had rained,

He brought himself to wipe those tears away

And pitifully he began to pray,

Saying `O Lord, that sittest on Thy throne,

Pity me too, that follow her alone !'

169

Lifeless she lay, cold and insentient,

There was no breath in her, for all he knew;

This was for him a pregnant argument

That she had left the world, and left him too;

And when he saw there was no more to do,

He dressed her limbs and body in the way

They use for those that wait their burial day.

170

And after this, sternly and cruelly,

Out of its sheath he drew his naked sword

To kill himself, sharp though the pain might be,

That soul might follow soul in one accord

Whithersoever Minos' gave the word,

Since, by the will of Fortune and of Love,

He must no longer live on earth above.

171

And then he said, filled with a high disdain,

`O cruel Jove, O Fortune so adverse,

This is the sum of all, since you have slain

Criseyde, by treachery, and can do no worse

To me; fie on your double dealings, curse

Your cowardly power that cannot break my vow !

No death can part me from my lady now.

172

`I'll leave this world, since you have slain her thus,

And follow her below, or else above;

Never shall lover say that Troilus

Dared not, for fear, to die beside his love;

I'll join her, that I can be certain of.

Since you forbid our love for one another

Here, yet allow our souls to find each other.

173

`And O thou city that I leave in woe,

And Priam, thou, and all my brethren here,

Farewell ! Farewell my mother, for I go;

And, Atropos,e make ready thou my bier.

And thou, Criseyde, ah, sweetheart, ah, my dear,

Receive my spirit !' So he thought to cry

With sword at heart, in readiness to die.

174

But, as God willed, her spirit was restored;

She broke from swoon, and 'Troilus !' she cried,

And he gave answer, letting fall his sword,

`Are you alive, O lady mine, Criseyde?'

`Yes, sweetest heart,' she sighingly replied,

`Thanks be to Cypris'; he in new delight

Began to comfort her as best he might.

175

He took her in his arms with kisses soft,

And strove to comfort her by every art,

So that her spirit, flickering aloft,

Came back again into her woeful heart,

When, glancing somewhat downward and apart,

She saw the naked sword where it was lying;

Fear cone upon her and she started crying,

176

And asked what made him draw it; he replied

By telling her the cause that now had passed,

And how he would have stabbed himself and died;

She gazed at him again, and then she cast

Her arms about his body, firm and fast;

`O what a deed !' she said beneath her breath,

`Merciful God, how near we were to death !

177

`And if I hadn't spoken, by God's grace,

You would have killed yourself?' `Yes, certainly.'

`Alas, alas,' she said `O heavy case !

For by the Lord above that fashioned me,

I wouldn't live a moment more,' said she

After your death ‑ not to be crowned the

Queen Of all the countries that the sun has seen !

178

`But with that very weapon ‑ there it is –

I also would have killed myself,' she said,

`But O, no more! We've had enough of this;

Let us rise up at once and go to bed

And talk about the woes that lie ahead;

For, by that night‑light which I see there burning,

I know that daylight will be soon returning.'

179

They lay in bed, but, though their arms were lacing,

It was not thus that they had lain before;

Now they looked misery in their embracing,

Lost was the bliss that they had known of yore;

Why were they born? Ah, would they were no more !

So they bewailed, until a thought awoke

Within her, and to Troilus she spoke:

180

`Listen, my sweetheart, well you know' said she

`That if a man does nothing but complain

About his griefs, and seeks no remedy,

It is mere folly and increase of pain;

And since we came together here again

To find some remedy out, or make a plan

To cure our woes, it's time that we began.

181

`I am a woman, as you know full well.

And sudden intuitions come to me

Which, while they still are hot, I have to tell.

Neither of us, as far as I can see,

Ought to give way to half this misery;

Surely we have the cunning to redress

What is amiss, and end this heaviness.

182

`The truth is that our misery of heart

(For all I know) comes from no more than this

Only that you and I are forced to part;

Considered well, there is no more amiss.

If that be all, it's not a precipice !

For though we part, there may be ways to meet,

And that is all there is to it, my sweet.

183

`I'm positive of bringing things about

So that, once gone, I can return to you;

Of that I have no shadow of a doubt,

And certainly, within a week or two,

I shall be here again; that this is true

I can convince you in a word or so,

For there are heaps of ways, as I can show.

184

`I won't take long ‑ no sermon, no confusion,

For time once lost one never can recall;

I promise to go straight to my conclusion,

Which is, it seems to me, the best of all;

And yet forgive me if my choice should fall

Upon a scheme that causes you unrest,

For, honestly, I'm speaking for the best

185

`However, let me make the protestation

That, in the words that I am going to say,

I'm only showing my imagination

Of means to help ourselves the easiest way;

And do not take it otherwise, I pray,

For in effect I'll do as you decide;

That's no demand, and shall not be denied.

186

`Now listen: as you well have understood,

My going is agreed by Parliament

So firmly, to withstand it is no good,

As far as I can judge; that's evident.

Since no consideration can prevent

The course of things, banish it from your mind,

And see what other measures we can find.

187

`I know the separation of us two

Will cruelly distress us, and annoy:

Those who serve love have painful things to do

From time to time, if they would have the joy.

That I shall be no further out of Troy

Than half a morning's ride is a relief,

And ought to lessen the effect of grief.

188

`If they don't mew me up but leave me loose,

My own and best, then day by day, my dear,

Since, as you know, it is a time of truce,

You shall have news of me, you need not fear,

And long before it's over I'll be here;

You'll then have Antenor, your chosen man,

And me as well; be happy if you can !

189

`Think of it this way: "My Criseyde has gone;

But what of that? She'll come back right away."

"And when, alas?" "A little later on,

Ten days at most, that I can safely say."

How happy shall we be that golden day,

To live together, evermore, in Troy!

Why, the whole world could never tell our joy !

190

`And, as things are, I often notice, too,

To keep our secret, (which we have to hide),

You do not speak to me, nor I to you,

For a whole fortnight; you go out to ride

But I don't see you; can you not abide

Ten days to save my honour, and make all sure

In our adventure; is that much to endure?

191

`Then, as you know, my family is here,

That is, except my father; only he

Has gone; and all the things I hold most dear

Are here together, you especially,

Whom, above all, I would not cease to see

For all the world ‑ wide as it is to rove;

Else let me never see the face of Jove.

192

`Why do you think my father should so prize me,

Or long for me, unless he fears the spite

Of people in this town who may despise me

Because of him and his unhappy flight?

What does he know about my present plight?

If he but knew how happy I am here,

My going would be nothing we need fear.

193

`You see how every day, and more and more,

They treat of peace; there is some indication

That we are almost ready to restore

Queen Helen, if the Greeks make reparation;

And, if there were no other consolation,

The fact they purpose peace on either part

Is one that should a little ease your heart.

194

`If it be peace, my dearest, then the tidings

Will, of their nature, force us to contrive

Intercommunication; there'll be ridings

Thither and back, the place will be alive

All day, as thick as bees about a hive,

And everyone will be in a position

To come and go, and will not need permission.

195

`And if no peace should follow, even so,

If never such a peace or treaty were,

I must come back; for where am I to go?

And how in heaven should I stay out there

Among those men‑at‑arms, in constant fear?

And so, as God may guide the soul He made,

I see no cause for you to be afraid.

196

`And here's another way that may unfold,

If you're not satisfied to leave things thus;

My father, as you know, is getting old;

Old men are usually covetous,

And I've just thought of a fine trick for us

To catch him by ‑ and all without a net! –

If you agree; so listen to me yet.

197

`It often has been said that, in the end,

To keep the wolf at bay you kill a sheep;

That is to say, you often have to spend

A part of what you have, if you would keep

The rest of it; now gold is graven deep

Upon the heart of every covetous man;

So let me tell you how I mean to plan.

198

`The valuables here in town with me

I'll take to give my father, and will say

They're sent in trust and for security

By certain of his former friends, and they

Desire him fervently without delay

To send for more, and send most speedily

While the town still remains in jeopardy.

199

` It shall be an enormous quantity

(So I shall say) but, lest the news get out,

It can be sent by no one but by me.

I'll show him, too, if peace should come about,

That I have friends at Court, and they, no doubt,

Will soften Priam's rage and plead his case,

So that he soon will be restored to grace.

200

` So, what with one thing and another, sweet,

I shall enchant him with my words, and cause

Him to suppose all heaven is at his feet:

As for Apollo's servants and their saws,

Their calculations are not worth three straws;

Gold and his lusts shall blind him, and with these

I'll shape him to whatever ends I please.

201

`And if by auguries, as I believe

He will, he tries to show that I am lying,

I will find means to pluck him by the sleeve

And so disturb him in the act of trying

His sortilege, or say he's falsifying;

(Gods are ambiguous in their replies,

And for one truth they'll tell you twenty lies.)

202

And "Fear first made the gods, so I suppose"

I'll say to him; it was his coward heart

That made him misinterpret, when he chose

To run away from Delphi, for a start,

So I shall say to him; and if my art

Doesn't convert him in a day or two,

Then you, may kill me: I will force you to.'

203

And truly it is written, as I find,

That all she said was said with good intent,

And that her heart was true as it was kind

Towards him, and she spoke just what she meant

And almost died of sorrow when she went;

She purposed to be true, as she professed,

Or so they write who knew her conduct best.

204

But he, all ears and heart ,to what she said,

And hearing her devisings to and fro,

Truly believed the notions in his head

Were much like hers; but yet . . . to let her go !

The heart within misgave him and said pro;

Yet in the end he saw he had to force

Himself to trust her, as the surest course.

205

And so the anguish of his circumstance

Was quenched in hope, and so, at last, the night

Was softened in the joy of amorous dance;

And as the birds, whenever sun is bright,

Sing high in the green leaves and take delight,

So these two took their joy, and made communion

Of loving speech, and cleared their hearts in union.

206

Nevertheless Criseyde was going to leave him:

The dreadful thought was ever in his mind,

And, fearful that her promises deceived him,

He begged her piteously `Be true and kind !

Keep to your day and do not lag behind

Among the Greeks ! Come quickly back to Troy,

Or I shall lose all honour, health and joy.

207

`As sure as that the sun will rise tomorrow,

(And O God, guide Thou me upon my way,

Wretch as I am, out of this cruel sorrow),

I mean to kill myself if you delay.

But though my death means little, still I say

Before you cause me so much misery,

My own dear heart, stay here in Troy with me.

208

`For truly lady, truly my Criseyde,

Whatever cunning shifts you may prepare

Likely enough will fail when they are tried;

There is a saying "He who leads the bear

Has many a thought which Bruin doesn't share."

The wisdom of your father is admitted;

The wise may be outrun, but not outwitted.

209

`It's difficult to limp and not be spied

By cripples, for it is a trick they know;

Your father's subtleties are Argus‑eyed,

And though his goods were taken long ago

His subtleties are with him still, I know.

You won't deceive him with your woman's wile,

And that is all my fear; you lack the guile.

210

` I do not know if peace will ever be;

But, peace or no, in earnest or in game,

Calkas went over to the enemy,

He joined the Greeks, and foully lost his name;

He never would return to us, for shame.

And so that way, as far as I can see,

Cannot be trusted; it's a fantasy.

211

`Then you will find your father will cajole

You into marriage; he knows how to preach.

He will commend some Greek, and charm your soul

With praises of him, ravish you with speech,

Or force you into it; it's in his reach.

And Troilus, whom you will never pity,

Firm in his truth, will perish in this city.

212

`Over all this, your father will, dispraise

Us all, and say we cannot save the town;

He'll tell you that the Greeks will never raise

The siege; that they have sworn, for their renown,

To slay us all; our walls shall be torn down.

Thus he will say: I dread that he may scare

You with his reasons into staying there.

213

`And you will see so many a lusty knight

Among the Greeks, distinguished, sure to please,

Each with intelligence and heart and might

To do his best to put you at your ease,

And you will tire of the rusticities

Of us fool‑Trojans (though remorse may hurt you)

Unless true constancy should prove your virtue.

214

`And this is so unbearable to think

It rends the soul out of my breast; for O,

There could no good opinion of it sink

Into my heart, should you decide to go.

Your father's cunning will destroy us, though,

And if you leave me, as I said before,

Then think of me as dead and nothing more.

215

`So, with a humble, true and piteous heart,

I beg you to be merciful, and pray

A thousand prayers out of my bitter smart

And misery to do as I shall say:

Let us steal off together right away !

For think what folly it is, when we can choose,

To grasp a shadow, and a substance lose!

216

`I mean there is a chance for us, ere dawn,

To steal away, and be together so;

What sense is there in seeing it withdrawn

So as to join your father? Risk to go,

Uncertain if you can return or no?

It would be madness, as it seems to me

To court such danger, when you could be free.

217

`And to speak vulgarly, we both have treasure

That we can take with us, and it will spread

To let us live in honour, and in pleasure,

Until the time will come when we are dead.

By this we can avoid our present dread;

To every other way you can invent,

My heart, most certainly, will not consent.

218

`And you need have no fear of taking hurt

Through poverty, for I have friends elsewhere,

And kindred; though you came in your bare shirt,

You would not lack for gold and things to wear;

We would be honoured if we settled there.

Let us go now, for it is plain to me

This is the best, if you will but agree.'

219

Criseyde gave answer, sighing, `As you say,

All this, my true love, we could surely do;

As you imagine, we could steal away,

Or have a dozen other means in view

That later we'd regret, and sorely too.

As God may help me in my greatest need,

Your fears are groundless, yes, they are indeed.

220

`For when my father's cherishing of me,

Or when my fear of him, or other fear,

Pleasure, estate, marriage, or anything

Makes me untrue to you, my dearest dear,

May Saturn's daughter, Juno the Severe,

Drive me as mad as Athamas," to dwell

Eternally in Styx, the pit of Hell !

221

`And this I swear by every god supernal,

And every goddess too and patroness,

Terrestrial nymph and deity infernal,

Satyr and faun, the greater and the less,

Rough demi‑gods that haunt the wilderness;

Cut, Atropos, my thread of life and kill

If I be false! Now trust me if you will.

222

`O Simois, like an arrow running clear

Through Troy and ever downward to the sea,

Bear witness to the words I utter here,

And on the day when I shall prove to be

Untrue to Troilus, O turn and flee

Back on thy course, flow upward to thy well,

And let me sink, body and soul, to Hell !

223

`As for the thing you spoke of ‑ thus to go,

Abandon all your friends and steal away,

May God forbid you ever should do so

For any woman! Troy has need today

Of all her men; and there is this to say:

If this were known, my life and your good name

Would lie in balance. Save us, Lord, from shame !

224

`And if so be that peace should come again

- One sees it daily, anger giving place

To amity ‑ how could you bear the pain,

Not daring to return and show your face?

Do not expose yourself to such disgrace;

Do not be hasty in this hot affair,

For hasty men are men who suffer care.

225

`What do you think the people round about

Would make of it? That's very easily said;

They'd think, and they would swear to it no doubt,

It was not love that drove you, but you fled

Out of voluptuous lust and coward dread.

Then all your honour would be lost, my dear,

That honour which has ever shone so clear.

226

`And think a little of my own good name,

Still in its flower; how I should offend,

What filth it would be spotted with, what shame,

Were we to run away, as you intend!

For though I were to live to the world's end

What justice could I ever hope to win?

I should be lost; that would be grief and sin.

227

`And therefore let your reason cool your dish;

It's said they win who suffer patiently.

To have a wish one must give up a wish,

And make a virtue of necessity

By exercising patience; think that he

That would be lord of Fortune must ignore her;

Only a wretch will fear and fall before her.

228

`And believe this, my sweetheart; sure I am

That ere the moon, Lucina the Serene,

Has entered Leo, passing from the Ram,

I will return; and what I say I mean,

As ever help me Juno, Heaven's Queen !

On the tenth day; if death should not prevail

Against me, I'll be with you, without fail.'

229

`Provided this is true,' said Troilus,

`Well, I'll endure it, up to the tenth day,

Since I can see that things must needs be thus;

But for the love of heaven, still I say

Let us at once steal secretly away,

Ever together, as now, and be at rest;

My heart keeps saying that will be the best.'

230

`Merciful God I What life is this?' said she,

`Ah I Do you wish to kill me in my woe?

I see it now; you have no trust in me,

Your words show well enough that this is so.

Now for the love of Cynthia white as snow,

Mistrust me not without a cause, unheard,

Untried, for pity's sake I You have my word.

231

`Think, it is sometimes wiser to forget

Time present for a better time in view;

Heavens above, you haven't lost me yet !

What's to be parted for a day or two?

Drive out the fantasies that lurk in you,

Have trust in me and lay aside your sorrow,

Or else I will not live until tomorrow.

232

`For if you knew how bitterly it smarts,

You would abandon this. Dear God ! You know

How the pure spirit in my heart of hearts

Weeps when I see you weep, I love you so !

Also because I shall be forced to go

Among the Greeks; and if I knew not how

To come back here again, I should die now.

233

'Am I so foolish that I never could

Imagine anything, or find a way

Of coming back the day I said I would?

Who can hold back a thing that will not stay?

My father? No I for all his subtle play.

And if I should succeed, my leaving Troy

Will turn some other day to greater joy.

234

`So I beseech you from my very heart,

If there is anything that at my prayer

You would consent to do before we part,

And for the love I love you with, my dear,

O let me see you cheerful, fine of care,

A happy face ‑ for that will ease the aching

About my heart, which is at point of breaking.

235

`And there is one thing more,' she said `my own,

I beg of you, my heart's sufficiency,

Since I am wholly yours and yours alone,

While I am absent, let no gallantry

With other ladies take your thoughts from me !

I never cease to fear it; it is said

Love is a thing of jealousy and dread.

236

`There lives no lady underneath the sun,

If you ‑ which God forbid ‑ should prove untrue,

That would be so betrayed, or so undone

As I, who think of truth as lodged in you;

Were I to find it other than I do,

It would be death; therefore, unless you see

Good reason, do not be unkind to me.'

237

`As God, from whom no secret can be hidden,

May give me joy, since first you caught my eye

No taint of falsehood, bidden or unbidden,

Has ever crossed my heart,' he made reply,

`And never shall until I come to die.

And well you may believe that this is so,

Though more I cannot say; but time will show.'

238

`Most loving thanks, my dearest,' answered she,

`May blissful Lady Venjis, whom I serve,

Keep me from death until, in some degree,

I can requite you well, who well deserve;

And while I have my wits, which God preserve,

I shall do so, for I have found you true,

And honour will rebound to me from you.

239

`It was no royal state, or high descent,

No vain delight, nor any worthiness

In war or military tournament,

Pomp, riches, or magnificence of dress

That led me on to pity your distress,

But moral virtue, grounded in truth of heart,

That moved me to compassion from the start.

240

`Your noble heart, the manhood that you had,

And the contempt for all that was not right,

(It seemed to me) ‑ all that was base and bad,

Like rudeness, or a vulgar appetite –

And that your reason bridled your delight;

These things, so far above what others give,

Have made me yours, and shall do, while I live.

241

` For this the length of years shall not undo,

Nor Fortune the Inconstant shall deface;

And Jupiter, whose power can renew

The sorrowful in gladness, send us grace

That we may meet together in this place

Within ten nights, and ease our hearts of woe;

And now farewell, for it is time to go.'

242

At last their long lamenting reached its close

With many kisses as they lay embraced,

The dawn came on, and Troilus arose

And, looking at her, felt the bitter taste

Of death's cold cares; and then, in troubled haste,

He took his leave of her and went away;

Whether he was sad, I need not say;

243

For the imagination hardly can

Grasp, or perception feel, or poet tell

The cruel pains of this unhappy man,

For they were greater than the pains of Hell.

He saw that she must leave the citadel;

His heart was of its very soul bereft;

Without a word, he turned away and left.